(A/N: As I have found before, tying up all the loose plot threads from a long story arc is harder than I initially thought. Hopefully only one more chapter before I can move on from Skellige to answer something that folk have been bugging me about for ages.)

(Warning: Someone makes some anti-LGBTQIA jokes in this chapter. They do so to deliberately pick a fight with another character. I hope it goes without saying, but just to be clear, The views of this character do not reflect my own views on such things and I hope that this can be taken into account.)

(Warning 2: A character gets punished for doing the crime in this chapter. Skelligans, as we know, get quite creative when it comes to punishing crime. Therefore, the character's fate is rather.... unpleasant. We do not see it, but it is described as to what is going to happen.)

(Warning 3: Separate small crude sexual joke.)

-

The thing about Skellige. The thing that you have to remember about Skellige....

Skellige is.....

Fuck me but this is hard.

Skellige gets in your blood and it broke my heart when we had to leave those islands. But now, my entire world is changed by the experiences that I had there. Sailing on that ship, living and fighting and loving with those men. Sharing tears and songs and stories. Getting drunk and telling each other jokes and finding small ways to lift the darkness.

But now it's tainted the rest of my world. Nothing is the same anymore. That is true of all of the adventures that I have shared with Kerrass over the years since I first met him now. But this one? This one has truly coloured the way that I think and it is already difficult to describe just how.... just how changed I feel as a man.

We are on the ship leaving the islands as I write this. The islands are long out of sight on the misty horizon and already, I feel a sense of loss as I stood and watched them disappear from view. Aggravating the Pilot-Captain as he stood at the tiller while Kerrass and I watched. Unable to explain to him just why it was so necessary that we be able to stand there and watch as the world and people that we had come to love vanished from our sight.

And Kerrass is still there. This parting has hit him hard and I can only guess as to why that might be. I stress that I don't know that this is the case, I think that this is a guess. But Skellige was the first time that he has been accepted by a large group of people. To the men of the Wave-Serpent, he was just another warrior. He wasn't special, they didn't treat him differently, they listened when he had things to say, they valued his input and they took his advice when it became necessary.

But they treated him no differently than when they listened to Thorvald when matters of Gods and religion came up. No different from listening to Svein when they wanted to know about warfare, or Perrin when it came to moving through woodland and other unpopulated areas. His expertise came in the form of fighting against monsters and whenever that kind of thing came up, they would turn to him and just expect him to tell them what to do.

Then they would do it.

They didn't ask questions, they didn't doubt him or call into question his experience or his capabilites. They just did it. He was one of them and more than anything else, that has reached down into the depths of his hardened Witcher Soul and has moved him in a way that he has not been able to come to terms with yet.

I should also say that he has been accepted by others in his travels but in all of those cases, he was a Witcher first and a man second. When working with Sir Rickard and the Bastards, the Bastards treated him as an officer and a knight so he was not one of them. The same way that they treated me and Sir Rickard himself.

In Castle Coulthard, Kerrass is generally treated as a guest by the castle staff and guard so even though he can be friendly with those people, there is still a shell, a distance between him and the people that he interacts with.

He is always a Witcher first and a man second in these areas. He gets on well with individuals. But people as a whole tend to see the sword on the back, the medallion around his neck and the glow of the yellow eyes shining from beneath his brows. Sailing with Helfdan and the Wave-Serpent was one of the few times, if not the only time, where men saw past that and just treated him as a man.

He took our departure from Skellige hard.

He is still there, leaning on the rail towards the back of the ship, eyes fixed on the horizon where we last saw that smudge in the distance that told us that the islands are still there. I left him a little while ago as I tried, and failed, to get him to talk about it, but he couldn't speak and so I told him that I would get an early night.

Instead, I have come to our cabin that the two of us are sharing. A cabin that seems oddly large to my eyes despite the fact that there is just a place to store our things and then our two bunks.

I can't sleep. I tried really hard but I find it stuffy in the cabin. The Captain has asked us to stay off the deck during the night crossing so that we don't interfere with the workings of the ship. We can go above decks when the sun is in the sky but this Captain seems to be a man that likes to use the stars as reference points wherever possible and he was concerned that we would trip over something with our lack of sea legs and night vision.

The fact that we told him that we had sailed aboard the longships was dismissed by the man as being either an exaggeration or otherwise, some kind of...

He thought that our experience was the lesser, as though it didn't count in some way. I hated him in that moment and dearly wanted to punch his smug grin down his throat. Instead I nodded and turned back to watching the islands of Skellige retreat from my eyes.

It's been less than a day and I already miss them all.

….

Dammit.

….

I'm trying to think of ways that I can express this without falling into hyperbole and cliché.

I have travelled all over the continent now and I've seen many beautiful places. My memory of Toussaint is tainted, hopefully not beyond repair, but despite it's beauty, my desire to go back and see it again is tempered. The wild danger of Dorn, even though I understand that that landscape is changing into something else now. Kaer Morhen with it's sense of dark, shadowy mystery and history.

All of these places are wonderful places to go and visit. I am grateful to have gone and seen them all. Every single one and I hold the memory of them in my heart. I love each of those places, not least because of what they all mean to me and although I would dearly love to go back and seem them all again with my older and, hopefully, wiser head on my shoulders. Skellige is the first place where I have actually made plans to return.

You know the thing. That time when you part from friends or distant relations and you say something like “You really should come by,” or “We should get together and have a chat,” while both people involved in the conversation is well aware that that is not going to happen. It's just that we say these things in order to make each other feel better about the lack of a relationship on both sides. We know that maintaining that friendship and making that journey is going to take effort that we do not have to give and so we say these things in order to make ourselves feel better at that lack in ourselves.

We often even mean it as we say it. We will go and visit Great Uncle Thingumy and Cousin Doodah down in Temeria. We will do it, we really will. This year.... Maybe next year. Yeah, definitely next year. Oh sorry, we can't do next year as some things have come up. How about the year after that? Ok, well let us know.

But with Skellige? Ariadne are going there for our honeymoon. A place where we can go and be amongst friends. Where men and women don't care that I am the younger brother of the Baroness Coulthard. (Not an official title but people call her that now. She hates it.). Where people don't hunt me down and ask questions about Witchers or Kerrass or about all of the other things that they imagine that I can help them with.

Where men, and women, do not look at Ariadne with fear, disgust and lust. Where she can just be a woman and enjoy the simple life of humanity. Something that she is coming to love. Because of course she adored Skellige from the moment that she got there, same as Kerrass did.

Same as I did.

So the plan is made. We are to be married. Queen Cerys is now formally invited along with the other Jarls of the clans as well as my comrades of the Wave-Serpent. The surviving crew of the Wave-Serpent are coming to help me make my Stag do particularly memorable before they depart to join the Queen when she lands at Novigrad. She is staying there a while, before making her way down the road to Castle Coulthard.

Already, I can't wait to see them.

Svein and Kerrass spent a worrying amount of time cackling in the corner and making arrangements for my stag party. I wonder if my friends from Oxenfurt know what they have coming for them.

Be warned friends.

But then, after a couple of days of partying at the castle after the wedding itself, Ariadne and I are going to leave and sail out to the islands where we intend to spend some time. We cannot stay there permanently of course. Our feudal duties will not allow it and we must return to Angral but..... Flame, do I wish I could stay there forever.

The other problem that I've already come across. A problem where I am caught between wanting to hold onto the thought for as long as possible while also wanting to get rid of the problem to save time, effort and heart break. The problem is that I now hold the entire world to Skelligan standards.

As I say, I am sailing away from the Skelligan Islands on a Redanian merchant vessel. She was one of the first ships to reach the islands after the thaw had been completed and then her Captain spent a great deal of time seeing to the trade that was involved, finding out what the islands needed, what could be produced, that kind of thing. And then we were able to secure passage as they left. This would have been.... Twelve days after the Skeleton Ship had passed out of the harbour.

Kerrass and I arrived early to take advantage of the tide and the culture shock was remarkable. We came aboard, stowed our gear and then sat and watched as the crew loaded the ship.

I have been around merchants all my life and so I know that they like to keep themselves separate from the people that work for them. But watching the merchants harangue the crew and the Captain and the pilot was … Off-putting. It was obvious even to me that the Merchant was getting in the way and that if he had just left the sailors to get on with the job then it would all have been done that much the quicker. The officers of the ship didn't take their turn hoisting and lifting supplies aboard, they stood around and watched.

Helfdan and Svein were the first to lend a hand whenever chores needed to be done.

When were at sea, there was no joy about it all. No laughter or song. The crew was subdued and quiet. Working hard and when there was no work to be done, by flame they found some work to be done otherwise the bosun or the officers or the Merchant owners of the ship found them something to do.

We were passengers but rather than being treated as guests, as we had done on the early parts of our voyage on the Wave-Serpent, we were treated like baggage, we were moved around, shouted at, insulted and all of the other things that made my fists clench.

Now here's the thing. This kind of behaviour is not unusual on merchant's ships. Passengers are glorified cargo after all. It didn't help that we were dressed like Skelligans which meant that they automatically looked down on us as the scruffy, barbarous savages that they assumed us to be. I know this. I have seen it before. It's slightly better when the ships and crews are more.... That journey where the Ship's master hired Kerrass to be the voyage's Witcher is an example. But I have been others where the ship and the atmosphere of the ship was as bad, if not worse than this.

But now I saw it for the entitled, bullshit that it is. And I have seen it done better, by sailors that would leave these men standing. I have seen the benefits of camaraderie at sea. About leaders pulling their own weight and being able to take and give jokes against themselves. I have seen that now and you will not be able to convince me that that I was wrong here.

It came to a head when we saw a man disciplined. A mere three hours out from harbour and a man spat over the side of the ship. To me it looked like an automatic gesture. As I've made the point, sailors are a superstitious lot and they spit to avert all kinds of evil. Storms, pirates, bad thoughts, accidental transgressions against the luck and superstitions that rule their lives. But it might have just been that he had found a weevil in his mouth after eating a piece of ship's biscuit and was spitting it over the side.

But because one of the merchants was walking past at the time to inspect some of the cargo that was strapped to the deck, the spit was seen as an insult.

And the sailor was flogged. I wanted to grab the Captain, grab the sailor and grab the merchant and shake them until some sense was knocked into them and they realised just how stupid they were being.

It wouldn't work but I wanted to scream in their faces as to how there was a better way than this. I had seen it.

I had lived it.

In Skellige.

I have another example. This took place after the Skeleton Ship had passed. The remaining crew of the Wave-Serpent, including Kerrass and I while Ciri was off doing Empress things, were sat at a table, lounging around, eating, drinking and generally having fun. Helfdan was sat to one side with his book out and he was writing in it slowly and carefully. The writing of a man that treats paper as being precious. There was a strange atmosphere in the air. The same kind of atmosphere that I get after the action has come to a close and I don't quite know what to do with myself. That slow and depressing kind of feeling had spread across all of us like a blanket.

Now it should be said, in order to put the entire anecdote into context, Helfdan and his crew had been moved closer to the dais. Hjalmar had seen to it that we now had a table of honour. There was Hjalmar's table where his own crew ate and drank and generally carried on and then there was Helfdan's table. Traditionally speaking, the closer you are to the throne, the more prestigious the seat. There had been some confusion at first when Helfdan had wanted his old table back. He did not take the removal particularly well but his crew, Ciri, Hjalmar and I managed to persuade him that he deserved better than what he had been given.

There was a tense moment when Helfdan had had a wobble, trying to insist that the table in the back of the room and out of everybody's way was his table. He was twitching and trembling, Hjalmar was getting more and more wound up while also trying to remain patient as he explained that that table, more in the middle of the room surrounded by people was Helfdan's table now and that it was a place of great honour which Helfdan deserved.

It took us a while but we managed to convince Helfdan that it was part of his duty to move towards the new table. That duty being because if he continued to sit in the bback of the hall away from everyone then people would think that Hjalmar was mistreating him and therefore it would reflect badly on Hjalmar himself.

Sometimes, Helfdan can look a little childish but never more so than when he has one of those moments where something becomes clear to him.

“Oh,” he said and then sat at the new table, much to Hjalmar's confusion.

But this created a new problem for Helfdan in that he doesn't really like being at the centre of attention. It's too much for him, over-stimulating I think. At sea or when there are courtier things going on then he is perfectly comfortable, but when there's nothing really going on, he still tried to see it all as a courtly situation. Which means that he wants to be able to keep an eye on everything. But he also struggles when people come at him from behind because he recriminates himself for not having seen it coming. Even feasts can become battlefields to Helfdan. Even when Skelligans are better than anyone else on the continent at keeping their business courts separate from their party courts.

On the continent, he would be correct in behaving as such. But in Skellige, he was ruining a perfectly good party.

But I'm digressing. What that meant here was that Helfdan chose to sit in a seat so that he could have his back to a pillar and so that men could stand in such a way that he could be protected from Un-announced and well-meaning well-wishers. I had not recognised the formation when I first met Helfdan but now I could see that Svein stationed men around Helfdan in the same way that he deployed warriors on the battlefield to protect his lord.

But that, in turn, meant that he was sat near the bottom of the table. Well away from the most important and therefore the most prestigious seat.

As I say, this was shortly after the Skeleton Ship had sailed. There was still a lot of grief at the table and we were dealing with it in different ways. I won't lie, I was getting drunk and doing my best to fend off the attention of some of the Skelligan women who were trying to have their way with me. Kerrass was affirming his existence in his own way with a pair of shield-maidens that he had taken off to his quarters.

Svein wanted to pick a fight.

He leant against the pillar behind Helfdan having decided that this would be the best way that he could find someone to smash. It was an interesting thing for me. I had never seen this side of Svein and it gave me some perspective into what he must have been like when Clan Drummond was destroyed. He had a small cup which he would refill from a jug that was resting on the table and he would just stand there, leaning on the pillar, glowering at everyone that passed by until someone fell into his trap.

It was a merchant. Of course it was a merchant. I have no idea who it was as, as I say, I was working hard on becoming paralytically drunk. But he was dressed in finery and had read the entire situation wrong. This was a party and the merchant was getting increasingly frustrated at the fact that no-one wanted to discuss business with him. So what he did was, he sat in the seat at Helfdan's table that was closest to the dais. I don't know why. I suspect that it was something to do with the fact that he wanted to be there and closer so that he would be able to take advantage of the situation should anything come up.

And Svein had his victim.

“Get the fuck out of that seat, little man before I break every bone in your body.” He snarled.

Typical night in Skellige.

The Merchant was in the middle of calling over a thrall to bring him some food and drink and just gaped up at the giant of a Skelligan warrior who was standing over him, quivering with suppressed violence.

“Are you deaf?” Svein bellowed. “Do I need to talk loudly and slowly so that you can hear me? Or do I need to do so in order for you to understand. Is that it? Are you stupid instead?”

Svein's anger spilled out of him. It was raw and unpleasant. The emotion that was contained in the man was spilling out enough to rob him of his normal wit and gift with language.

The Merchant's face reddened.

“How dare you Sir?” he demanded. “I am a guest here and...”

“I don't care if you shit Gold.” Svein bellowed. “I wouldn't give a crap if your eyes shoot lightening and that you're cousin to the bastard son of a Cidaris dock prostitute.”

(Freddie: Given the historical nature of the hatred between Skellige and Cidaris, this insult is more serious than it, at first, sounds)

“That chair,” Svein went on. “Is Lord Helfdan's chair and you will get out of it before I break your chicken fucking neck.”

As I say. A typical night out in Skellige. People were already clearing a circle around us all while waiting for the entertainment to begin. I was a little less sure as, technically speaking, the merchant had just seen a vacant chair and had sat in it in order to get some food into him. But I was drunk and I was one of the crew so I was just as outraged as the Svein was.

The Merchant didn't know what to think, or what to do really. He just gaped up at this huge person in his tunic, his torque and his bristling beard.

It also bears reminding folk that of all of his men, Helfdan is actually the least dressed up person there. He dresses simply and wears no ornamentation so when he is sat amongst his men with his head down, reading a book or scribbling in his note book. Which is what he was doing at that time, then that can mean that he is easily overlooked. Especially by strangers to the islands who might not easily recognise him.

The merchant looked around the table and finally spotted where Helfdan was sat, maybe a third of the way down the table. As I say, he was working on his book. Sketching designs for the new ship that he was already commissioning to be built.

The merchant finally recognised Helfdan.

“But Lord Helfdan is sat over there.” The Merchant protested.

“So?” Svein demanded. “Does that change the fact that you sitting in his seat. In his place of honour. You shame him and you shame me. You will answer for that. You will move and then you will apologise or I will have you tied down so that I can shit on your face. As it seems to me that you have little else to offer.”

The words finally triggered some kind of outrage response in the merchant.

“How dare you?” He demanded. “Lord Helfdan,” He began in a more reasonable tone of voice. “You seem like a civilised man. Can you call of your man?”

“Hmmm?” Helfdan looked up, brought out of his concentration by the sound of his name and the appeal of the man's voice. In certain circles of Skellige, the slightly upper class tone used by courtiers and merchants on the continent is the equivalent of nails being dragged across slates.

The merchant took a moment, as it appeared as though Helfdan was completely oblivious to the entire situation. And for all I know he was up until that point.

The merchant took a breath. He was leaning back in his seat in an effort to get out of the way of Svein who was towering over him with his face pushed forwards.

“Lord Helfdan. Would you kindly call off your man. He has insulted me and yelled at me and caused great harm with his words.”

Helfdan didn't blink. The merchant made one of several mistakes then in that he mistook the fact that Helfdan wasn't looking him in the eye to be a sign of weakness. As though that failure meant that Helfdan was ashamed. So the merchant decided that it was time for him to go on the offensive.

“I am an important man.” The merchant went on. “And I have powerful friends. It would be a shame if there was damage to any kind of trade due to the actions of your men.”

The merchant tried to straighten his tunic, still trying to shift away from Svein who was staring into the Merchant's face with what I guessed would be a wild-eyed expression.

“Oh?” Helfdan asked after a moment.

“I am not an unkind man however and I am well aware that matters of courtesy and etiquette are different on the islands than they are on the continent. So I will accept an apology of course as well as a promise that you will properly discipline you man. I would like to witness this discipline however.”

Helfdan nodded. “I see. So you wish to see me treat Svein as he deserves to be treated?”

“Indeed.” The merchant seemed happy to accept that. “And an apology from you sir, for the lack of discipline amongst your men.”

Helfdan nodded. “Svein?”

“Lord?”

Helfdan gazed at Svein for a moment while the merchant preened in anticipation at the coming outburst.

“Svein, I am pleased with your behaviour.” He reached into his pouch and took out a ring. It wasn't very much, little more than silver with an amber gem I thought. But Helfdan solemnly passed the ring to Svein who examined it with the aid of a nearby candle.

“Thank you Lord.” He gave every appearance of being moved. “With your permission, I will give it to my daughter as it is a little small for my hand.”

Helfdan nodded

“What?” The merchant exclaimed in his own outrage.

“Thank you Lord.” Svein tucked the ring away somewhere.

“However I must remind you that there are guests from elsewhere who do not all know our ways. Perhaps a quiet and kind warning might have been better?”

“Yes Lord.”

“I do not have an infinite supply of rings for a start.”

“I have powerful friends.” The Merchant protested.

“No you don't.” Helfdan told him calmly, returning to his book. “If you did then you would realise that the man sat over there is the son of the late Baron von Coulthard, younger brother of the Lady Emma Von Coulthard who, you will probably find, you work for in some small way. If you had powerful friends you would know that.”

The merchant paled. “But...”

“Furthermore, I rather think that it is a poor merchant who goes to a place without knowing the local customs.”

“But the insult.”

Helfdan nodded. “Yes. Svein is not part of my crew due to his gifts with gentle speech or polite ways. Svein is part of my crew because of his skills at training warriors. Of turning them into weapons and a unit that he then uses to thrust into the hearts of our enemies. There is literally no-one in this world that is better at that than he is. Yes, his speech might be lacking in certain.... ways. But he has behaved exactly as I would expect him to behave.”

“You will...”

“Oh, but you wanted to see his treatment for his behaviour towards you. Svein?”

“Lord.”

“Throw this man out.”

“Yes Lord.”

“You can't....”

“By the hair. Then find out who he represents and inform Jarl Hjalmar that this man insulted and displeased us. That we could do better by trading elsewhere.”

“Yes Lord.”

And then he did so. Helfdan went back to sketching in his book.

So that was the difference. Svein was one of Helfdan's men. The merchant was powerful and rich enough to cause hassle. On the continent, Svein would have been reprimanded and an apology would have been given in order to preserve positive ties with the merchant in question. Svein would have probably been beaten or otherwise disciplined. But on Skellige, Svein was protected by his Lord against a man who otherwise had power. Who, elsewhere, would have more power due to money and prestige that he wielded.

I know which option I prefer.

-

I wrote that last sequence on the ship as we sailed away from Skellige. It was a strange feeling sailing away. I had not yet recorded everything that I have since written down and sent off to Oxenfurt to be published but my mind was dancing in the juices of Skellige.

I have never taken Fiss-tech in my life and I have no intention of ever trying it. I have seen the effects of long term Fiss-tech use on the mind and the body and it is not something that I ever want to experiment with.

I have enough trouble with my existing thought and behaviour patterns as it is.

But I imagine that that's what it's like. Skellige is like a drug. It dances in your brain and makes you want to dance about. It makes you want to pick a fight with a man standing next to you, to take him outside and kick the crap out of him, or alternatively, have the crap kicked out of you, before you both share a drink afterwards. I want to find a righteous cause and stand up for something. I want life to be simple in a complicated world and I want to take my spear or my axe and I want to stand and howl.

I miss the sea and the rolling nature of the water. I miss the sounds of the wind howling through the rocks and echoing through the islands. I miss the song of the Wave-Serpent as she sang me into a doze as we sailed around the islands.

Looking back now, it is hard to think of the entire Skelligan chapter of my story as a whole. It's tricky to see it as one continuous account or tale. Instead, it seems more as though it's made up of a series of much smaller anecdotes. Time seems to jump backwards and forwards in my head. The past, the present and some kind of strange, imagined world where those men were heroes, standing tall on cliffs of legend with lightening striking behind them as they stood, weapons in hand and roared their defiance at their enemies that clamoured for their blood.

I no longer think of Ivar as the old man who knew that he was coming to the end of his life. Wife long gone, sons lost to other causes and daughters married away but he refused to give up. I refuse to allow myself to think of Perrin as the jilted lover who was looking for a better way to live.

I remember them all now, but in snippets. Small chunks of tales and anecdotes, swirling around in my mind, finding anchors in those moments in the depths of the night where I remember a small conversation that we shared about life and the nature of living. A small tale that they told me about things that you would never imagine a Skelligan warrior owning up to.

One night on watch as I was trading shifts with Haakon, he told me about how he lost his virginity. I didn't ask. I didn't really want to know if we're being honest with each other. But he told me how he was much larger than she was and was so scared that he would hurt her, that he spent the entire act checking to make sure that she, the much more experienced woman, was ok that he almost missed the moment when he finished.

Or a man called Vittkun who told me this funny story about a cat and a frog. It wasn't a big story and I couldn't tell you what the story involved. All I can tell you is that the story involved a Cat meeting a frog and not knowing what to do next. Vittkun could tell that story for hours. Literally hours, never repeating himself as he mimed the cat's actions and made faces that were close to the equivalent expressions of the cat as it just stayed there and figured out what to do with this creature that it couldn't recognise.

Then he told the story about the same cat, then a kitten, meeting itself in a reflective bowl of water that his wife had left out. It's rare that I've met a more comedic mind.

I am forgetting a lot of those moments now. Small moments in the greater fabric of time that I spent with the Skelligans. As I say, they are coming to me now in the depths of the night where I remember them and I don't have anywhere else to put them. I wake up with those stories and those memories, half dream and half fact, on the edge of memory, the edge of my tongue and with my fingers twitching to write them down. I wake up in the night and I scrabble for paper, ink and a quill to write them down before they escape and then they are gone. Like the seeds of a puffball as it is blown away on the wind.

But the Skeleton Ship sailing away, is not the end of the story. This is not some heroic ballad or tale, nor am I a poet or a saga-master. My duty is to record what I see and to talk about those things so that people can remember them. Can discuss them and, hopefully, learn something about the world and maybe even themselves during the entire process.

Kerrass and I stood on the jetty for a long time as we watched the Skeleton Ship sail off into the night. A very long time. Of the four of us that had boarded the Skeleton Ship, Helfdan left first and Ciri stood with us.

I got the feeling that she would have stayed there longer but circumstances often mean that a woman in her position can't do everything that she wants to and she was forced to leave with guards and for political reasons. She hugged us both as she left and walked back up tot the keep in procession with Queen Cerys. So it was left to Kerrass and I to watch the night.

I have no idea how long the two of us stayed there, unspeaking and unmoving. Snow was falling now and people were moving indoors. The mood was strangely sombre and although I didn't notice at the time, I am surprised that there wasn't more celebration. This was the last time that the Skeleton Ship would pass through the harbour. This was the last time that the islands would freeze in the grip of a supernatural, magical cold that disrupted the life of the nation. It was the last time that that would happen and I rather think that in any other circumstance, that would be a cause for celebration.

But not in Skellige. Instead, it was a time for introspection. There would be drinking later. In the same way that Skelligans believe that a funeral should be followed by a celebration, this was everyone's funeral so it would be everyone's celebration. I had been looking forward to it but now that I had seen the Skeleton Ship sailing off into the night, I had no idea what to do. What to feel or how to think.

Regular readers will know that this is not uncommon for me. To be truthful I have only recently discovered this about myself, but my reaction to high stakes circumstances and events is to kind of shut down physically and mentally. Where other men might want to go and do something life affirming like getting drunk or getting laid, I tend to want to find somewhere cool, dark and private to be alone with my thoughts for a while. The problem is that this is so rarely actually an option. Now not least as we would be required up at the castle, there would be a feast and drinks and parties. I already knew that there was going to be some kind of thing going on in order to choose the next Jarl and many of you are wanting an eye-witness account of how that all came about.

Trust me when I say, I shall get to that.

I also wanted to witness what was going to happen regarding Clan Tuirseach and it's Jarl, Ingimund. The Clan that had once been synonymous with Skelligan honour and the Skelligan crown. When not in direct possession of the crown, then Clan Tuirseach were the foremost allies of the Crown in the Council of Jarls, on the battlefield and elsewhere. But now, ever since the treachery involved during and before the crowning of Queen Cerys of Clan An Craite, Clan Tuirseach has been split off from that and I wanted to watch as this was dealt with and addressed.

I wanted to see all of these things. But that was in an abstract part of my brain. In the back of things somewhere, away from where I was at the time. I knew that they were all in my future but I suddenly found that I didn't want this moment to end. I didn't want this entire circumstance to be over. I especially didn't want it to be over and to know that I had failed.

Because I had. I was watching the Skeleton Ship sail over the seas and very probably into a new world, or an older one depending on your point of view and the person who might have been able to tell me more was on that ship.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

I also wanted to discuss what I had been told with Kerrass. Ariadne too but for the moment, I wanted to talk to Kerrass. I wanted to ask him what he had been told by his own cloaked figure, but I wanted to talk about what I had been told. About how I already knew what had happened to Francesca but that I refused to see it. I also knew that we would have plenty of time to talk about that kind of thing in the weeks and months to come as we camped by the side of the road or slept in taverns as we went on our way.

But despite wanting all of that. I found that I couldn't move.

I found that I didn't want to move. There was a sadness welling up inside me and I didn't want that bubble to burst and send me over the edge. I didn't want to return to reality just yet. Strange things had taken place and I wanted a moment, just for a moment, to hold onto that sense of strangeness. That sense of living in another place and another time. Where stories and wonder are all around me rather than just being in the purview of stories, poems and sagas.

The snow was falling. Gentle flakes of the stuff settling in my clothes and in my hair. And the two of us just stood there as the people in the crowd just gently started to disperse and go their separate ways.

It was Kerrass that broke the mood. “Are you alright?” He asked.

“Fuck no.” I finally lowered my gaze to find that my eyes were burning with trying to stay open for too long.

He nodded and turned to walk away. I heard his footsteps crunch in the snow before he paused and turned back.

“I'm truly sorry Freddie. Not how I wanted this one to end.”

“No.” I answered. “Not it wasn't. But I don't think it could have ended any other way. All that blood, all that life just pissed away because he didn't want to tell us things. Because he was too scared to tell us what we needed to know.”

“He was desperate Freddie. And desperate men do stupid things. I don't mean to sympathise with him and I hate him more than a little bit for what he put us through and all the lives that he ended by his lack if action. But he was scared and he was desperate.”

“I really thought I had something this time Kerrass. It seems unfair that we go through all of that to come to nothing. There was so much and for it to end here on a peir with nothing to show for it. That seems wrong somehow.”

“That's because you are thinking in terms of a story. This didn't work like that. We aren't living in a story book despite that we're in Skellige. Sometimes great things happen for no real change and that's the way it works.”

“I know.”

“You know, but you rail at the unfairness of that. It's the small child in you that still wants the world to behave in the way that your nanny read you stories of.”

“I know that too.”

There was a pause. “Come on Freddie, you don't need to suffer this by yourself. You have more friends than me here and they are better at dealing with this kind of thing than I am. Time to come out of the cold.”

He was right of course. He always is after all.

I took another look out of the harbour before turning away and trudging over to him where he put his arm round my shoulder.

The crowd was moving away as Kerrass and I walked through it. They didn't part before us but we were not alone in being a small group or a pair of people that were expressing some kind of private grief and supporting each other through that same grief. I saw husbands and wives consoling each other along with children nearby looking confused and hurt. I saw a crew of warriors standing together and passing a wine-skin round each other in a circle in some kind of private ceremony of remembrance. There were dozens of little things like that. The silence of grief slowly being replaced by the louder noises of celebration. There was noise beginning to come from the tavern as well as those areas up around the more domestic areas of the harbour where families live and work rather than just working. People were visiting each other with the man of the house standing in the doorway greeting visitors and well wishers.

This was the moment of Catharsis. Where the grief turns from harsh and painful to bitter-sweet. I hate that moment because of the guilt that comes later. The guilt that I am no longer quite as upset as I used to be and in losing the.... the extremity of that pain, I feel as though I am letting down the person that I lost. On those days I tend to get drunk wherever possible.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

But for the right now, I was numb and so very tired. The emotions were rushing through me so hard and so fast that I absolutely knew nothing about what I was supposed to do with them. I hate this feeling. I hate it so much. First noticed in the aftermath of the waking of Princess Dorn but I have certainly being doing it unconsciously since the very beginning when I was left desolate after the village with the Nekkers. I hate this feeling. I hate it somewhere deep in my soul. Now that I am more aware of it, I can plan for it and take it all into account. I can do sensible things like making sure that I am not alone during this period and I was certainly going to be surrounded by friends in the here and now. With the remaining crew of the Wave-Serpent around me.

But in a certain measure of self-defence, I retreated into myself and I watched as Skellige mourned all that they had lost. I am told that there was an extra edge to it this time. Word had gotten out that what we had done meant that the Skeleton Ship would never pass by the islands again, so not only were people mourning the people they had lost since the last time that the Skeleton Ship had passed through the harbour. They were mourning everyone that they, that everyone had lost since the first time the Skeleton Ship came through the harbour.

The certainty that this would never happen again was not yet settled in. As we trudged past the small knots of men and women we heard many snippets of conversation that seemed to suggest a kind of tentative “We'll see,” kind of attitude. As though they didn't want to celebrate too much just yet. I got the feeling that the real test will be in a couple of years time when everyone will be expecting another passage of the Skeleton Ship. How the Queen and the Jarls choose to react to that at the time will be telling and I suspect that it might govern the nature of how the islands are run for the rest of time.

At the time of writing, there is some talk or rumour that there will be a new tradition created which will take place where a ship will be sailed through the harbour in the height of winter, or maybe at the beginning of spring. The ship will be called the Skeleton Ship and it will be pointed towards the harbour near the inn before it will be set ablaze in the manner of a funeral barge so that it is the funeral barge of everyone that has been lost.

It's not a bad idea but we shall see I suppose.

But I get ahead of myself.

We went up to the castle and we did indeed proceed to get drunk. It was a strangely surreal night. On the one hand, we were all tired with a kind of sullen anger and rage that came with the levels of fatigue that come with those emotions. So certainly Kerrass and I were not in the mood for a massive feast. Neither was Svein and the rest of the men of the Wave-Serpent. Not really. Helfdan had gone off somewhere, called away into some kind of meeting that I wasn't paying enough attention to to learn what it was. But he was glad to go from his newly elevated position in the feasting hall.

But to the rest of Skellige, we were heroes. Those, once in a lifetime men and woman that had climbed aboard the Skeleton Ship in order to speak to the people there and it was astonishing to them that we weren't celebrating and boasting and telling stories. Helfdan was in his meeting, Ciri was taking care of matters of state, moving among the merchants and the courtiers, shaking hands and smiling the false smile of politicians. I know her well enough now to be able to read a little bit more into what it is that she is thinking when she was doing that and I rather think that she would much rather have been in a tavern somewhere getting drunk.

But duty comes first doesn't it.

It was not a good night for any of us I think. It was that night, after Helfdan came back looking a bit thoughtful and scribbling in his book, that Svein tried to pick a fight with a merchant. I could absolutely understand Svein's need to lash out at something but I couldn't really see how anyone in particular deserved it more than anyone else. Kerrass vanished off at some point with a couple of shield maidens who had challenged him on some kind of masculine level. He took them, a few jugs of wine and some food off to his own quarters and good for him.

I was getting sullen in my anger. I was tired and I found myself feeling like an island in a storm. There was noise everywhere, movement and flashing lights while I was sat, staring into my drink as people came to try and talk to me. Skalds came to ask me what it was like to stand on the deck of the Skeleton Ship. Women came to ask me if I wanted any company for the evening and seemed insulted when I turned them down.

This despite the fact that I had shown absolutely no inclination towards that kind of entertainment during my past times in Kaer Trolde.

I managed to ask someone whether I would be insulting anyone if I just snuck out early and quickly learned that I would not. This was a party and, quite sensibly, the Skelligans were aware that emotions were high, both the positive and negative, and so they didn't want to push anything in one way or another. That decisions are made badly at such times and so there was a lack of formality here.

Other than in those parts of society already mentioned.

So I fled, retreating to my room and burying my head under my blankets. Eventually a thrall came to check on my progress to make sure that I was Ok and I was able to have a meal and a jug of wine which made me feel better enough that I was able to sleep.

I was woken by finally getting a contact from Ariadne in the morning.

“FREDDIE.” She bellowed through our link. “FREDDIE.”

“What? What is it?” I woke up and peeled the pillow from the side of my face.

“I'm sorry, where you sleeping?”

“I was a little bit.” I spied a jug of the Skelligan tea near the bed the bed that was still hot to the touch. In the back of my head, I blessed the Thrall that had made that choice.

“I lost track. What time is it there?” She asked.

“Is there a difference?”

“I'm underground at the moment my Love and I haven't seen the sun in several days.”

“You really should get out more.” I said as I poured myself a cup of the tea, adding double my normal helping of honey into the liquid.

“I know,” She admitted. “And I will but I've rather been busy. Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” I lied without thinking. “Actually I'm not. I'm feeling pretty fucking raw right now to be honest.”

“Alright.” She didn't seem that surprised but I got a sense of brief movement. “Look, I'm a little busy at the moment so I was planning to be in Skellige tomorrow evening. But do you need me to come now?”

“I do.” I told her after some deep thought. “But not if it will get you in trouble.”

“It might a little.”

“Then stay. I can't wait to see you though. I've missed you.”

“I've missed you too Freddie.”

We said nothing for a while as I sit in my nightshirt and drank my tea.

“I'm sorry.” She said after a while. “It feels like you've been through a lot. If I'd known I would never have.... I would have been there.”

“I know.” I told her.

“But I was.... I thought it would just be a trip out to the druids to find out what you needed to know and....”

“I know.”

“Freddie. I'm so sorry. I was underground and talking to....”

“I know Ariadne, it's ok.” I cursed in the back of my mind. I could feel the tears threatening at the back of my throat.

There was another pause as I think she heard them too.

“Freddie?”

“I'm...” My throat caught and I sobbed, closing my eyes in a futile effort to hold back the tears. “Flame...”

“I'm coming.” She decided “Stay right where you are and I'll....”

“No it's alright. I'll see you tomorrow.” I forced a smile onto my face and into my voice. I don't entirely know how this link of ours works, but like the holy symbol before it. I get a sense of the woman and the location as well as what she's doing. Just as she gets with me. “I don't want to spoil your entrance.”

I felt her smile and settle back into her seat. She was waiting to see what else was going to come of that.

“Well,” she began a little tentatively, she's getting better at adding levity into conversations when needed. “It's going to be rather extreme so that I can frighten all these girls off you. You might want to warn a few people so that guards aren't attacking me when I arrive.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I don't want to spoil the surprise for you either.” She grinned before her voice turned back to being more sombre. “Freddie, I'm so sorry.”

“You weren't to know. Where were you?”

“I knew that you were busy with Ciri and Kerrass so I went off to make some arrangements. You're still coming to spend the winter in Angral?”

“That's the plan.”

“Well, there will be some time where we have to go to Toussaint.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. The first is that I have arranged for an audience between you and the eldest of our race. Possibly the eldest of our race. I am hoping that he will be able to shed some light on the matter of your history, although I should warn you not to get your hopes up. I had to.... I had to perform some services for that to take place as the Elder was not happy at the prospect. But he was old when my Grandparents were young and if anyone can tell you about what came before, then it's him and I would do anything to help you so....”

My scholarly soul perked up at the prospect of asking questions of that ancient creature. I wondered what he could tell me. What we could learn from that.

“There are some other prices to his help.” Ariadne went on.

“Such as?”

“You remember how I once told you that you would find Vampire parties really dull.”

“I remember the warning.”

“Well, now you will find out first hand. On the other hand, it means that you will meet my mother.”

“Oh?”

“It is unlikely that she will come to the wedding though.”

“Ok. Is that the second reason?”

“What?”

“You said that there were two reasons that we were going to Toussaint. I'll be honest My Love....”

“Oooh, I do like it when you call me that.”

“I like it too.” I felt the grin sneak onto my face. “But I'll be honest, I hadn't planned on going back there.”

“I understand that. But your sister insists. It would seem that your family have been invited to the tournament that has been called in memory of your sister, as well as the....”

I was appalled. “That's... awful.”

“I thought it was rather fitting.”

“What?”

“Your sister was loved by all. She was lovely to me and she seemed to brighten any room that she walked into. She should be celebrated and that is what the tournament is about. Knights are coming from all over the continent and the winner will declare which charitable cause he wants the prize pot to be donated to in your sister's name.”

I hated the idea, but there was a small voice in the back of my head that told me that Francesca would like that.

“And the closing of the tournament will also be the the investiture of the Questing knights of the order of Francesca.” Ariadne finished. “I suspect, from what I've heard, that they will be the order of Saint Francesca before too much longer should the knights in question have any say in the matter.”

“I'm not sure even Francesca would like that.”

“Come on Freddie,” Ariadne admonished. “She would find it funny.”

I laughed. “She would as well.”

Another silence fell.

“I'm so sorry Freddie.” She said again.

“You don't need to be sorry.” I told her. “There is nothing here that is your fault. We were betrayed by others and there is no way you could have known.”

“I know that.” She told me. “But I can be sorry nonetheless. You have obviously been through a lot and you have lost a great deal. I am sorry for that loss.”

She chuckled gently, “Another part of your human language that is lacking. Just as there is more than one kind of love, there is more than one kind of Sorry.”

“I suppose.”

“Are you going to be ok?”

I took a deep breath. “I will be.”

“Go and kick that Witcher of yours out of bed and do some training. That always makes you feel better.”

“No it doesn't.” I protested. “It makes me feel sore.”

“Precisely my point.”

I laughed, there didn't seem much else to do.

“I will see you tomorrow,” she told me, “and seriously, warn folk would you? I don't want to have to kill half the soldiers of Kaer Trolde just to see you.”

“I will.”

“But call for me, if you get down on yourself.”

“I will do that too.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Fortunately for my well-being, things started to get interesting that day.

The day started slowly, I remember that much, as it would seem that the party lasted long into the night and indeed, well into the following morning. There were even a few people that were propped up in the corner of the hall that had not bothered going to bed. They were doing that thing that folk do when they have come to sobriety from the other direction. They were talking very slowly and grunting rather than actually speaking. They were being brought hearty food but in small portions. Sandwiches full of pork and apple sauce. Cups of strong tea with plenty of honey and milk in them. It wasn't that they were being treated with any kind of pity. But more.... It was as though people were kind of understanding of their plight.

Helfdan was waiting at what was now his table. He was sketching on a large animal skin that had obviously been scraped clean for precisely this purpose. He and Svein were there, hunched over the skin and discussing things with an animated kind of attention. Hands flying everywhere, jerky body movements and things of that nature. Svein was eating and drinking as they worked while Helfdan was there with a cup of Skelligan tea that was plainly congealing, and a sandwich which was going cold until Svein stole it off his master. I was pleased to see that Svein was looking much more in her usual humour as he grinned and teased everyone involved. Including me. We made small talk largely while Helfdan worked before he leant back and held up his animal skin to the light and examining it in detail. Then he nodded, rolled the skin up and tucked inside his jerkin.

“What are we working on?” I asked Svein.

“Designs for a new type of ship.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. His Lordship has some....ideas.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not so you'd notice. But....”

“Come on Svein. Spit it out.”

“Well, it's huge.”

“Is that bad?”

“Look, I'm not a ship-wright. I'm a sailor so I don't know much about building ships. And don't get me wrong, when he sails it out into the harbour or wherever he sends it, I will be there, sailing it along with him but I will be making sure that there are plenty of other, smaller ships on the water that will be there to rescue us from the wreck if you know what I mean.”

“Not really.”

“Look, Ship's are built to that size so that they don't capsize and that they can cut through the water quickly. We are Skelligan, we like to be light on the water and move quickly. It's the only way that we can compete with the larger, more lumbering ships of the continent right?”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“But his Lordship has come up with ideas that mean that, in theory, mean that we wouldn't have to trade speed for punch. It's a big ship, it would be able to carry more warriors and yes, in theory, it would be light on it's feet. But that lightness would come at a cost which would mean that we would be vulnerable to waves, a decent impact would splinter us and if we took a wave the wrong way then...”

He shook his head.

“I mean, he's never led me wrong yet so we'll see. But I can't see any kind of ship-wright agreeing to build that. And then if they did, getting the materials to build it would be tricky and if we managed all of that, then we would never find enough crew to fill it.”

“It sounds like a long term project.”

“It is, and I think he knows that. He wants to bring some of the ideas he's had forward though and use them on his new ship. Then one that he's going to order when the Harbour wakes up from it's hangover in the next few days.” Svein began to look excited. “Some of those ideas I am particularly looking forward to trying out. He thinks he has an idea for a small, ship carried ballistae. We've never been able to do that before because the stresses involved would tear the ship apart. You continental folk manage it because your ships are larger and more lumbering. But if we could do that?”

Svein's military mind glittered hungrily behind his eyes.

“He also thinks he has a way of making the ships narrower, therefore faster, without sacrificing stability. And other ways of strengthening the hulls and things.” He danced a little jig. “Oooohhhhh, I can't wait.”

“So what else are we doing today? Anything?”

“I dunno. 'is Lordship is being cryptic.”

“Oh?” I directed the question at Helfdan.

“We are waiting.” He told me. He was scanning the room. Watching people arrive and get more things to eat as they went. Lords, crews and merchants were arriving in bits and pieces.

“What are we waiting for?”

“The right people.” Helfdan told me.

“See?” Svein asked me, sourly. “He's being cryptic.”

The feast hall was filling up. I was in the process of feeling my heckles rising. I like to think it's the same kind of instinct that Kerrass has when he's near a monster. That kind of moment where he looks around, the pupils of his eyes contract and he stares around himself, reaching for his medallion. I like to think that it's like that.

The truth is far different.

But those instincts that were the focus of a good chunk of my upbringing that have since been honed to a surprising amount by my time on the road with Kerrass, were firing off and warning me that there were some games afoot. I also found myself looking around and noticing things.

“What's happening?” I muttered to myself.

The guardsmen around the entrances were armed. This is not unusual but I got the feeling that these men were a little bit more alert than they would normally be at these kinds of things. They were also being a little bit stricter at confiscating weapons and having them stacked at the back of the hall. I didn't think that they were being unusual about it but...

They weren't joking around. During the other moments in the past, the weapons were still being stacked at the back, but where before there had been a certain amount of joking around as to folk trying to sneak in weapons. When I had first come here, such an act was almost treated as a kind of game with joking, fun and traded insults. This was still there, but there seemed to be a bit of an edge to the humour. It had become sharp and jarring. There were narrowed eyes and thin lips afterwards before the guard would protest that they were just doing their duty. Then as I saw one particularly harsh exchange before a man reluctantly gave up an unpleasant looking Seax (Freddie's note:a short, single bladed knife. Often with a jagged edge. Occasionally used in the wilder parts of Kaedwen as well) on of the better dressed guards went over to the guard in question, the two had a brief exchange and the better dressed, presumably superior ranked, guards looked over at the man who was now bitching to his companions about the state of guarding on the doors of Clan An Craite, and nodded before moving off.

My weapons were in my rooms, as were Kerrass' swords. The most we had between us were our eating knives. Helfdan could have probably gotten away with carrying a weapon given his position as a Hersir of Clan An Craite but he had chosen not to. Leaving that to the Huscarls as was kind of proper.

“Svein?” I wondered.

“Mmm?”

“What normally happens after the Skeleton Ship has left Kaer Trolde harbour?”

Kerrass looked up at me sharply. If his mantra is to give the work to a professional, then the work he leaves to me is anything involving politics and courtrooms. He occasionally asks my advice when addressing nobles. He's fairly good at things when it comes to etiquette and heraldry but he often finds it useful to be slightly out of synch with those kinds of things. But he had caught the tone in my voice and I watched him draw a small vial from his pocket which he drank quickly. Disguising the motion with taking a bite from his own breakfast. He brightened instantly, with the effects of his hangover vanishing from his eyes as he himself started to look around with more interest.

Sometimes I hate Kerrass for some of these smaller advantages that he has. The ability to drink a small potion and therefore banish the effects of a hangover is something that I envy, but I had a sudden feeling that he might need that and was grateful.

“Oh, normally there's a party.” Svein told me. “It's gonna take a good week for the ice to thaw and there's not a great deal we can do otherwise. So generally, it's a case of drinking, dancing, games and tournaments. There'll be some athletic things going on, some competitions. There's often a Gwent tournament, a Dice tournament. Arm wrestling, actual wrestling, ice skating, all the things.”

“Huh.”

I was looking around again.

“Why?” Svein asked.

“Stay close to me Svein.” Helfdan muttered, otherwise appearing unconcerned.

There were still four warriors with us, survivors from the Wave-Serpent and they reacted to the change of atmosphere.

“I want you all to know.” Helfdan said quietly. “That I apologise for keeping some things from you. But I'm told that secrecy was essential.”

Svein made a dismissive gesture before making a few signals. He stood at Helfdan's back while the other four warriors arranged themselves around the table.

“Scribbler, you sit here” Svein gestured. “Witcher, between Helfdan and the rest of the room please.”Kerrass shuffled over.

Svein sat next to me. “Tell me what you see,” he told me.

“The guards are taking the weapon gather more seriously.” I told him. “Not unusual in so many people but weapons are a mark of status and normally Skelligans don't care as much.”

“No-one will spill blood in a mead hall unless pushed to the absolute extreme.” Svein agreed.

“It's the equivalent of removing dress swords on the continent. Only done when they're making extreme pronouncements or if someone or something really important is going to happen. They don't want violence to break out.”

Svein looked around.

“I know about people approaching and jumping out at Helfdan when he isn't watching.” He said. “What else am I looking for? Courtly wise I mean.”

“This is Skellige.” I told him. “Who is drinking and who isn't? Where are they standing?”

Svein nodded. “I also know battlefields and I know how to protect Helfdan from a dagger in the ribs in this kind of place. What am I missing?”

“Uhhh.” I looked around again. “Who's that?” I asked without gesturing. “Standing by the pillar with a tankard in his hand. Green tunic, braided black beard.”

“That's Snorri of the An Craite household. Good man, good fighter. Eyes like a hawk. Why?”

“He hasn't taken a proper drink from that tankard yet. He's just wetting his lips. Also, that woman in the dark purple, over near the window, long dark braids, laughing at that warrior's jokes as though she's flirting with him. But she's not looking at him. Who's that?”

“That's... I don't know which.... Oh. That's Kalina. She's a former shieldmaiden of Clan An Craite. She's the husband of one of Hjalmar's cousins.”

“So she's not a shieldmaiden any more?”

“No. Why?”

“Why's she watching the room?”

“And why is she armed?” Kerrass asked quietly. Damn his Witcher hearing. “As is the other man that Freddie is talking about.”

“What?”

“Stiffness in the arms. They've both got weapons up their sleeves.” Kerrass told us.

“Damn me, I didn't see that.”

“That's because you trust them right?” I told him. It would not have occurred to you that they would attack Helfdan.”

“No. Insult? Maybe, but not attack.”

“That's why you didn't notice. But this is a court now. How many other men and women that you trust are stood and sat around the room, not really drinking or taking part, just watching. Also, isn't the court a little full for this type of thing?”

Svein looked around. “An Craite warriors are spread throughout the hall.”

“Individuals or in clumps.”

“Individuals, what's the significance?”

“When have you ever been at a party where people stand by themselves. Friends stand in clumps and cliques.”

“Curse me for a fool. I should have seen that.” Svein berated himself.

“That is not what you do Svein.” Helfdan told him suddenly. “You treat everything like a battlefield. That is good and it is what I pay you for, rather than your use of flowery language.”

One of the other warriors chuckled quietly and I smiled myself at the memory of the merchant. Helfdan had just made a joke.

Will wonders never cease.

“But the Scribbler is right. This is not a battlefield, it can be which is why you are here, but it is not. It is a courtroom and is therefore far more complicated.”

“I am sorry Lord, I feel that I have failed you.”

“You have not.” Helfdan told him firmly. “The Battlefield is your territory, just as the monster lair is the territory of the Witcher. This is the territory of men like the Scribbler. And I.”

Svein nodded unhappily. “Are you sure I can't persuade you to stay on Scribbler. I suddenly feel a lack in our company.”

“I....”

“Hush now.” Helfdan was looking at the door that led to the Queen and the Jarl's chambers. “Be ready.”

“For what?” Svein grumbled.

The doors opened and the Jarls came out. They looked relatively jovial all things considered. There was little formality about the entire thing, Jarls Donar and Udlaryk came out together chatting about something. They looked to be deep in the middle of some kind of conversation, the kind of thing that can be left, picked up again and discussed. Neither man had strain lines around their eyes, nor were they frowning so I guessed that it was some kind of discussion on the basis of something important but not really urgent.

Jarl Throst came out next, he was frowning as he strode over to where his own people were gathered in the hall. His eyes were down and he didn't really seem to be inviting conversation.

He was followed by the most jovial looking of the lot. Jarl Holger, the black hand, the black heart. Feared pirate of the seas was positively grinning from ear to ear. When he saw me he positively crowed with delight.

“Scribbler.” He exclaimed, seizing my hand as I rose to greet him before shaking it vigorously. “I meant what I said. Freedom from my ships. Your family is free from Clan Dimun for as long as I live. Longer too if I can manage it, but then the clan will pass to my son and I can promise nothing.”

“Thank you Jarl Holger. As I say, my sister will be delighted.”

“She will will she? Delighted enough to marry one of my sons. I have too many you see and I could do with....”

“Probably not that delighted Lord Jarl.”

“Shame, shame. They're much more charming than me though, prettier too.”

“Even so. Her tastes don't run that way.”

“I see. I had heard that but was wondering if she might have changed her mind. Joking Scribbler, Joking.”

“Not a very good joke.” I told him, trying to calm myself down.

“Maybe not. But still, taste is not a matter to it. She can marry him and then ignore him for all I care. He's good for little other than hunting and sailing anyway. She can pack him off and then go off and run the company how she likes. And fuck who she likes too.”

“Lord Holger.” I said as gravely as I could. He was being appalling, but his good mood was so obvious and a little infectious. “I sense that you are trying to provoke me so that you have a new excuse to take back your promise about leaving our family ships alone. It will not work.”

“Curses, foiled by the continental lord that's better at this than I am.” He shouted theatrically. “But I shall keep my word. Even pirates have honour.” He grinned evilly. “Sometimes.”

He was interrupted by Jarl Ingimund coming into the hall. He was red faced and plainly angry about something. I had to work at not just dismissing his mood given that he always seemed to be angry. It's through this kind of oversight in courtrooms that people can get things past you. Not that I thought that Ingimund was clever enough to build up a reputation of always being angry in order to slip something past people but, out of such assumptions, people can lose their lives.

That is not a joke, or an exaggeration.

Jarl Ingimund glanced around the room, scowled rather indiscriminately as if to suggest that the entire world is out to get him and that he, in turn, hates the entire world back as a matter of principle. He stalked over to where the majority of his clan were gathered.

It might have been my imagination, or my unconscious bias that left me thinking that the crowd of Clan Tuirseach sailors and warriors became more subdued when their Jarl arrived. I thought I saw faces fall and men fall silent. Compared with the faces of Jarl Holger's men who jeered, insulted and laughed at their lord as he arrived. Good naturedly to be sure but that they felt free to do so, compared to the subdued nature of Clan Tuirseach when their lord sat back down at the table.... I thought that that was pronounced.

Ciri came next, closely followed by Queen Cerys and her brother.

Ciri went and stood near where Lord Voorhis and other members of the Imperial Delegation were standing. It was a little jarring if I'm being honest. I had become used to Ciri the woman, the warrior, ship-mate and friend and now she was back to being Empress. There were still traces of the warrior though. She was wearing a fur lined version of her high-collared riding coat ensemble, only it was black rather than the dark blue that she had favoured in Toussaint. Underneath the coat she had a dark jacket with a wide, wine red sash. White trousers tucked into fur lined boots and her hair was tied up into the arrangement that my sister had taught her all that time ago. She was frowning, only slightly but her eyes were glittering. She was amused by something I thought.

“Why's she over there instead of at our table?” Svein wondered.

“She's distancing herself from us.” I told him.

“Why?”

“She has to be the Empress again. Or that she knows something we don't.”

“The sheer knowledge that that woman knows, that we don't, could stun a fiend in it's tracks.” Kerrass commented.

“Silence.” Helfdan told us.

Queen Cerys emerged as he spoke, escorted by her brother and I looked at them closely.

All I'm going to say on the matter was this. Queen Cerys is a much better actor and courtier than her brother is. They both smiled at the assembly and raised their hands to accept the cheering that accompanied their entrance, or possibly more accurately, accompanied the Queen's entrance.

But the smiles never reached their eyes. Their eyes were concentrating, there was too much thought going on behind those eyes to be able to smile properly and spontaneously.

A proper smile is an involuntary action that is accompanied by an extreme of positive emotion. All other smiles are calculating in nature and when that is the case, if you know what you are looking for, you can always, always tell the difference. Neither Hjalmar nor Cerys were smiling.

They were putting on a show. Hjalmar walked in the room and split off from his sister to go and stand with the men that crew his own ship. He scanned the room, nodding to prominent people and smiling to them, exchanging greetings as he went.

The only table that he didn't look at was ours.

Not much of a thing really except for the fact that when he had walked in. It had been our table that his eyes had sought out in the room, noticeably and minutely relaxing when he saw that we were all there.

Queen Cerys is better at this than her brother is. I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been looking for it. Not really. There was just a small delay to her smiles, waves and exchanged greetings. And in contrast to her brother. She was checking on our table more often than she was anyone else. Helfdan was looking at the floor though, but I rather thought that the Queen tried to make eye contact with him.

The Queen raised her hands for silence. When that didn't work in this, post Skeleton Ship, party atmosphere, she laughed and gestured to the guards that flanked the throne who clashed their weapons against their shields for attention.

Silence came slowly. The party was not feigned. People were just beginning to allow themselves think that the Skeleton Ship might have gone for good. That, for the first time in living memory, men had stood on the deck of the Skeleton Ship and exchanged words with the people that crewed that ship. That one was a Witcher, another was a Skelligan, a third was a man of the North and the fourth was the Empress of Nilfgaard. The Skelligans are a poetic people and folk were debating the symbolism of this, what it meant and what it could mean for the future. There were shouts, cheers and laughter.

More than a little bit of that good will was directed at the Queen herself. It was under her rule that the Skeleton Ship had finally been dismissed and dealt with for ever. So when she stood up and asked for quiet, someone started cheering. And the cheering would not die down.

The Queen laughed with it good-naturedly and waved it all off. She laughed and joked with it all, but again, I was looking at her eyes and thought I could see a hardness there. Maybe just a hint of tightness around the eyes.

She held her hands up to cut down on the cheering before turning her face and posture into one of teasing annoyance.

“I SAID SHUT UP.” She roared into the hall. Thus proving that it wasn't just her brother that had a set of lungs in that family. From a distant place I had an appreciation for her technique, properly supported, shouting from the belly rather than with the throat. Good posture....

The crowd laughed and started to settle down. We were all standing, some folk shifting for position, Svein's attention started to move around as people moved towards the front, looking around for threats to his master while, oddly, looking more comfortable as the courtroom shifted to something that he was more comfortable with.

“Thank you, thank you.” The Queen began before being forced to laugh as someone from the back of the hall started a chant of “Long Live the Queen” and before too much time had passed, the hall thundered with the sounds of affirmation.

The chant gave me time to look around and see some of the other people that were taking part. Hjalmar was.... It was almost like he was a double for Svein. Now that the focus of the room had moved away from him and what he was doing, he was looking around the room for threats. His smile, as well as his enjoyment of what was happening at the time had become less animated and therefore, more obviously, a mask.

Periodically, he was looking at Helfdan.

Then he would realise what he was doing and look away.

I mentioned this to Svein who nodded in the middle of his scanning of the room before his gaze was dragged back to me as he frowned in thought. Then a kind of resigned, dawning horror crossed his face.

“What's he done?” Svein moaned before resuming his scanning of the hall.

I looked. Hjallmar was looking backwards and forwards between the Jarls who were all standing with their clans. Following the thinking I looked at the Jarls and tried to guess what they were thinking about what was happening in the feasting hall.

Holger and Throst could be dismissed almost out of hand I thought. Both of them were plainly has happy as they could be with the outcome of the various events and as a result, Holger was plainly leading his men in the cheering of the Queen. Jarl Throst was fighting being caught up in the mood of the hall. He was trying to be the image of the stern and careful Jarl, exerting his authority, but it was also clear that he had everything that he had wanted out of things and periodically, you could see the beginnings of a boyish grin begin to cross his face before he schooled his features into a proper expression.

I also dismissed Jarl Udalryk. I knew that he had been against the dismissal of the Skeleton Ship because of the moral question regarding what to do with Lennox, but he is also rather obviously a Queen's man. He was plainly beaming with pleasure at the glory that his Queen was receiving.

Donar looked tense. Not nervous, but tense. He was sat, rubbing his hands together in front of his mouth, watching the dais and....

I tracked his gaze.

He was watching Clan Tuirseach.

“Fuck.” I muttered.

Jarl Ingimund was drinking. He was in among his men, ignoring the cheering around him and was downing what I guessed to be his third tankard of ale. Certainly enough that the Ale dripped from the end of his chin. He glowered around himself and wherever his gaze fell, his men stopped cheering. His own crew of older men of Clan Tuirseach were not cheering although they were not alone in that. Others were not cheering either, not because they disagreed necessarily, but more because they were being glared at by Ingimund.

“Svein,” I reached behind me, tugging on his tunic in order to hide the gesture in the crowd.

“You have something for me?” He muttered in my ear through the cheering.

“Clan Tuirseach. Beware Clan Tuirseach.”

I felt him shift, I knew him well enough to guess that he was going to be nodding. “If I can't have you.” He wondered, “Can you train someone to...”

“Helfdan can do it as well as I....”

“Yes, but he doesn't always tell me everything and....”

“Be Quiet.” Helfdan said firmly. “The Queen is speaking.”

“Thank you.” Cerys finally managed to get some mastery of the hall. “Thank you. The Skeleton Ship, has passed.”

It had the weight of a formal declaration. A phrase with the weight of history and tradition behind it. A sign that something was over. A time of hardship had passed and now there would be a time of partying. The crowd certainly cheered as though that was the case. The Queen held her hand up again and the crowd died down.

“And...” She paused for effect. She was good at this. Everything about her suggested that she was enjoying herself. Living the dream and enjoying one of the few positive aspects of living with a crown. The moment of festival and declaration. “And it has passed for the last time.”

I winced at the noise.

But the enjoyment was the mask, her tone of voice was a lie.

It is not unusual to have a sense of watching theatre in a courtroom. I have talked about this before so I won't go over it again. But there was something being played out again. There was a different taste to it here and I didn't know whether that was because of it taking place on the islands, rather than in the continent.

But emotion is the same.

The Queen was tense.

I had a feeling of watching an execution taking place. The axe had not yet fallen but that same sense of inevitability was in the air.

I looked at the Queen, then I looked at Hjalmar who was swapping his gaze from Helfdan, to Clan Tuirseach and back again. He occasionally glanced at his sister. But then he would look back at Helfdan.

Then I looked at Jarl Donar and his steady, quiet gaze levelled at Ingimund.

Then I looked at Ingimund's red face as he was well into his fourth tankard of ale in such a short period of time. He was growling at some of his seconds with an animated fury.

“I know what's happening.” I said.

I have no idea whether or not anyone heard me.

“NEVER LET IT BE SAID.” The Queen bellowed over the noise. Her words trained to carry over battlefields and thunderclouds. “Never again let it be said.” She started again when the noise died down. “That the time of heroes is past.”

The crowd roared.

“Never let it be said that there are no heroes in Skellige. Never let it be said that great deeds cannot be achieved and that the people of Skellige are lessened. Because we here, in this hall and on this island. We have seen a thing that many, including me, thought would never be seen. A thing that has not be seen since our Grandfathers times. Since the time of settling. Since the time of the founding of the clans.

“Man and woman have stood on the deck of the Skeleton Ship.”

The crowd erupted.

“This is the time of heroes.” The Queen roared. I say roared because the word “Screamed” does not seem appropriate. “This is the time of heroes where we have finally. FINALLY found a way to banish that scourge from our waters. This is the time of heroes because not only has the Skeleton Ship passed. But the Skeleton Ship will NEVER RETURN AGAIN.”

She laughed as the crowd cheered. There was joy in that laughter although I felt that she almost had to reach for it. As though it was uncomfortable in some way. She even looked as though she gave in to the joy with a little girlish dance as she spun in place, waving her arms in the air and the crowd laughed with her.

My sense of the axe about to fall deepened.

“Traditionally,” The Queen continued when the noise began to die down. “This is a time for celebration and mourning and this time will be no different.” A few people started to cheer at this again, but Cerys held her hand up and I noticed that there was a shift in the room. This time, the room obeyed the gesture. I tried to see what the difference was between her previous gestures and this one but I couldn't quite see it. But something had changed.

“This time will be no different.” A sadness crept into her voice. “We have lost much and many since the last time that the Skeleton Ship passed through the harbour . But now that the ship has passed, we should remember all those that came before and all those that have died in the cold that the Skeleton Ship brings with it. Just as we celebrate that no-one will die in that awful freeze again.”

There was lots of nodding, shouts of agreement and men pounded their hands on tables, feet on the floor and fists on their chests.

“That is not something I wish us to lose.” The Queen went on. “When the thaw is over I will discuss with the other Jarls as to how we can continue to mourn and remember those that have been lost at sea. We would not lose an opportunity to mourn those that have passed and those lives need to be celebrated as well. So after the ice has thawed, I will speak with the druids and the Skalds and see what is best.”

There was more nodding and sounds of agreement.

“I have one more thing to say.” She said to a few good natured jeers. The Queen laughed again, “Do not worry, I will soon let you return to your drinking.”

There was a more ironic cheer.

“So there is this. And I will keep it quick.” Another cheer. “It has come to my mind and the judgement of my council that the empty seat at the council of Jarls has been empty for too long.”

The Crowd gasped.

Svein tugged on my shoulder. “Is this what you were...?”

“No.” I told him. “There is something...”

“Quiet.” Helfdan said a little more forcefully.

“I cannot, I will not, restore Clan Drummond to it's former holdings. Their treachery is too great and I can not restore a clan who so foully betrayed the islands when we were under attack from forces both foreign and supernatural.”

There was more sounds of approval. A bit sterner in their feel.

“But there is much land in the South of Ard Skellig. The fastness of Kaer Muire and the harbour of Holmstein are too important to leave empty. And we cannot surrender that watch. We need a new clan.”

The hall was alive. This was real news.

“So on the morrow, we will announce a series of tests.” The Queen went on. “Tests that will be set by the Skalds and druids in order to choose a Jarl who will be charged with the formation of this new clan. So all should attend this hall in the morning because the new Jarl could be here in this hall even now.”

There was more muttering.

Helfdan took a breath and braced himself against the table.

Hjalmar was watching Helfdan and I realised that the two men were maintaining eye contact.

“And with that...” The Queen began, “I have nothing more to say today and I charge you to eat, drink and....”

As she spoke, Hjalmar nodded.

“Hold.” Helfdan stood, his voice that commanded crews in storms was harsh against the Queen's voice and I wondered if he did that deliberately.

The Queen stopped talking instantly and I became certain that she knew that the interruption was coming. Despite her expression of outrage.

“I have something to ask.” Helfdan declared into the silence. “It is right that we should celebrate and it is right that we should mourn the fallen. But my loss still wounds me deeply and I cannot properly molurn their deaths or celebrate their lives until those fallen men have justice.”

The crowd came back slowly. At first, they resented the intrusion. They were angry that their celebrations had been cut short by this uppity Lord. They had remembered that they didn't like Helfdan and his weird eccentricities. They remembered that his quiet competence made them look like arrogant, boastful fools. But now Helfdan was saying things to which they could relate.

“What do I tell the widows of my fallen men?” Helfdan's voice was still harsh. “What do I say to the children and parents that have lost men? My warriors were not killed by the Skeleton Ship and those families will not be satisfied to know that the Ship will not come again.”

“Your men were killed at the hands of Nilfgaardian pirates and Ice Giants.” Shouted a voice. I rather thought that the voice came from the Tuirseach side of the room. I saw more than one face of Clan Tuirseach twist in disgust though.

“And so the trap closes.” I said.

I do not know who shouted that prompt. I still do not and although I spent a futile few hours over the following days trying to find out who it was that had called out that accusation, I found no answer that satisfied me.

On the surface of the matter, the shouted protest was from a Tuirseach warrior who saw the way that this was going, just as I had, and had sought to head things off before they got out of hand. And as this all happened in Skellige, I would like to think that this was the case. That a passionate man made a comment without thinking.

On the continent though, it would have been something else. A line like that, shouted across a courtroom anonymously from a group of people. A line that set up an easy response from the main player? That would have been someone in the know. Someone who knew the intended result and wanted to prompt the correct response.

It was like a soldier at war stepping into the sight of the enemy archers because he could no longer tolerate life at war. And if you think that you wouldn't do that, or that people who do such things are cowardly, then you have never truly been to war.

But on the continent, that would have been shouted by a man, sent to shout it. To hide amongst the enemy faction who then shouts the inflammatory remark in order to provoke the coming confrontation.

Helfdan saw the target and he swung for it with all of his might. And he struck it square in the centre too.

“No.” He protested, “No they didn't. When a man is pushed off a cliff, is he angry at the rocks that will tear his body apart? My men were betrayed. BETRAYED. And I would like to know what is being down about that. Where is their blood price. Where is their Justice?”

“Sit down Helfdan.” Hjalmar snapped angrily. “The Nilfgaardians are being turned over to our Justice, Captain Rymer is serving his penance and Finnvald's lands and titles are forfeit while he waits for his execution.”

But again, the anger in Hjalmar's voice did not reach his eyes.

Theatre. Politics is theatre. The decisions are made behind closed doors and the results of such things are decided before the first speech, before the first gesture is made.

Hjalmar was leading Helfdan though things. I also got my first hint about how things would go in the future too. He was making the protests that would come from others in advance so that he could be seen to be protesting, to ensure that what comes next would not be seen as a political gesture.

“I WILL NOT SIT DOWN.” Helfdan roared. There was emotion in his voice and it almost seemed close to cracking. “I will not sit down while the criminals and traitors that arranged their deaths remain free and clear.”

He chose his words very carefully, despite the appearance of temper. This was the first time that the word “Traitors” had been used in the court and I was not the only person that reacted to it being used.

“The Wave-Serpent was on a mission for the Queen.” Helfdan went on. “We were escorting dignitaries around the islands for them to fulfil their own missions. One of those dignitaries was among the highest on the continent and we were attacked, looked for and thwarted. That we weren't destroyed is not down to luck either. It was down to skill, determination and the strong arms of good men who never wanted to do anything other than serve Skellige and serve the crown.

“Every single one of you.” Helfdan turned and pointed at the hall. “Every single one of you that have just cheered the final passage of the Skeleton Ship, every single one of you that have cheered our standing on the back of the Skeleton Ship.... How dare you? How dare you? How dare you do that and not demand justice for the fallen. For the murdered victims of lesser people. I am not the hero here. They are. And every person who sailed with me, including those that stood on the back of the Skeleton Ship will agree, I am sure.”

Ciri looked down at her feet. I wondered how much of this she was involved in. Kerrass was the same as he ever was and I'm told that I looked suitably disappointed and stern. I can't answer for that. I was definitely disappointed as I rather hoped that Skellige was above such political machinations, as for stern? I rather think that people mistook my being thoughtful for being stern.

The crowd had come back. They had forgotten about the human cost of what had been done and now that they were reminded of that, they reacted with the guilt and the shame of that forgetting. I saw many heads being hung and men looking at each other. Helfdan had them in his hands.

“I demand justice for those fallen men.” Helfdan turned back to the dais, his voice calmer and more formal. “I demand justice as their Lord and their Captain. I demand justice on behalf of those wives who have lost husbands and those children that have lost fathers. For I am their lord too.”

“What would you have us do Helfdan?” The Queen asked. “As my Brother says, Rymer is serving his penance, Finnvald is awaiting his execution and the Nilfgaardians are offering up their own justice.”

“But all of those factors came from a source, Majesty. What is happening to that?”

The Queen frowned slightly. Slightly but with enough emphasis that even the people at the back of the hall could see the gesture.

“Captain Rymer is a good sailor and a man of honour. But even he himself admitted that he was sailing with mercenaries that he couldn't afford and that he did so under orders. When we took him alive, his oath was that he return here and tell you everything about who his paymaster was, who hired those mercenaries and who ordered him to seek us out. I see that he is here, so he at least fulfilled that part of his oath, meaning that I have no reason to believe he did not fulfil the other part of his thralldom. What did he tell you Majesty?”

The Queen stiffened.

“Captain Finnvald,” Helfdan was relentless. “Captain Finnvald also had things to say about who sent him, what was he promised, how did he come to tell those lies about me and mine. What was his motivation?”

The crowd was beginning to get angry as well and most, if not all, were on Helfdan's side. I do not know who wrote and directed this play, but whoever it was was masterful.

“And who told the Nilfgaardians where to look for us?” Helfdan went on. “We were home. Literally home when they came for us, and the only way they could do that was by being in exactly the right spot to intercept us. Otherwise I could have just sailed around them. They had to be guided to that spot and told when we were coming which means that we were seen and watched for. “There was no way we could be seen from anywhere other than the top of Kaer Trolde keep for the Nilfgaardians to have enough time to see us and intercept us where we would not be instantly reinforced by An Craite sailors. So someone had to have seen us from the tower and passed words to the Nilfgaardian sailors as to what direction we were coming from. Those same Nilfgaardians that murdered my ship and my crew. Who did that Your Majesty because you can't claim that you didn't...”