Eredin - Tumblr Posts
The Battle of Kaer Morhen - (6/6) Vesemir's Death
You always were an unruly child... I adored that about you. Now, fly.
Unsuccessful sketches :"
#witcher Triptych part deux. I enjoyed doing this one. Phthalo blue is such a gorgeous color.
both of the pieces of the triptych. 3rd one will come eventually. I had trouble with ideas. Enjoy what I have so far!
Here is Fantobers from Oct 24th-31st. Sry it took me so long to post I hav been really busy. Hope everyone had a wonderful Halloween!
The commander dropped on his knees, into the muddy slush before the wounded tree, and pressed his head against the trunk. The cold of the void greeted him.
Thank you, Ratzinger, for writing "Games with Eternity" and inspiring me to art again ❤️ If anyone likes the elves of the Witcher Fandom - Aen Elle especially - this is a must read.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038296
Blood can flow as fast as tears, but it flows elsewhere, and the echo of its touch washes off Lara’s shoes instantly. For Lara, the daughter of the White Mariner and the Queen of Winter, is the stuff of fairy tales, and in her blood sings the promise of eternity itself. Time and decay cannot touch her; her children will be kings of kings, for all time and forever.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038296/
Again, I recommend reading this fanfiction by @revoevokukil if you crave more Aen Elle content and, like me, think they deserve a deeper characterisation. Lara Dorren aep Shiadhal is one of the best examples... and here, you will find a complex woman that tries to find her way in the maze of fate she's caught in. Goosebumps when I read the words above!
Two words about the picture - I chose a Python as a representation for Orouboros, because well... Only they can swallow themselves whole. And please click for a non-foggy version.
Naked Eredin 🌚 waiting for you 💞
Webtoons
Tapas
Mangatoon
Ugh yes!!
"You belong to us and we will get you"
for @eredins-wife
Thank you for this great art! It really blew my expectations ❤️ 100% recommended
Also hell yes EREDIN ❤️❤️❤️
Scarred
A commission I just finished up for @marinated-fish
If I wasn’t on the Eredin train before, I certainly am now.
Eredin Bréacc Glas, the Sparrowhawk, successor of Auberon Muircetach, leader of the Red Riders, King of the Wild Hunt and King of the Aen Elle.
Some closes up:
The first steps:
(This part was fun. As were the skulls).
Because Eredin succeeded to Auberon, he is now the new King of the Alders. But I see him more as the King of Frost and Thorns. I like the way "King of Thorns" --"Roi des Ronces"-- sounds in French because of the harsh sound of the "r". I think this name would suits him quite well. What do you think?
Well, there he looks like more of the King of Bones ^^
I wanted him charming but menacing, weirdly seductive but creepy, gracious and calm but still venomous and predatory. I don't know if I nailed it but I enjoyed drawning him with this strange look.
Thank you for watching/reading!
I give you my heart, but I shall take your head
Ahh this is spot on ❤️
This is 100% @theheavycrown's fault. And also a little bit @cuteasamuntin.
--
Ice, like a sharp sting, a violent and inescapable burn. Forever at her heels, it bites, he claws. The thunder of spectral hooves, the howl of the wolf in the night. The lick of static each time she hurtles herself through time and space. An endless pursuit, a game of cat and mouse, of Swallow and Sparrowhawk, spiraling out in a perpetual loop. She runs, he follows. Where she dares tread, he dares destroy.
Blood, all powerful and Elder. A key to an ancient gateway. A treasure buried bone deep beneath her ashen skin. He wants it, demands it, will and has killed for it. The possession of it consumes him, burns him from the inside out. An obsession wrought in death, draped in finery, frozen as the cold metal skeleton within which he lurks.
His world is dying, his people will be lost. There is no price he will not pay, no stone he will not crush. An ancestral gift weighs upon her like a noose, like a whisper, like a crown. She who would be Queen, of this world, of any world, of the perpetual and the lost. A dead sovereign faltered and failed to sew the seeds of their salvation. Eredin is not so weak willed, not so blind as to not behold the savage beauty of her. To the outside world, onlookers and future victims alike, its all violence, hatred, a vile means to a perfect end.
To him, it is the twisted root of who and what he has become. The shifts within him are heretical, unspeakable. Desires to be bled for, to be bed for. No, he stays the course. A heart is so useless a muscle when a fist works just as well. Possession is the endgame; he will have her and he will burn the world to see it through.
A childish fancy, something that should have been fleeting and ephemeral settles into her like a winter's chill. It takes hold, in the dark space just below her heart, not yet a feeling, not quite a decision. What would they say, any of them, were they to see? Geralt would love her no matter the sin, but what of her own morals? Can she live with this?
In the dark night, buried between the roots of trees that creak and wail, she thinks of him. He thinks of her. It's a feedback loop, where one is, the other shall surely follow. A general, a leader, King of the Wild Hunt, and yet it is she that dictates the chase. It is she that pulls, she that winds the barbed tether around the crass desires of him and rips.
Cursed Avallac'h. Traitorous fox, so clever, so silent. He'll skin him like a beast, wear the trophy of his corpse like a threat, like a promise. He killed a King to have her, he'll flay the fox, hang the wolf, end it all just to taste the secret running in her veins. A flighty bird, she darts and twists and all he can grasp is whispers of feathers, the heat of her as she rips the fabric of space and time in twain and slips between the severed stitches.
They meet, again and again, and it is a storm of ice and metal, crimson blood soaking into the battleground beneath them. He has her, for a second, for a heartbeat, for an aching, single moment, and she slips through his claws and vanishes into the night once more.
She who is has consumed him, mind and soul. What of his body, honed for violence though it may be. She whimpered at the thought of him being the one she would bed. Avallac'h took it for repulsion, but the careful ministrations of her fingers in places unseen speak to a different kind of fascination.
There is a crossroads, a nexus event. All at once they find themselves puppets to forces beyond, and to their base desires. A lull in the chase, a calm before the coming storm. He knows that in the end he will have her but his patience wore thin a lifetime ago. She whispers his name, only once, just barely, and the winds of fate carry it to him. He comes because he is a slave to her call.
Without armor, without army, without hunt, sword, and ice. Just an elf, just a woman, just a stolen series of missed opportunities that culminate in something unholy in its union beneath the old hemlock trees. She stands, proud and powerful in the pale starlight. What a queen she'd make. What a king he is.
"Yield, Zirael." It is a plea wrapped in the expectation of a demand.
"I cannot."
"For the people, you must."
"They are not my people." She has no people, a daughter of two kingdoms, a descendant of a third. So very many titles, so little to call her own. An adoptive father, a loving false mother. A chosen grandfather slain by the hands of his general.
"For me, then."
"Never."
The distance is too shallow between them, it's absence a testament to things unsaid.
"There is nowhere in any world that I will not raze for you. A hundred continents, a thousand kingdoms. A river of blood at my feet." His eyes glitter, a pale green to her emerald. "You belong to us, Child of the Elder Blood."
She's savage, a honed edge of silver in the trick of the light. "I will not surrender to you, Eredin. I will not be bled and bed like a mare for your power-hungry people, for your king. I belong to nothing, to no one. Not even myself."
"Do you forget? It is I," he steps forward, "who is king, Zirael."
A heaving chest, she's still so young, this human. Ciri holds herself taut. She is more than this. "I don't want the rough caress you threaten."
"Avallac'h is a liar, a thief, a traitor to his people, to his king, to me." He's been more beast than man to her for so long now, his careful anger shocks her. Surprises her. Fascinates her. "And yet you take him and his unworthy offerings. He'll use you, consume you, steal your precious blood and leave the empty shell of you to rot."
"So would you."
His laugh is--she cannot quantify it in words, in tangible description. It is the static that lingers with every shift through reality, it is the bite of a brutal, cold wind that whispers of violence and possession in her ear. It is familiar, it is foreign. It is something to steal, to hide away and let bloom inside the heart of her.
"I remember your face, Zirael, the first time you saw me. That wide-eyed look, that heavy heat. You cannot lie to me. There is nothing of you that remains unknown." The beast of his body, the wild heart of him, screams. It thrashes. It demands to be seen. "Give yourself to me so that I do not have to steal that which has always been mine."
"I'm not a tool to be wielded, Eredin. I will not stain myself with your endless hunger for conquering just to please you."
"Oh but you already have. It colors you, coats you, covers you." The cold of his skin as his finger trails along the scar of her cheek is cruel. "Let me in, Cirilla. You wish for it, in the dark, night after night. Your desire is a scent I cannot lose." His lips like a threat above her own. "I am consumed by you. Utterly. And I wish to even the battlefield."
For a single moment, just one perfect stolen heartbeat, she yields. His mouth is wanting, hot with desire and destruction. Ciri wants to melt beneath his possession of her, become nothing but skin to be touched within his arms.
The promise of her, of this carnal sin, it blinds him and, because she's spent her life surviving the covenant of him, Ciri knows she must use it. He doesn't hear the blade until it's too late and all at once, there is a needle's point digging into his ribs. His flesh unbroken, but only thus.
Despite it all, he grins. "See? You're stained."
Logic and moral obligation leave her like a waning tide. "Run away with me."
King of the Wild Hunt, harbinger of cold doom, falters. "What?"
"A thousand worlds, endless possibility. Come with me, let's leave this all behind. The war and the people. All of it." And because she's been his for far longer than she's been her own, "please."
"The kingdom," is all he can string together.
"We'll make another one." The blade digs, and it stings of hope. "We can be together. We will answer to no one. Just us, Eredin, only us."
It takes weeks for their absence to be properly noted. Geralt wakes one morning to a short letter, more apology than answer. Avallac'h wakes to nothing because his life was the cost Ciri paid for her request. Her lack of hesitation, that broken thread inside her, it sings to Eredin.
What was once an endless pursuit, an ugly and deadly chase, gives out to something violent in that carnal, beastly way. He'd burn it all down for the feel of her lithe hands skittering across his neck. There is nothing so sacred as this, so sacrificial, so concrete.
Ice, like silence, like the emptiness in their wake. It too is left behind, and they float like birds on an ceaseless, mystic breeze.
More amazingly well-written Ciredin! ❤️
💕Posted some Valentine’s Day fluff (18+, explicit content, NSFW)- see Ch 6 of my Ciredin fanfic. 💘⚔️
More Ciredin food ❤️
Queen of the Wild Hunt 🔥
Just posted new Ciri / Eredin fic! Based on the drawing and tag prompts in this art I love by @onedivinemisfit:
“O, Child of the Elder Blood! You belong to us! You are ours! Join our procession, join our hunt! We will race, race unto the very end, unto eternity, unto the very end of existence! You are ours, starry-eyed daughter of chaos! Join us; learn the joy of the hunt! You are ours. You are one of us! Your place is among us! [...] Yes, we are corpses. But you are death."
(Time of Contempt)
***
Year 1276, Tir ná Lia
Ciri looked at herself in the full length mirror. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her glinted off silver pauldrons and greaves. She flexed her hand, then made a fist and the gauntlet complied with articulated ease. Around her shoulders hung a multi-hued scarlet cloak, brighter than the flames in the fireplace beside her.
Eredin stood just behind her on her right side, with a satisfied smile. He reached out and readjusted the cloak. His hand remained there, resting on her shoulder. “It’s just as I imagined. But now that I finally have you in our armor, all I want to do is take it off you.” His finger traced the line of her jaw while his eyes shifted towards the large four-poster bed in his room.
Ciri snorted. “You just finished telling me we needed to make haste.” Looking at his dark green eyes reflected in the mirror, she dropped to a more sober tone. “So here we are. As you wished.” She spun around to face him, crossing her arms across the breastplate.
“Now will you finally tell me more about this mission you wanted my help with?”
“As I said, it’s an exploratory expedition. We need to find more sources of that ore we’ve nearly run out of. The gynvaelil. The strength and stability of our realm depend on it.”
Ciri reflected on her place in Tir ná Lia over the past five years, on their son and daughter who were as much a part of the Aen Elle as Eredin himself. All of their fates were linked now. “Yes but, what are the plans exactly? What’s to be done if there are inhabitants who object to our being there, let alone mining this ore?”
Eredin shrugged. “Then we’ll deal with them.” He glanced at her and smiled reassuringly. “I mean, using the least force necessary, of course. But most likely it won’t come to that. The majority of worlds remain uninhabited.”
Ciri’s stomach felt uneasy. “Preferably no force at all, right? As we’ve discussed.” She sighed and rubbed at her temples. “I guess there’s only one way to find out what these worlds contain.”
He hung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close to him, grinning. “You’re finally joining my Hunt. You know, a few years ago I’d never have thought you would. Yet here you are, by my side in this as well.”
Ciri had to laugh, because it was something she had once sworn she would never do. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Together they went to join the Dearg Ruadhri on the windswept plain beyond the palace gates. Their horses were already waiting there for them.
(Continues on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45841483)
Aen Elle hot take?
Avallach is worse than Eredin.
Favorite Aen Elle headcanon?
Telepathy. It can stick like a bad idea until the person on the receiving end starts to hallucinate comments. Needs to be trained.
villain /ˈvɪlən/ (in a film, novel, or play) a character whose evil actions or motives are important to the plot.