William

One day earlier…

Ellerdale was a town of moderate size, best known as a convenient checkpoint for travelling merchants heading southward to bigger and busier cities. Most of its businesses were inns and taverns and the like, and for this it had seen a fair bit of prosperity. This was especially true in recent years, as the construction of a port on the river that flowed just east of the town, along with the establishing of new Church-run welfare programs as a way to reduce local crime, under the direction of one Baron Hann, the resident nobleman, were widely agreed upon to be great successes.

The Baron was generally liked by those he governed, as he was overall genial and easy to reason with. He was second generation nobility, his merchant parents having purchased the title only around a decade before they had passed, and as such was no stranger to work. Taxes were fair, and put to good use; justice was unbiased, and swiftly dealt. It was often said that Hann was something of a perfectionist who preferred to see things running smoothly rather than strictly in his favor.

Some of the more cunning merchants might point out that this public image was, in many ways, imperative to Ellerdale’s (and by extension, the Baron’s) continued success—but the selfsame would then shrug and concede that deals where both sides benefit are simply good business.

Baron Hann had four sons. The eldest, the heir to his father’s estate, was hard at work gaining experience managing that same estate’s bookkeeping. The second oldest was attending a university up in the north, studying to become a priest. The third had set out for the Capital just a few years back, off to seek his fortune. And the fourth—

Well, the fourth was currently doing his best to avoid looking his father in the eye.

“William,” Baron Hann said impatiently.

“Father,” William responded stoically, staring resolutely out the nearest window. He was sitting, straight-backed and arms folded, in an armchair in one of the mansion’s many waiting rooms. There was a short table in the center of the room, and across it was a second chair, which his father had been sitting in when William had first come in. Baron Hann had since stood, however, and was now pacing back and forth in front of the unlit fireplace against the far wall.

“There’s got to be something,” the man said, tugging lightly on the end of his bushy mustache, as he did sometimes when particularly agitated. He was rather heavyset, balding on the top of his head, and his blond hair was growing whiter by the day, but nonetheless he tended to carry himself with a bounce in his step and a merry demeanor that made him easily likeable. And yet, it seemed that William must have some knack for driving that cheerfulness away. Especially lately.

“I want to honor your free will on this, son,” his father continued. “I really do. But you can’t spend another year lazing about like there’s nothing for you out there. There’s got to be something.” William felt the Baron’s eyes boring into him, but pointedly ignored the gaze. It was a sunny day out, and he could see the streets outside the mansion bustling with activity. He tried counting how many horse-drawn carts passed by—but to no avail. He was so intent on not losing his temper, it was hard to focus on anything else just then.

“By the Flame, I don’t care if you want to spend your days down at the docks! Just tell me what you want to do, and I’ll support you!” When William remained silent, his father stormed over to the window and yanked the curtains shut. “It’s like you’re not taking this seriously! I’ve been patient with you, but—”

William abruptly stood, cutting Baron Hann short. “You’re right, father,” he said, in a tone so forcibly calm that his voice sounded hollow to his own ears. “I suppose I’ve not been taking this seriously. I’ll be sure to from now on, though, don’t worry.”

The Baron blinked at him, clearly bewildered—maybe he, too, had noticed how empty the words were. Regardless, he seemed momentarily at a loss for words, which was an opportunity William was all too happy to take advantage of.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“… I—”

“In that case, I will take my leave,” he interrupted again, striding over to the door and throwing it open.

“William!”

He slammed the door shut behind him and, without pausing, took off down the hall at a brisk pace—fast enough that he’d be out of sight by the time his father tried to follow, but slow enough that it didn’t entirely feel like he was running away. He didn’t even bother paying attention to where he was going, wandering the mansion's halls with no destination in mind. He just wanted to be far away from that particular room.

“Not taking this seriously?” he muttered after he’d been walking for a while. “Been patient with me? Who the hell does he think he is?”

“If I may, M’Lord.”

William jumped, nearly throwing himself against the wall as he whirled around. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts that he’d failed to notice Alphonse, his personal attendant, keeping pace beside him. The man was probably about a decade older than his father, with gray hair and blue eyes that didn’t often blink. It was unusual to see him smile, and William had never once known him to laugh, but he had a perceptiveness and a thoughtfulness that nonetheless made him good company.

William cleared his throat, hoping to save a little face. “Um, hi, Al. Yes, yes, you may. What is it?”

The attendant gave a slight bow. “If I may, M’Lord: to answer your question, he is your father, and I do believe he cares very much about you.”

William hesitated, eyeing Alphonse warily, uncertain if he was about to receive another lecture. When none was forthcoming, he sighed. “I know he does,” he muttered. “But can’t he find a different way to show it than pestering me all the time?”

He took off again, in the direction of his bedroom, which wasn’t far off from where they were. Perhaps he’d subconsciously been going there this whole time; it was where he spent most of his time these days, after all. Did that make it habit, then?

The old attendant walked beside him, saying nothing.

“I mean,” William continued after a time, “Does he really think I haven’t thought about it? I’ve tried. I’m still trying, dammit. And I still don’t know.” He scowled at the floor. “But he doesn’t seem willing to take ‘I don’t know’ as an answer.”

“If I may be so bold, M’Lord.”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware that ‘I don’t know,’ isn’t an answer, really. But still, if reminding me of that every time he sees me was really going to change anything, Eris knows it would’ve by now.”

“Actually, M’Lord—”

“Yes?”

They’d reached the door of William’s bedroom; he paused with his hand on it.

“I intended to remind you that Captain Geralt has been training some new recruits, and he recently invited you to make an appearance.” Alphonse offered him a rare, faint smile. “If I recall correctly, his exact words were ‘come beat some sense into their thick skulls, if you’d like.’ ”

“Oh… yeah, he did, didn’t he? I’d forgotten about that.”

“Perhaps, M’Lord—if I may be so bold—if the Baron heard tell that you had assisted the Captain, even if only the once, he may be a little more lenient for a time?”

William took his hand off the door. “I doubt it.”

“All the same, M’Lord, perhaps it is worth a try?”

He eyed the attendant suspiciously. “My father put you up to this, didn’t he?”

“He did not, M’Lord. I am merely reminding you of the Captain's invitation, as I supposed it could assist you in your dilemma.”

“Hmm.” Honestly, he didn’t really feel like it—but now that he thought about it, he didn’t really feel like spending the afternoon sulking in his room, either. “Fine, then,” he agreed. “I’ll go get changed.”

~ ~ ~

“Glad you could make it, kid,” Geralt greeted him, a wide grin on his face.

William offered a smile—and a wince, as the captain of the town guard thumped him heartily on the back. “Well, yeah. Figured I might as well.”

The Captain chuckled. “That’s the spirit!”

Training for the town guard was held nearly every day in the courtyard of the Baron’s mansion, which had been more or less designed with that purpose in mind. There were no fountains nor gardens nor much decor of any sort; just some straw dummies, racks of wooden swords, a simple obstacle course, and a wide circle of sand in the very center used for sparring. Practice was already in full swing, the courtyard a buzz of activity. There were some fifty men and women total in the town guard, and a little less than half of them were here now—the rest would be out and about patrolling, standing watch, and generally keeping the peace in Ellerdale.

Geralt had been part of the town guard since before William was born, though he hadn’t been captain back then. With fiery red hair cut short and hazel eyes, the man was notably on the shorter side, though what he lacked in height he more than made up for in muscles. There had been a time, especially when William had first started showing up to daily training all those years ago, that Geralt’s demeanor towards him had been stiff, almost wary. Those days, however, were now far, far behind them.

“So,” William said, “I heard you have some fresh faces?”

“Right you are. Got a couple with some real talent, too, and they know it, if you get what I mean.”

“I gotcha. What would you like me to do?”

“Well, see, I was thinking…”

~ ~ ~

William sidestepped as the guardswoman-in-training—Mary, he thought her name was—lunged at him, wood sword outstretched. Surprised by his sudden dodge, she tried desperately to recover as her momentum threw her off-balance—but too late. Before she could react, William brought his own practice sword down hard, striking her square on the back. She gasped with pain as the blow knocked the wind out of her, sending her tumbling to the ground, her own weapon falling out of her grip.

William winced as his opponent went sprawling; perhaps he’d put a little too much force into that attack. He hesitated, then walked over to where she lay panting, and offered his free hand. “Sorry about that,” he told her.

She eyed him for a moment, then begrudgingly accepted his help.

“Nice to see you haven’t lost your touch,” Captain Geralt said, coming over as William’s latest sparring partner limped away, rubbing her back.

“Are you sure this is actually going to help them?” he asked doubtfully, looking down the line of new recruits he’d fought over the past hour. A little more than a dozen in number, many of them were now nursing some injury or other. Nothing serious, just sores and bruises and aches—but still.

“There’s no motivator quite like being so thoroughly beaten,” Geralt said, chuckling. “As long as they’re serious about improving, that is. Gives them something to look up to—or chase, depending on how they see it. See you, I should say.”

“I’m… not sure how I feel about that, to be honest.”

“Heh. Well, it’s too late now. You’ve got some real skill, kid. If even half my recruits could fight as well as you can, Eris knows that'd be a load off my back.”

William grunted. “Just pray they don’t take after me personality-wise, too. Was that all you needed me for, then?”

The Captain appeared to hesitate, looking out over the courtyard. “I suppose it was,” he finally said. “But you’re more than welcome to stick around, you know, if you’d like.”

“… I don’t think—”

“Captain!” came a panicked shout, cutting him off. A guardsman had come pelting into the courtyard, drawing a fair bit of attention—it was obvious enough from his expression that something was very wrong. Spotting Geralt, he ran over, and when he reached them he doubled over, panting for breath.

“What is it?” the captain of the guard asked sharply. “What happened?”

“A Witch,” the man said between gasps. “Someone… says… they saw… a Witch.”

The effect of the word was immediate: everyone within earshot froze.

Geralt was the first to recover. “Where?” he demanded.

“Out in the… woods.” The guardsman coughed, then took a deep breath to calm his breathing. Though he still looked rather winded, he straightened up, offering a brief salute. He must have ran here with all his might, with news like that. “A young lady came to us in the square shouting that she’d caught sight of a woman with wings wandering around the forest.”

“Is she sure of what she saw?”

“She certainly seemed so, sir. She was damn near hysterical.”

“And I’m assuming the people around you heard, too.”

“Aye, sir. Took all we had to prevent mass panic then and there.”

“Meaning Witch or no,” Geralt grunted, “we’ll have to respond immediately. What’re the odds the old pastor’s caught wind of this?”

“Very likely, sir.”

“Well, that’ll save us the effort of explaining, anyhow. Go find Vance for me, will you? Then get some rest. Not for too long, though; Eris knows we’ll be busy the next few days. Gonna need every hand we can get, especially now.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” William asked; he, like everyone else in the nearby vicinity, had listened intently to every word that was spoken, barely even daring to breathe. Yet all of a sudden he couldn’t imagine sitting still for even a moment longer. Like a blade was being aimed at his throat, and standing idle was the last thing he wanted to do.

The Captain hesitated, looking him over. William figured he knew what the man was thinking, but he smothered the spike of disappointment he felt. If he were to complain, Geralt might actually give in—but if he was being honest with himself, William knew his place wasn’t here. He was the Baron’s son, not a member of the town guard. Still—

“Your father will need to be informed,” Captain Geralt said abruptly, interrupting his thoughts. “Tell him what you’ve heard here. Quickly!”

“On it!” William shouted, sprinting away at once. Alphonse, who had been watching the training session from the edge of the courtyard, fell into step beside him as he passed, keeping pace. William had stopped being surprised by how spry the old man was a long time ago.

As he pelted through the halls of the mansion, William wasn’t really sure what he was feeling just then. Was it fear at the possibility of a Witch? Was it happiness that Geralt had decided to rely on him? Was it… excitement?

He didn’t know—but whatever was, it had his blood pumping faster than it had been in a long time.

Maybe that was why the thought suddenly occurred to him as he pounded on the door of his father’s study—

What if I were to hunt down the Witch?