Of elves and wars

With their preparations complete and their decisions made, Gearlt and Atram were at the stables, readying their horses for departure. Geralt donned his customary Wolven gear, fashioned after their school's preferred combat style, which prioritized mobility over excessive protection. His leather armor boasted chainmail reinforcements across his midsection, shoulders, and upper arms. Draped over this ensemble was a black woolen cloak, descending nearly to his thighs, its hood concealing his neatly tied hair.

Atram, on the other hand, dressed comfortably in black baggy pants with laces on the ends and an open red tinted sleeveless vest with fur sewn around the collar. The sides of his head were cleanly shaved, and a thick ponytail braid that ran all the way down his back adorned the top. All of the above were provided by his excellent servant, Albert.

As the men led their mares outside, they saw the rest of their group waiting for them at the fort's inner gate. Approaching them, they exchanged greetings and made small talk before their inevitable separation.

"Take good care of her," Vesemir said, patting his horse affectionately. He decided to entrust his mare to Atram, noting the unusual bond between the stubborn beast and the young man. 

Atram smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, she is an excellent partner, loyal and brave like its master. I will definitely look after her," he replied, stroking the horse's mane.

"Good luck on the path, young bear."

As they exchanged a forearm handshake, Atram's smile grew even brighter. "Thank you for everything you have done for me these past few months. I will never forget your kindness and guidance."

"Bah, think nothing of it! You learned as much from me as we did from you." Vesemir leaned his head forwards and continued in a whisper. "Keep an eye on Geralt for me, will you? When it comes to Yennefer, he tends to be reckless and a scatterbrained idiot."

Atram shook his head in agreement, trying to stifle a chuckle. "I will. Take care now."

Seeing his mentor walk away, Atram felt only fondness for the man. The wisdom and knowledge he had gained under the tutelage of the old wolf had prepared him for whatever lay ahead. Be it a monster, an interaction, or a conflict, he could choose his actions and battles without regret.

He went over to Eskel and Lambert to bid them farewell.

"What will you do now that the funny one will be absent?" 

Lambert scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I will finally get some peace and quiet; that's what I'm going to do, you happy-go-lucky fool."

Eskel wraped his arm over Lambert's shoulder. "What he means is that he will miss you terribly. Did you know that he was the first one to accept Vesemir's proposal to give you the medallion? Vesemir did-"

Lambert weaved out of Eskel's arm. "That never happened, and you know it! In fact, I rejected it, but you convinced me otherwise." He exclaimed angrily at Eskel, who had a smug expression on his face.

"Lambert, the insufferable prick who hides a heart of gold." Atram chimed in teasingly.

Lambert lifted his arms in exasperation. "Go fuck yourselves! And good luck on the path." He stated and left.

"In that order?" Geralt asked playfully.

Lambert didn't reply; instead, he gave a thumbs up.

Eskel sighed. "It is always the same with him—cynical negativity."

"At least he remains constant. You know what to expect from him." Atram commented.

Eskel and Geralt nodded. "Well, I think it's time. Good luck on the path, and take care." Eskel said and exchanged a brotherly handshake with them.

"So long, Eskel." Geralt replied.

"Farewell." Atram added.

With their farewells exchanged, Geralt and Atram guided their horses out of the ancient fortress, descending the hill and following the winding path that led them through the dense forest. They rode in silence, immersed in the breathtaking scenery surrounding them.

The sun was just rising, casting a warm glow over the tall and majestic trees, their branches heavy with snow that sparkled in the sunlight. The air was crisp and cold, but invigorating, filling their lungs with a freshness that only nature could provide.

As they rode deeper into the woodland, they kept a sharp eye out for any signs of danger, knowing that despite this being their home, it was still a land full of perilous creatures and treacherous foes. However, with winter's presence still strong, the monsters and animals were still hybernating, and the only sounds were the crunching of snow beneath their horses' hooves.

They eventually arrived at a road intersection that was impassable due to the river blocking their path forward. Geralt, knowing the narrow paths that surrounded the area like the back of his hand, spurred his horse into what appeared to be a labyrinth of turns, crossings, makeshift bridges, and steep declines.

Atram struggled to keep pace with the man, navigating the treacherous and unfamiliar terrain to the best of his ability. Geralt often paused, waiting patiently for him to catch up, his gaze sweeping the surroundings with the vigilance of a hawk.

Nearing a clearing, Atram reflected on the dizzying experience, and he quickly realized it would be impossible for someone without Geralt's expertise to navigate through this landscape.

"Hmm, dismount; there is a slope that leads to a cliff overlooking the Kaedweni lands. I want to check something before we make camp for the night." Geralt said, pointing in that direction.

Atram followed his lead, and they walked upwards, careful not to slip on the loose rocks. As they reached the cliff, they observed the impossible vastness of the valley below.

The landscape bore a resemblance to that of Kaer Morhen, with a vast expanse of tall, snow-capped trees extending for miles. The Buina, Gwennlech, and Lixela rivers flowed through the scenery like veins in a body. Yet, what they lacked at home was abundant here: civilization.

Puffs of smoke billowed from the chimneys of small hamlets and solitary cottages dotted throughout the forest, while occasional travelers traversed the winding dirt roads. Yet, the pinnacle of this civilization revealed itself in the form of a grand castle looming in the distance. Its towering walls and majestic turrets stood as a testament to the power and wealth of its inhabitants.

Around the castle, a vast, sprawling city emerged. From the civilian houses and bustling marketplaces to the grand temples and administrative buildings, this province was a hub of activity and commerce.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or are the buildings of a different make than the castle?" Atram inquired.

Geralt, still looking over the horrizon, nodded. "In many palaces that humanity now claims for its own, there are remnants of the elven architecture. Elves built the castle, which was slightly reconstructed by human hands. But, the city that surrounds it is entirely human-made."

Atram whistled softly. "You weren't kidding when you said these lands belonged to the elves before the humans took over. I wonder how they lost. Didn't they have the home advantage?" He gazed at the towering castle walls, admiring the intricate elven architecture. 

"They lost because they didn't have the numbers. For every human they killed, another five took their place. If you also take into consideration their low fertility rate, it was a losing battle from the start," Geralt began saying.

"The elves thought humanity's invasion would stop, like a plague that eventually runs its course. But they were wrong. The humans kept coming, and the elves were forced to retreat deeper into the forests. Some even resorted to hiding in caves and underground tunnels," he paused for a moment and sighed.

"What sealed their fate was Aelirenn, the White Rose of Shaerrawedd. A charismatic leader, dissatisfied with their plight, she rallied the passionate young elves for a final, desperate assault against humanity," he shook his head sorrowfully.

"It was a massacre. Yet they died with a smile on their faces and honor in their hearts, chanting Aelirenn's name with their last breath."

Atram gathered all the pieces together and said, "With the youngsters dead, only the old and infertile remained. Leaving us with the current situation, in which the remaining elves are either guerillas called Scoia'tael who want to go out with a bang or live scattered across the land in constant discrimination and abuse."

"Exactly"

Atram sighed deeply, his arms crossed in contemplation. "It's a tragic state of affairs, really. The once proud and noble race of elves reduced to this. But with the racial wars taking place centuries ago, we can't know the actual facts that led to them. Maybe the elves started it, wanting to get rid of the humans that washed up on their shores. Maybe it was the humans who provoked the elves by encroaching on their territory and resources."

"Whatever the cause, the result is clear: a decimated population struggling to survive in a world that no longer values their existence. They live on the fringes of the known world, hidden away in forests and mountains, avoiding contact with humans whenever possible. The elves' once-great cities now lie in ruins, their magnificent architecture crumbling under the weight of time and neglect." Atram concluded with a solemn expression on his face.

Geralt grunted in agreement. "A sad state of affairs indeed," he paused and pointed at the castle. "And by the looks of it, the current war between Nilfgaard and the remaining Northern Realms will be as bloody as the previous ones."

Atram raised an eyebrow, squinting to discern what Geralt was indicating. As realization dawned, his eyes widened in shock. "Those aren't Kaedweni banners flying over the battlements! Which means..."

"Radovid marched his armies and took Kaedwen during winter," Geralt finished.

"The madman actually did it!" Atram exclaimed, his voice tinged with astonishment. "The sheer logistics behind such an operation are mind-boggling. And to think, just a few years ago, Radovid was just a young prince with a chip on his shoulder. Now he's the most powerful ruler in the North."

Geralt nodded, his mind racing with the implications of this news. With Kaedwen under Radovid's control, Emhyr var Emreis and his Nilfgaardian Empire would have a formidable opponent to face. The balance of power in the North had shifted. Instead of two weakened realms, the Nilfgaardian war machine will have to face a singular, powerful force backed by Radovid's devilish intellect.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, the frosty air forming a delicate cloud of white smoke. "Enough about politics and condemned races. It has been a long day, and our horses need rest. Let's return and make camp for the night."

"I concur."

And with that, the pair retired for the night.