Castoff: The Greater Good (ch. 15) (Patreon)

"Do you want it?" Guts asked, his hand twitching to grab Dragonslayer and just start swinging. Something heavy sat on his chest and shoulders, weighing him down. Crushing him. Grinding his bones into dust as he saw the past repeat itself before his very eyes. It wasn't a one to one. Ciri wasn't a bastard, and she was a woman, but beyond that it was like he was seeing it all over again. An ashen haired person reaching out to the crown, claiming that a utopia would be built by their hand.

Ciri had retreated to the rooftop to gather her thoughts, Philippa leaving as soon as she arrived to deliver the message to Triss. Guts was left reeling from it. He tried to shove it down, but his thoughts spiraled -- The Eclipse. Griffith's betrayal. All of it.

Ciri was seated on the edge of the building, glancing over her shoulder at him. She didn't seem surprised to see him. And not only because the roof groaned underneath his and Dragonslayer's combined weight. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, uncertainty shining in her eyes before she released a huge heaving sigh. "I don't know," Ciri confessed. "Philippa isn't as clever as she thinks. She called Djstrka a fool for wanting to do the exact same thing she said I could do. As far as manipulation goes, it's not her finest bit of work."

At least she wasn't blinded by greed, Guts decided. Still, it wasn't an outright no. He wanted an outright no. He had no right to ask for one -- Ciri wasn't Griffith. But, at the same time, never in his worst nightmares could he have imagined that Griffith would have done what he did. He wanted her to say no because it would prove to him that she wasn't like Griffith -Ambition wrapped in good intentions to make the bitter pill easier to swallow.

"But," Ciri continued, gazing out at the city from their vantage. There were a few trails of smoke as fire burnt down a house where the rioting got out of control. "She also isn't wrong. Nilfgaard gutted the upper nobility in the North as their opening move for the invasion. Radovid was one of the last true born kings. I'm a princess without a nation, but the nobility are a bunch of idiots. They'll listen because of my blood claim. We rebuff the Nilfgaardians, then we have the prestige to support my claim. Honestly, it's really sad how easy it would be. Kind of feels like cheating with you, though."

She wasn't going to get any disagreement from him that the blue bloods were a bunch of self serving idiots. They valued their blood because without it, they were worthless. Having a noble lineage just gave you opportunities but those that were born surrounded by opportunities never understood their value.

"Do you want it?" Guts repeated, his tone harsh to his own ears. That earned Ciri's attention, making her turn around to face him. He could see it on her face that she suspected what his issue was. He never told anyone about what happened that night. Not even Skull Knight, even if he had seen the end of it. Casca was the only one that could possibly understand, but she was insane. Seeing her again made the truth spill out from his lips in a flood, and now Guts wasn't sure if he regretted that or not.

Ciri worked her jaw for a moment, uncertain. Guts did believe that she was torn about the decision. "I don't, but I think I should," Ciri uttered after a moment, meeting his gaze. "I don't want to be Queen of anything. I want to just be a Witcher, walking the Path. As I have been. But… on the Path, there's a lot of shit, Guts. Tragedy and neglect. People dying because the people that were supposed to protect them decided that they didn't care enough to. And I think I'm arrogant enough to think that I could change that."

Guts closed his eyes, even the words sounding familiar to him. It was the same dream that got him swept up in the Band of the Hawk. Guts never cared about what the dream meant for the world. Not in the slightest. If Griffith's dream had been to destroy the world, then Guts would have led the charge. The only thing that mattered to him then was that it was Griffith's dream.

He clenched his jaw, "You can't change people, Ciri." He replied gruffly, doing what he wished he had done years ago. The what ifs that plagued him. Zodd's prophecy still rang in his ears, but was there truly no way that he could have averted the Eclipse? Was it always bound to happen? If he challenged Griffith instead of blindingly following his dream… if he never left… "No matter what or how many crowns you have, people are always going to find ways to be lazy fucks. They will always skirt their obligations and find ways to avert your gaze. It's human nature."

Ciri nodded slowly, seemingly a bit sad at that. "I don't think you're wrong either. I'm not a little girl, Guts. I know how the world works. But… I've also seen what the world can become," Ciri argued, looking away from him. "I've been to hundreds of Spheres to escape the Wild Hunt. This Sphere and yours, I reckon, are similar but there are countless ones that are different. In one, I arrived at a city that had buildings taller than if you stacked every structure  in Novigrad on top of one another. In another, luxury was so common that even the most destitute of beggars would look on our kings and emperors and weep at their wretched lives."

Ciri took in a breath and turned her attention to the sky above. "In another sphere, man had conquered the stars above. Or mastered nature to the point that planets were treated like gardens that could be shaped and tended to be exactly what the gardener wants. I've seen Spheres where things such as hunger, disease, even war are forgotten concepts. I've seen them, Guts. With my own two eyes. They're not an impossible dream that have no basis in reality. They're real. And this Sphere could become like them."

The utopia.

"Easy to say. Harder to do," Guts argued, earning a nod from Ciri.

"Probably. But just because it's hard, doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for it," Ciri retorted.

"And what are you going to sacrifice for that utopia?" Guts bite the words out, drawing Ciri's attention back to him. His hands twitched for Dragonslayer. It was right in front of him. He could see Griffith -- that same festering dream that cost Guts everything.

"Myself," Ciri didn't hesitate to answer, stopping Guts in his tracks. "I don't want the crown, Guts. It's just selfish of me to not take it. Even if I can't make a perfect world, even if nothing I do actually works, I know that I can improve lives. I could bring technology and knowledge from other more advanced Spheres and implement them in this one. As a queen, I wouldn't need to bend to the whims of the nobility. Clean water, medicine against diseases, farming techniques and materials to increase harvest yields so no one needs to go hungry… I know I can do that much. And I have the opportunity. If I don't… if I choose to not do it… isn't that the same thing as letting people starve? Letting them die of disease?"

Guts closed his eyes, hearing Ciri's guilt at the mere thought of it. "Not even close."

"Really? If you had the chance to stop Griffith, knowing what he would do, and you chose to do nothing-" Ciri started, cutting herself off when Guts' eyes snapped open. "No. Sorry. That wasn't right of me. I'm sorry, Guts," Ciri heaved out a sigh, burying her face in her hands.

Guts looked at her for a moment, seeing how the decision weighed heavily on her. The anger that churned in his chest began to settle at the sight. A fear that he had since he first heard the offer was quelled by it. Because, for all of their similarities… "Griffith chose to sacrifice all of us for his ambition," Guts told her, making Ciri look at him. "I'm sure he wanted the utopia -- the same one you're talking about -- but what mattered to him was that he was the one that lead it's creation. He wasn't doing it for the sake of the people. He was doing it for himself and his ego -- it would be proof that he was a greater leader and king than the nobility that he despised."

Griffith was selfish, all the way down to his core. Everything he did was for the sake of his own ambitions. Even if something good came out of it, Guts knew that it was a byproduct of Griffith's selfishness and ego.

And that's where he and Ciri differed.

"I don't really know if you're right or wrong. I never bothered to keep track of that stuff," Guts admitted. In his experience, the greater good was just a convenient excuse for people to make sacrifices. A cheap justification to do something that the one making the decision already wanted to do. "I do think you'd hate being queen, though."

To that, Ciri grunted in agreement. "I would. I hated being a princess too. Snuck out of the castle every chance I got to play knucklebones with urchins. I'd have gone right mad if I was stuck inside learning etiquette lessons all day. I'm going to hate it. I just think I would regret it more if I didn't do it. There's so much shit on the Path… and there was always this thought, 'If I was still a princess of Cintra, then this wouldn't be happening.' I was probably dead wrong, but… I want to make a difference, Guts. And I know I can make a bigger impact as a Queen or Empress or whatever than I could as a nameless Witcher."

She sounded miserable about it. A sigh heaved out of her, "What about you? What do you think?" He cocked an eyebrow in response, and she rolled her eyes. "Come off it. You're a friend, Guts. And this whole plan hinges on you soloing an army."

A friend? He was silent for a long minute, considering that word. What it meant to him because that word was the one that changed everything. After he assassinated that duke and stumbled across Griffith and the princess talking… he wanted to be Griffith's friend, and that meant standing as his equal. He left the Band of the Hawk as soon as the war ended in pursuit of finding his own dream.

He never did find it. Even now, what he desired was vengeance.

Ciri looked increasingly nervous at his long silence. She wasn't Griffith. Friends…. He didn't think he would find any more of those. "I don't really care about the North or Nilfgaard. Their fates mean nothing to me. I owe you and Triss, so whatever you want is what I'll do," He told Ciri, and her flat expression told him that she was less than impressed with his answer. He swallowed a sigh, "Aren't you the princess of Nilfgaard too? Why bother defending the North at all?"

To that, her lips thinned. "My father gutted the nobility before his invasion, so, in theory at least, I would have a lot easier time restructuring the North than I would Nilfgaard. And… I know my father. He does love me, in his own weird and obsessed way. Even if I unite the North against him, I don't think he would change my place as his heir. So, in theory, I could unite Nilfgaard and the North through peaceful means. More or less creating world peace." World peace?

The idea was an odd one. What would a world at peace even look like?

Still, Guts was starting to see why the decision was weighing so heavily on her. He didn't care all that much about the world. The greater good, the lesser evils -- they didn't mean a damn thing to him and they never had. Death stalked the land in the forms of war, famine, and the supernatural. Some deaths were regrettable, but at the end of the day, dying is what people did. Life had no special value to him.

It did to Ciri, though.

"You sure about that?" Guts asked, not knowing much but that did sound like one hell of an inheritance.

Ciri shrugged, "As sure as I can be without getting it in writing. Even if my father does agree, it doesn't mean the nobility will. Nothing might come of it, but something could. Well? A copper for your thoughts?"

"Don't think they're worth that much. Do whatever you think you would regret the least," Guts offered the little advice he could. He knew a thing or two about regrets. There were days when they seemed to weigh him down as much as Dragonslayer did. Guts didn't think that Ciri would be happy as queen, but if she carried fewer regrets walking that path, then that was worth more than happiness.

Ciri let out a sigh, as if she had been afraid of that answer. Telling Guts that she already knew what she wanted to do and hoped that he would talk her out of it. "It's a moot point for now, anyway. First, we have to get Yen back and find a lead on a Djinn," she decided, putting the decision off. Guts knew what she was doing, but chose not to comment in favor of giving a serious nod in agreement.

The Djinn. A wish granting creature. It really was nothing short of the height of irony that that was their best bet curing Casca's madness. Ciri told him what the risks were -- Djinns were renowned for twisting the wishes of those that captured them in a way that usually ended with the wisher dead. That was a cold comfort to Guts. Especially when he saw first hand how terribly such wishes could go when they were made to the Godhand.

It was dangerous. And no wish came without a cost. There would be a price to pay, no matter how cleverly worded the wish was. All he could do was ensure that Casca wasn't the one that paid that price.

He swallowed his thoughts, pushing away his doubts. It was a lead on bringing Casca back from the confines of her own mind. Guts wasn't under the delusion that he was anything less than desperate to have her back.

"We know she's in Nilfgaard, but that's about it," Guts pointed out. He didn't even know how big Nilfgaard was.

To that, Ciri smirked. "My father wouldn't dare take his eyes off of Yen. Even if he does have her under guard, he would know that she'd slip out from underneath his thumb and run rings around him the moment he did." She said the words with pride before trailing off in a grimace, realizing that would make things more complicated. "So, she's likely in Vizima with him. The old capital of Temeria. Good news there is that I've been there before, so it shouldn't be any issue taking us there. Getting out is going to be an issue."

Ciri bit her lip, looking out at the city to see that the riot was still ongoing. And it likely would until they had a reason to stop or they burned themselves out. He could see that was weighing heavily on her out of a misplaced sense of guilt. If it was anyone's fault, it was their own. Or his, Guts supposed. Though, he didn't put much stock in that. He wasn't responsible for their reactions to their king dying or the massacre of the Witch Hunters. If someone was to blame for the damage, then it was the fools that were doing the damage.

A sigh escaped her, "Are you ready?" Ciri asked, earning a curt nod from him in response. "Alright. Here we go…" Ciri said, reaching out and placing a hand in his prosthetic arm.

Then they moved. Guts felt a pull, almost similar to what he felt when a horse went from stationary to a full gallop. His vision was washed with white, but when he blinked it away, he found himself standing in a completely different city. Smaller, for one. And parts of it currently weren't on fire. The buildings were of the same general make, telling Guts that construction methods didn't change a great deal across the North. However, the differences were still present.

Novigrad and Oxenfurt looked old. Weathered. The street would have cracked stones with weeds springing up between them, the paint on buildings might be faded or whitewash would be stained. Old junk and odds and ends gathered up in back alleys or corners of the streets, left there because  no one bothered to remove it. None of that could be seen in Vizima. The opposite, really.

Everything seemed to be freshly painted, and the green that could be seen throughout the city was well-maintained. Guts could see a couple of elves and dwarves that were actively replacing the roads -- either removing the broken stone or paving over the dirt roads. The people themselves seemed to be the average peasants, but Guts did note that their clothing did seem a little finer, though that could just be because of a different styling. In short, compared to Novigrad, it was a large step up.

“It’s to prevent rebellion,” Ciri remarked, sensing his thoughts as they looked down at the city from atop of the walls that surrounded it. “No one really cares whose arse sits on the throne, but everyone notices when things become better or worse -- after an invasion, things are always bound to be worse. So, give people roads. Have kind and benevolent commanders in charge of territories. So on and so on. Those that lost are still going to be angry, but those that didn’t lose anything? They’ll just see how things are better under Nilfgaard's rule.”

She shook he head in frustration, “Then those that like the way things are will turn on those that are angry. Turn them in. Kill them themselves, even. I’ve seen both.”

“Clever,” Guts summarized his thoughts on it. Ciri was a princess. A Witcher. She cared about people.

Guts could tell that wasn’t what she wanted to hear -- she didn’t want to hear a single redeeming thing about Nilfgaard, as far as he could tell. Or complete agreement that they were scum of the earth. If they were or weren’t didn’t matter. If their goal was to conquer the world, then they found a way to do it and minimize rebellions. If he was still a mercenary, then he would have joined them. The North might have paid more, but Nilfgaard seemed to be the winning side.

Instead, he inclined his head to the castle that was hidden by another set of walls, standing at the very top of a hill that overlooked the city. As far as castles went, it would be a tough nut to crack. Not impossible, just costly. “Don’t suppose you know where she would be?” Guts questioned, his gaze flickering over it. It wasn’t a question of how they were going to get in. Ciri’s ability was incredibly useful for that. From a purely tactical standpoint, he got why the Wild Hunt wanted her.

It would be incredibly convenient to appear at the heart of a castle with an army. It was also part of the reason, Guts imagined, her father wanted her back.

Her lips thinned at that. “She could be in the dungeon,” Ciri muttered darkly, a tone that promised blood would be shed if that were the case. “We should start there,” she continued, also sounding like she thought it was likely. “We just have to find her. Once we do, we can get back to Novigrad in a blink of an eye.”

Guts reached up to the hilt of Dragonslayer, but she shook her head. “Best not. At least not at the start. I don’t want to give my father a chance to react and do something to her. There’s a good chance that the reason he has her is to set a trap for me.” Her jaw clenched as her hands curled into fists.

“Then lets take your father hostage. He’s here too, right?” Guts questioned, catching Ciri by surprise. “It’d be worth doing anyway. Nothing causes disorder in the chain of command quite like cutting off the head of the snake,” he added and he saw that Ciri hadn't even considered it. That told Guts that Ciri had tunnel vision. She just wanted to free Yennefer, get in and get out, without ever having to confront her father.

"That'd be one way to do it," Ciri agreed. "Suppose it comes down to whoever we find first. Let's head in," Ciri said, reaching out and teleporting them again. Guts felt the same pull in his gut, and his vision went white.

This time when he opened his eyes, he found himself standing inside of a hallway. The air was perfumed, carrying a sweet scent. The floor and walls seemed to be made with marble, paintings hanging off of the walls and Guts heard the faint sounds of music reaching them. Guts glanced over his shoulder to see that there was no one behind or in front of them. He glanced at Ciri, who set off in one direction. He followed behind her, heading to a door that she opened with a shove.

Standing on the other end of the door were guards, Guts noticed. Ciri strode right past them, barely giving them so much as a glance. Guts did as he stepped past them, seeing them look at him and Ciri before looking straight ahead. They didn't move to stop them.

"They're not going to assume we just teleported inside. They don't have any reason to be suspicious. So don't give them any," Ciri remarked to him as he followed her through the castle, speaking in a low voice once they were some distance away. Guts felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb, but true to Ciri's word, even as they passed by guards or servants, they hardly gave them a glance before moving on. "It's rude for servants to look their 'betters' in the face. It's an offense that's worth a caning in Nilfgaard." Her tone told him she found that disagreeable.

Ciri came to an abrupt stop at one of the hallways, however. Her attention snapped in one direction and she pivoted on a heel to approach a door. "I smell gooseberries," Ciri muttered, though Guts couldn't smell anything other than perfume. With little hesitation, she pushed the door open, entering an extravagant room that was larger than most peasant buildings. Guts entered, noting that it wasn't that dissimilar to Triss' apartment, but the amount of clutter wasn't as bad, possibly because three of Triss' apartment could have fit in the room.

His gaze was drawn to a painting that leaned against the wall. A painting of an ashen haired girl that was half buried in a frilly dress while wearing an expression that told the world exactly how unhappy she was with it. "Is that you?" Guts questioned, catching Ciri off guard.

"Ah. That. Yeah, it's me -- it was meant to be my portrait for Radovid way back when we were engaged. Wouldn't smile for the world. My grandmother thought it was so funny she kept the original and sent another with a fake smile to Redania," Ciri admitted, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "This is Yennefer's room. It has to be. Much better than a cell in the dungeon," Ciri remarked.  "We just need to-"

Almost before the door had even closed, it was thrown open and a woman stepped through it. Guts looked at her, just as her eyes locked into him. She had deep violet eyes, raven black hair, and a black and white dress. More pressingly, however, was the magical fire that was costing a hand as she scowled at him. "Fool, you-" she started, and Guts supposed she had some magical trap that alerted her whenever entered uninvited.

However, the words died in Yennefer's throat when her gaze slid to Ciri. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. The scowl fell away and, for a split second, Guts saw the expression of a mother that saw her child returning home after a long campaign. "Ciri!"

"You look well," Ciri started, only for Yennefer to sweep across the room and grab Ciri in a hug, squeezing with all of her might. It was a moment of pure relief.

And one that was bound to be ruined by a second set of footsteps.

"Cirilla," a male voice interjected, making Yennefer and Ciri break the hug. He was a man in his forties to early fifties from the look of it, dressed in finery with his hair pushed back. His expression was as neutral as his tone as he entered the room.

Ciri's expression tightened. "Father," she replied in a curt tone.

Guts turned his attention to Emhyr. The Emperor of Nilfgaard. The emperor paid him no mind as he entered the room, "We have much to discuss-" he started, but whatever he was going to say was cut off when Guts' slugged him in the chin. He dropped to the floor with a grunt while Ciri sputtered.

Good. He didn't kill him this time.

"Come on," Guts said, grabbing Emhyr by the scruff of his neck and dragging him over to Ciri and Yennefer, who gaped at him while Ciri was burying her face into her palms. He wasn't sure why. Wasn't like this wasn't the plan in the first place.

"Let's go back to Novigrad," Guts urged, holding out his prosthetic for Ciri to touch.

Back to Casca.

"Fine… but seriously Guts, please stop punching royalty, would you?!"