There's a Mirror On the Wall

Today I am again working on one of my larger ongoing projects, and decided that fuck attempting to use colors that are properly heraldic, I would like not to have a migraine because the red is eye searing and the more so when combined with the blue.

On the other hand, now that I've adjusted that, I'm getting through adding visual identifier tags to the awakened elves that I will then use - with arbitrary rules that I have in mind concerning how parts of those tags are inherited - to essentially trace down the maternal and paternal lines. Because I can. And because eventually I'm going to also do individual sets of family trees that trace a specific elf's descendents.

(Let us not actually discuss the non-elven contributions to this mess. Maiar are weird, humans get out of hand fast, and just. I will worry about them after I finish the rest of this. Especially considering one particular avari cannot keep it in his pants. Because I make rude gestures at LaCE. Elves can too have more than one spouse, the Valar just don't like it and have fits about it from time to time.)

Anyway.

My HLH story is in, and now it's waiting until the stories go live, and seeing what everyone wrote and what people think of mine and just. *bounces happily* I'm pleased with what I wrote. And looking forward to seeing what was written for me.

I am still hacking away at bracketed sections of In Familia Imperatoris, and trying to decide if I want to post it all as one story, or post it as a series. (If anyone wants to see this in progress, ping me on discord - morgynleri#9655.) I've got three more bracketed sections before the first major timeskip, of which one may just be deleted because it might actually be to a good place to do a short timeskip. The other two need more work.

Because at least I have story words to post, even if I don't have the spoons for my journal entry.

Until it lets me go again, it'll be In Familia Imperatoris. Today, Geralt and Emhyr.

---

"Pavetta was distressed to hear you'd been imprisoned." A pen scratches across parchment, and soon after the dripping of wax and the warm smell of it tells Geralt of something signed and sealed.

"Hmm." Geralt knows Pavetta had to be aware of the risk that he'd not come back from delivering the note she'd asked him to take to Calanthe.

"Yes, she was aware of the possibility. She did not appreciate being proved correct to worry." A quiet click of the pen being set aside, and further rustling of parchment. "Even if you were the one most likely to be left in one piece."

Geralt opens his eyes to a lazy slit when he hears Emhyr's camp chair creak, watching as he comes out from behind the desk to settle instead on one of the stools near the tub. "My sister's writ is fulfilled, though I will never hear the end of it."

"Calanthe didn't surrender." He knows that. Even given the news of Pavetta's survival, of Cirilla being alive, her pride had been unbowed, her fury as bright and sharp and dangerous as it had been when she'd tried to stop Emhyr from marrying Pavetta.

"She retreated to Skellige with three quarters the population of her city, and as much of her army as survived being a rear guard for that evacuation."

More of In Familia Imperatoris. Pavetta and Geralt being quietly adorable.

---

"They agreed to everything." Geralt settles against the bench in the garden where Pavetta is currently laying, staring up at the fading colors of the sunset. He is quiet a moment before he snorts. "They said to think of the loans as a gift, and not to be concerned about repaying them now."

Pavetta lets out a quiet laugh, amusement and satisfaction both in the sound. "They'll be repaid, and with all the interest they could desire. We only needed a little breathing room until Nazair is back on its feet."

"I was covered in whatever is in the sewers other than those drowners." Geralt grins when Pavetta lets out another laugh. "I don't think they wanted to be in the room for longer than they had to in order to get the business concluded."

"Good." She rolls onto her side, reaching out to run her fingers through the still‒damp strands of his hair. "Thank you for meeting with the trade corporations."

Geralt tilts his head back, leaning into her touch. "It's something I'm good at, and something to be of use." He doesn't like that there's so little for a Witcher this far south, but at the same time, he hesitates to go back out on the path. To risk revealing the deception that the Imperial family had inflicted on Cintra and the North. Even if he still isn't sure it was the right thing to do.