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1255
Harry's POV:
When Harry casually strolled into this particular dingy, smoke-filled inn, in this particular non-descript, forgettable little village, he never, in a million years, expected to see a highly visible, instantly recognizable splash of ashen-white hair at one of the corner tables. His heart gave a sudden, hopeful lurch.
A familiar, bulky, muscular form accompanied the splash of ashen hair, however, a form that was far too broad-shouldered and… well, male, to be who he had first, for a fleeting, delirious moment, confused it to be.
It also wouldn't make any logical sense if it was her, as his Ciri should still be a mere toddler at this point in the timeline, barely able to walk, let alone frequenting shady taverns.
But his second, more rational thought, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, seemed to be the correct one. Geralt of Rivia.
He walked over to the table and saw that Geralt, the infamous Witcher, had three companions with him.
Two strikingly beautiful, exotically dressed women, and a rather distinguished, though somewhat oddly dressed, man who sat in the middle of them, directly across from Geralt.
"Evening, Geralt," Harry said cheerfully, pulling up a spare stool. "My, it's been quite some time since we last saw each other, hasn't it? When was it exactly…. the castle, with the Calanthe business? Oh, no, that's right, it was in that chilly cave, with the rather unfortunate contract." Harry said to the surprised-looking Witcher.
He had forgotten for a brief second that Geralt hadn't actually known that Harry had been present, albeit invisibly, that chaotic night in Cintra, when Geralt had been summoned to "drive away" Ciri's father, Duny, by Queen Calanthe's rather forceful command. That had been a most amusing, and highly informative, night to observe.
"Harry…" Geralt said, his golden, cat-like eyes widening slightly in genuine surprise. "What in the blazes are you doing here? In a place like this?"
"Oh, you know me, Geralt," Harry said with a casual, easygoing shrug. "I just sort of… pop in and out of places. Wherever the wind, or my fancy, takes me." He sat down next to the Witcher, as there wasn't really any room on the other side of the rather crowded table.
"Uh-huh," Geralt grunted, his expression still laced with suspicion. "So, you just happened to be traveling into this exact same tiny, middle-of-nowhere town as me, at this exact same time? No other reason at all?"
Harry looked at him with a single, perfectly arched eyebrow. "Geralt, my friend," Harry asked, his tone a mixture of semi-serious bewilderment and semi-joking amusement, "what possible thing do you honestly think I could possibly need yourhelp with? Me?"
Geralt actually looked like he was seriously considering that question for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "Hmm. I suppose… nothing, then," he finally conceded, a hint of a reluctant smile playing on his lips.
"Exactly," Harry said with a satisfied nod. "So, are you going to introduce me to your rather intriguing friends here? I haven't met anyone new in ages, it feels like." Harry said with a friendly smile as he looked across the table at the unknown man and his two silent, watchful female companions.
"That's Borch Three Jackdaws," Geralt said, with a short, curt nod at the distinguished-looking man. "And his two companions are Téa and Véa." He indicated each of the women with another brief nod, so Harry could tell the difference between the two, who looked remarkably, almost unnervingly, similar.
"A pleasure to meet you all," Harry said to them, his smile genuine and welcoming. "My name is Harry." It didn't escape his notice, not for a second, that the man, Borch, smelled faintly, but unmistakably, of brimstone and ancient magic… he smelled of a dragon. And Harry, of all people, would certainly know that scent.
"A pleasure to meet you as well, Harry," Borch said, his own smile polite and intelligent, as he deftly poured some dark, foaming ale into a spare, slightly chipped cup and handed it to Harry. Harry took it gratefully.
"Oh, please, do continue with your discussion," Harry said, taking a tentative sip of the ale. It was surprisingly good, rich and malty. "Don't let me interrupt. I happen to have quite the… fascination with the creatures myself."
Geralt snorted quietly into his own drink at that massive understatement, a sound Harry pointedly ignored.
"Well, to be specific, my dear Harry," Borch said, his eyes twinkling with interest, "we were just discussing the rather fascinating topic of Golden Dragons. And whether they could perhaps be mere myths, legends spun by fanciful storytellers, or perhaps, as Geralt here suggests, some sort of rare, undocumented mutants of the common dragon species."
"And again," Geralt interjected, his voice a low grumble, "if they were mutants, then they have most likely died out by now. Such unique variations rarely last long in the wild."
"Well," Harry said, setting his cup down with a soft thud, "you're both wrong."
"Oh?" Borch asked, leaning forward slightly, a curious, almost eager look on his face. "So you believe in them then, Harry? You think Golden Dragons are real?"
"Of course, they're real," Harry said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Beautiful creatures, they are. And insanely, incredibly smart too. Wiser than most humans I've met, that's for sure." He took another appreciative swig of his drink. This ale really was quite good.
"You've… you've met one?" Borch asked, his voice now laced with open surprise, his companions, Téa and Véa, also looking at Harry with newfound, intense interest.
"Met is perhaps too strong a word," Harry clarified. "I… observed him, for a while. From a safe distance, of course. He seemed like a pleasant enough sort, for a dragon. Just sort of… flew around, minding his own business, ate things mostly large game, thankfully in a certain rather remote mountain range he inhabited. He tended to avoid people, humans especially, and went to quite extraordinary lengths to do so. I almost missed him entirely when I first caught a glimpse of him, a flash of gold against the sun." Harry said to them, his voice taking on a slightly wistful, reminiscent tone.
The three new people at the table, Borch, Téa, and Véa, seemed to be hanging on his every word.
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If you want to read ahead by 15+ chapters from her you can visit my Patre-on.
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