9 White Orchard Inn

The Witchers and Mikael have arrived at the inn, and they are now tying the horses to the stable provided by the inn in front. As Vesemir dismounted his horse, he saw the guards that had been stationed around the village. They were wearing full plate black armor, with a symbol of a yellow sun in the middle of the chestplate. In other words, Nilfgaardians, or as the nordlings like to call them, the Black Ones.

Vesemir frowned as he saw the soldier, and stated. "Nilfgaardians…. We should not attract attention here."

"Agreed." hummed Geralt. "Let's go inside."

The Witchers then walked to the inn slowly, opening the door. Mikael however, stayed beside the horse for a while, as the boy appeared again, beside him this time.

"Hatred is everywhere…" the boy's voice echoed inside Mikael's mind. "Be it justified or not, it exists. You will see that when you enter the inn."

"Witchers hated here?" Mikael spoke in his mind.

"They are hated because they are different." answered the boy. "But you… you have my gift… people are drawn to you, whether they like it or not, whether you like it or not."

"That's… unsettling…" murmured Mikael. The boy then disappeared into thin air again, turning into golden dust, and Mikael entered the inn.

As he entered the inn, pushing the door with his only arm, he was met with the stares of the locals, they had a look of judgment, but as soon as they saw Mikael's missing arm, they turned to their tables once again.

Mikael raised his eyebrow, it really is uncomfortable being stared at. They're drunk, and drunkenness brew trouble, as Vesemir said, they shouldn't make much noise around here.

A man then grabbed the inkeep roughly as she passed through him, bringing others their drink. He stared at the woman, frowning as he did so.

"What?" questioned the innkeeper nervously.

The man pointed at the coat of arms beside the bar, it was a blue coat of arms, with three lilies. "Take that down, or it'll bring trouble."

Another man then elbowed the man. "That is the coat of arms, the Temerian lilies! They've a right to hang there!"

"This ain't Temeria no more," said the man calmly, grim in his eyes. "It's Nilfgaard now."

Geralt and Vesemir were looking at the event, waiting in front of the bar as the innkeeper walked to them. She grabbed the coat of arms beside her bar, and took it down.

"Beg of Pardon for those thugs." said the innkeeper as she walked behind the bar. "Folks're jumpy around here, an army of black ones just passed, raiding villages around here."

"It's fine," said Geralt. "It's you who's to worry about, these folks seem to think this is still Temeria."

The inkeep nodded. "True… not only the black ones, there's also a Griffin prowlin' around 'ere… people are scared..."

"The Griffin's dead." Geralt stated. "Killed it on the way here."

"Really?" said the inkeep, surprised at the news.

"Yeah, it attacked your kinsman, Bram." said Geralt. "But we took care of it."

"Bram? How is he?"

"Alive." answered Vesemir. "Albeit barely…"

"Master witchers, food and drinks in the house." smiled the inkeep. "What can I do for you?"

Geralt hummed, and sat on the bar. "Looking for someone. A woman, black hair, medium height, and… smelled like Lilac and Gooseberries…"

"Haven't seen a woman like that… or smelled…" chuckled the inkeep awkwardly. "If a woman like that entered my inn, trust me, I'll know."

"Yeah, this woman's not easy to forget." chuckled Vesemir.

"Plenty of travelers, about." continued the inkeep. "Might've seen the woman, worth your whole to ask around."

"Will do." nodded Geralt. "Oh, and bring a couple of rye to our table."

The inkeep smiled. "Coming right up."

"Also, do you know where I can claim the bounty of the Griffin?" questioned Geralt.

"There ain't anyone that is willing to pay you here… master witchers… we're already poor as it is…" she said. "But… I suppose those black ones might be able to… who knows, maybe they'll know the woman you're looking for."

Geralt hummed at the answer. "I'll check it out, thanks."

The group then walked towards a table in the corner of the room. They sat down, away from the others' prying eyes.

"So where do you want to go now?" questioned Mikael curiously.

"I'll talk to the Nilfgaardian outside," he said. "Might be worth a try."

Vesemir hummed. "Just be careful. Dealing with them isn't exactly the safest thing."

"I know," he said. "Been there."

The innkeeper then quickly brought three mugs of Rye to the table, Geralt gave her a couple of Orens, and she walked to the bar again.

"Try it." said Vesemir to Mikael. "It cools down your body."

Mikael hummed, and took a sip from the mug.

"So, want to tell us what happened with the Griffin?" questioned Geralt, drinking from the mug.

"Like I said… don't really know…" answered Mikael. "I just… knew… like I've been doing that for a long time…"

"Maybe you're a soldier before you lost your memories." stated Vesemir. "A good one too. Never seen anybody move like that."

"Yeah… but ordinary soldiers can't pierce a Griffin's skin so easily…" added Geralt.

"True… maybe you're something else?"

"I don't know…" murmured Mikael. "I'll just see for myself when you find the sorceress."

Geralt hummed. He then stood up, drinking the rest of his rye quickly. "Then I better get going. The sun's about to set."

"I'll be here." stated Vesemir. "Need to… clean this wound…"

"Right, you do that," said Geralt.

"What about me?" ask Mikael.

"You look around too, might get something from the locals," said Geralt. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow."

—

Mikael was walking towards a table. A man with a black doublet was sitting on it, along with a couple of locals, playing some game cards. The locals scurried along as they looked like they lost the game, so Mikael sat down in their places, facing the man.

"Got a minute?" questioned Mikael to the man.

The man looked at Mikael, and nodded. "Why not. Aldert Geert, assistant professor in contemporary history at Oxenfurt academy."

"An intellectual I see…" hummed Mikael. "Name's Mikael. Pardon me for asking, but why come here?"

"Ah, it involves something that I'm trying to write about." he said. "I'm writing about war."

"War?"

"I had hoped that this catalog would be my magnum opus as a scholar. So, I departed from Oxenfurt to the frontlines."

"Isn't that… a bit dangerous?" said Mikael.

"Nonsense, I'm just a simple scholar, no soldiers would hurt me."

"Okay… anyways, have you seen a woman… black hair, black clothing, violet eyes I heard…"

The man chuckled. "If you're talking about the horseman of war, she doesn't exist. Just a fairy tale of the locals."

"No, no, like… a woman…. Not a ghost…"

"Then I'm sorry, friend. I haven't seen anyone like that around here."

"Well that's a pity…" murmured Mikael. "Anyway, thank you for your time."

Mikael then stood up, but then, he was stopped by the man once again.

"Err… would you have a game of Gwent with me?"

Mikael raised his eyebrow. "Gwent? What's that?"

"You don't know Gwent? Preposterous!" exclaimed the man. "Here, sit down, I will give you a starting deck, and I will teach you how to play."

"Okay… don't know if I'm good at it though…"

Mikael then sat down once again, playing the Gwent card with his only hand.

—

"How are you this good?!" Aldert grumbled as he dropped his cards to the table.

"Hey… this game's quite easy…" murmured Mikael. "You want to play again?"

"No!" protested Aldert. "No, I will not play again, get out of my table!"

"Alright, fine." Mikael shrugged as he stood up from the table. "You're the one who asked me to play…"

Mikael walked away from the table. He looked outside, and saw that the sky was already dark. Mikael sighed, and walked towards Vesemir once again.

"You doing alright?" questioned Mikael to the old man.

"I'm fine," he said. "How about you? Your missing right arm fine?"

"The wound won't dry for some reason." shrugged Mikael. "I mean… the blood's clotting, so that's good, but it makes it smell…"

"Let me see…" he said, making Mikael open his bandaged missing right arm. Vesemir examined the wound, and hummed.

"Yeah… you should give it spirit," he said. "If it won't dry, at least make it smell nice."

"Okay… got any spirit?"

"Here." he said, putting a bottle of green spirit on the table. "Use some cloth, there's one in the bag."

Mikael hummed. "Thanks old man…"

Mikael took the bottle, and walked to another corner of the place, trying to find some time alone.

As he sat, and started to clean his wound with a cloth and spirit, the boy appeared again, sitting in front of him this time.

"Every being has imperfection." his voice echoed in Mikael's mind. "With you… your arm missing, just like her. In time, your wound will turn dull gold, rotted."

"Thanks for warning me." snarled Mikael sarcastically in his mind. "Would you tell me your name now? Seems weird talking to you, while I don't even know your name."

"Miquella," he said. "Miquella of the Haligtree."

"Miquella huh…" murmured Mikael. "Great name."

"I was cursed to be forever young," he continued. "Trapped within a juvenile body, unable to age, nor grow."

"That's sad…" Mikael commented. "So… why are you here?"

"To fulfill a promise," he answered.

"To who?"

"To her."

"Who's 'her'?"

Miquella was silent.

"Okay… then, why am I here?" Mikael asked.

"The same reason as me," he answered. "To fulfill a promise."

"But I don't know anything… I have no memories, Miquella." he said. "How am I supposed to do this, if I don't know anything about this… world I'm living in right now? Do I even have a family? Or like Geralt, a lover?"

"You have family," he said lightly. "You have me… you have her…"

"Again with 'her'..." sighed Mikael. "Okay, if you won't tell me anything, tell me about this world, do you know anything?"

"A world with many creatures," he said. "A world where most of the inhabitants are pests… trespassers… invasive… just like us."

"Us huh…" murmured Mikael. "Miquella. Tell me, do I even have a past to remember?"

"A past…" Miquella went into deep thought. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps?"

Miquella, once again, turned silent.

Mikael sighed, and continued to clean his wound.

—

In the morning, Geralt had finished what he had to do, he had known where Yennefer was, and right now, he's getting back to the inn, to Vesemir and Mikael.

As he opened the door, he saw the stares of the locals, sneering and spitting at him as he passed through the tables.

He stood in front of Vesemir, Mikael nowhere to be found near him.

"Where's Mikael?" he questioned.

"Outside, taking a piss." answered Vesemir. He looked cautious, making Geralt frown.

Geralt sat down, and said. "Yen's in Vizima, got a few friends there, so…"

He then noticed Vesemir's careful attitude. "Something wrong?"

"Look around," he said. "Trouble brewing."

Geralt turned around, only to see locals staring at them rather hatefully.

"Drunk." said Geralt. "We should get out of here."

"Agreed, I'll just need to stock up on supplies." Vesemir then stood up, walking towards the bartender.

Mikael then entered the inn once more, looked satisfied with himself, and sat in front of Geralt. "Done with your business?" questioned Mikael.

"She's in Vizima, we're going there." answered Geralt.

"I… don't know where that is…" murmured Mikael. "But okay, I'll follow you."

Then, a shouting match suddenly happened. The inkeep's head was suddenly slammed to the bar multiple times by a drunk woman, shouting that she should be grateful or something, but then, Vesemir interrupted, making the woman push him away.

Geralt and Mikael stood up, and the other locals stood up as well.

The locals approached them, and Vesemir stepped up. "Recognize this medallion? You know what this means, back off."

Geralt walked towards the inkeep, and asked. "You alright?"

The inkeep ignored him, and Geralt just shrugged.

"They say Witchers steal young'uns!" shouted a local. "What'd the emperor promise you freaks? Your own land? Like what he did to the elves once?!"

"Whoa, calm down friends." interrupted Mikael. "Let's not lose ourselves here."

"This is none of your business cripple…" said the man. "I suggest you move away."

"Hey, they're my friends." continued Mikael. "Can we not, right now? You're all drunk, look at the innkeeper, she's scared, won't get a drink anymore if you make a mess."

"Wouldn't drink from her inn again anyway." spat a man. "Supporting black ones she is…"

"She's trying to not make any trouble." added Mikael. "Doesn't mean she supported the Nilfgaardians."

"Calm them down Mikael." spoke Miquella in his mind.

"How?" Mikael thought.

"Dominate them." Miquella answered. "Those men don't have a strong will… drunkenness consumed them."

Mikael raised his brow for a second. "I'll try."

"Move away cripple, we don't want to hurt you." continued the men, starting to show their bats and knives to him, also making the witchers unsheathed their swords.

Mikael sighed. His clear blue eyes sharpened, and an order came out of his mouth.

"Stop."

The men's eyes turned dull, and suddenly, they dropped their weapons.

"Go back to your tables." ordered Mikael again.

Once again, the men awkwardly walked back to their tables.

The innkeeper suddenly stood up in horror. "You've bewitch–"

"Forget this thing ever happened." Geralt suddenly used an Axii sign to the innkeeper, making her forget everything that she saw inside the inn.

"Let's get out of here." stated Vesemir, sheathing his sword back to the scabbard. "You have more and more strange powers young man… something you're not telling us?"

"Honestly… I have no idea what I can do anymore…" chuckled Mikael, looking at the golden haired-boy sitting on the table.

"Anyway, no point staying here anymore…"

The group then walked out of the inn, leaving the hypnotized men and women inside the inn alone. But then, as they exited the inn, a cavalry squad of Nilfgaardians suddenly arrived in front.

Geralt sighed as he saw it. "What now…"