Chapter Ninety-Nine: Heroic Epic, Return of the Dragon Heir

Bracing himself against the malicious, unfriendly stares fixed upon him, the young man forced himself to meet Keira's gaze until the herald's clear voice rang out: "Now let us welcome from Belhaven, east of Serricania, Master Victor Corleone. He began his study of music at the age of four, and has come today to bring us greetings from the other side of the Blue Mountains, along with an immortal epic ballad..."

The young man had given this introduction to the Lily Knight Roderick to deliver. By establishing his image before taking the stage, he would have ample room to maneuver—after all, selling a persona was far easier than selling talent.

In terms of meter and rhyme, the young man's poetry might not fully align with local aesthetics, but under the banner of exotic charm, everything would be forgiven. All he needed was to tell a complete story.

Adjusting his breathing, Victor stepped gracefully onto the stage. His plain attire and unremarkable appearance, compared to Dandelion's flamboyance, sent the audience's expectations plummeting instantly. Had this been a marketplace rather than a royal court, there might well have been jeers.

He noticed Foltest tilting his head to converse with Mayor Velerad—perhaps inquiring about him. No matter; all doubts were irrelevant before the lute in his hands.

He plucked the strings, and silver notes shattered like a vase striking the floor. The sorceress crossed her arms; the king closed his eyes. The young man's voice, clear and bright, suddenly swept everyone in the pure white hall into his world, drawing them into a tale told with warmth and grace.

"Our hero, our hero, he has the heart of a warrior..." He began with a low chant, singing of the hero's origin.

"I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn shall return..." The hero of the poet's tale was called the "Dragonborn."

This opening perfectly matched the impression held by all west of the Blue Mountains—that the people of Serricania were dragon worshipers. And when the poet mentioned the black dragon Alduin, a few simple words brought its ferocious, clawing menace vividly to life.

In his song, in the far-off east, an evil black dragon led its brood in an attempt to devour the world. Only the fearless warrior, the "Dragonborn," answering the prophecy of the Elder Scrolls, could slay dragons, absorb their souls, and unleash the "Dragon Shout" to stand against the great beasts.

This notion of killing a dragon to gain its power differed from local magical knowledge but carried its own charm, and the novel premise easily won the audience's affection.

As the poet's singing voice gradually faded, the lute's melody grew ever more urgent—the prelude to the coming climax.

Then the people heard him cry out with all his might, the ancient prayer of the first peoples:

"Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin
He swears by honor, never to let evil return
Hearing his triumphant roar, even the fiercest foes flee in terror
Dragonborn! We pray for your blessing"

The resonant, desolate song carried a grandeur of spirit.

Unconsciously, the king shifted his posture to sit more comfortably, and Keira uncrossed her arms, her fingertips lightly tapping against her thigh in time with the rhythm.

When the ballad finally ended, the hall fell utterly silent—because the bard's performance had far exceeded their expectations.

The tale of the Dragonborn "Dovahkiin" was indeed a magnificent heroic epic, worthy of song and remembrance, and Victor's voice struck straight at the heart.

Everyone knew it was good, so everyone waited for the noblest person present to render judgment.

The silence lasted about a minute. Then Foltest, King of Temeria, the Conqueror of Cities, opened his eyes and gestured for the bard to approach.

Victor noticed that when the king made this motion, none of his protectors raised any objection. This meant they had absolute confidence that even if the poet were an assassin, they could block the attack in time.

He stepped forward until he stood before Foltest. The king looked him up and down, then spoke with the voice of a monarch: "A moving tale, a splendid rendition. Temeria welcomes you."

Then he lightly clapped his hands twice. The signal brought thunderous applause from the entire hall.

The young man, having received such praise, bowed deeply at precisely the right angle to express his gratitude, and as he retreated, he faintly heard the king say to Mayor Velerad: "Quite good. A most pleasing poem."

He slipped quietly back to his place, exchanging a glance of mission accomplished with Dandelion. Both of their duties for the night were done.

Then the White Hall began the second great spectacle following "The King's Arrival"—"The King's Departure."

As he left, a refined smile still graced his face, so Mayor Velerad and Princess Adda—everyone, in fact—was pleased.

Victor couldn't help scanning the crowd for Keira's presence. She had been undermining him all night; his boast was surely aimed at her. If she truly loved poetry, she couldn't deny the brilliance of his performance.

But he didn't see the sorceress. Only Roderick giving him a thumbs-up.

After the king's departure, the banquet grew free and relaxed, returning to its pre-ceremony state. Those who wished to leave could do so. Setting aside his desire to show off, the young man counted himself among those who wished to leave.

Noticing that the bard had vanished sometime without his knowing, Victor guessed Dandelion was off displaying his charm among some noble ladies' circle. He couldn't be bothered to go looking for him, so he walked out of the hall on his own, passed through the corridor, and stepped into the garden.

After turning a few corners, a gentle feminine voice called out to him. "Victor, why didn't you come find me? Had Dandelion not told me, I wouldn't even have known you were in Vizima. Am I not a friend of Kaer Morhen?"

Victor started, stopped, and turned abruptly. The silvery light of the full moon poured over her like water. Standing before him was the red-haired sorceress—Triss Merigold.

...

Not long after... Victor and Triss sat on a bench in the garden, maintaining a proper distance between friends.

"So Angoulême travels with you now. Then you should have come to me sooner. Arranging a house for you in the trade quarter is easy enough for me." As she spoke, Triss's green eyes fixed on Victor, just as Lambert had said—she always looked at you when she spoke.

"To be honest, at first it never occurred to me. I knew Angoulême knew you and Dandelion, but even so, showing up at your door so abruptly would have been too forward—like a stranger claiming to be distant family out of nowhere." The young man's analogy took Triss a moment to grasp, but once she turned it over in her mind, she understood his meaning.

"You're young, don't weigh your thoughts so heavily. This kind of care is nothing." The sorceress extended a finger and gently tapped the young man's forehead. "Bring Angoulême along in a few days. Let's meet and talk properly. If you have any difficulties in Vizima, you can always come to me."

No sooner had she spoken than the voice that had been undermining him all night rang out.

"Oho! 'Any difficulties, always come to me'? Well, well—the fearless Merigold indeed. Found yourself a new witcher as a collector's piece this quickly? Not even sparing the apprentice?" The voice of the young man's most familiar saboteur of the evening sounded.

Triss's expression darkened. She rose with dignity and faced the speaker.

"Keira! I thought you'd already chosen your bedmate for the night and started enjoying yourself. I didn't expect you to still be here. Do you need me to prepare a pregnancy potion for you?" Triss's counterattack was equally sharp.

Victor followed her off the bench and deeply felt that he should not be here—he should be six feet under.

Because the two sorceresses, completely ignoring his existence, began exchanging insults in quite unseemly language—words that would make any well-bred lady blush.

In short, each accused the other of being a wanton.

Keira mocked Triss for getting over her heartbreak with Geralt so quickly and sampling a new witcher, while Triss shot back that it was better than being with anyone who happened to catch her fancy.