"Wild at Heart" was a quest in The Witcher III that really got to me. The Niellen-Hanna-Margaret love triangle was intriguing...and tragic. From the moment I met Margaret, I was suspicious as all get-out. And when the truth was finally revealed, I felt profoundly sad for the melancholy and lovelorn hunter-werewolf who retrieved an inkling of his humanity too late to avert disaster. Unable to live knowing he was responsible for his beloved wife's death and unwilling to carry on without her, he surrendered tamely to Geralt, who appeared to perform his Witcher's duty in this case with a heavy heart.
Werewolves in the Witcher are self-aware. They speak: they threaten, they make pacts, and deals. To me they seem like a Shadow Aspect of the personality. I can't imagine the man would be so disconnected from the beast...And that got me thinking.
What if things had turned out differently in "Wild at Heart"? What if Niellen in his werewolf form had recognized Hanna during that fateful attack?
The result is this story.
Warning: it has sexually explicit content. Some of it involving a werewolf. Yep. If that's not your thing, then we can say goodnight now and still respect each other in the morning.
I hope you enjoy it. Leave me a review and a fave and/or follow if you do. It makes my day, sometimes my week, and is all I will ask.
Thank you.
Wild
"There is a wolf in me … fangs pointed for tearing gashes … a red
tongue for raw meat … and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this
wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness
will not let it go."
"Wilderness", Carl Sandburg
I. Blackbough
Geralt of Rivia wandered into Blackbough in the early evening, the sky streaked with fiery reds and radiant oranges. He'd traveled for hours traversing the wooded country, eager to reach the shelter before nightfall. The village itself was unremarkable: just a settlement of hardy thatched huts inhabited by what seemed to be even hardier people. He noticed with some relief that isolated as it was, the village would be able to provide him with some basic amenities: a merchant stood alone in the small square, stashing away his wares for the day, and a blacksmith's sign swung back and forth in the mild breeze over one of the doorways nearby. Before the merchant could slip away, Geralt quickly accosted him.
"Is there an inn here?" he asked.
The merchant shook his head. "No," he stated, a bit taken aback by the white-haired stranger. "There used to be, but travelers are rare this way…and since the war…even less."
He peered around: windows glowed brightly and the odor of roasted meat wafted in the air.
"If you want to stay the night," the man continued, "you should ask Karel—go down the road outside the village and turn left at the fork. He might let you stay in his barn. For a price."
Geralt fingered the strings of the small coin pouch hanging on his belt pensively.
"And do you know where I can find a man called Niellen?"
The merchant's face softened.
"Ah! You must be here about the business with Hanna." He shook his head sadly and gazed towards a group of modest cottages crowded next to each other further ahead. "Poor Niellen. Situation must have grown dire if he's resorted to hiring a—"
"Thanks. See you later," he interrupted, walking away, uninterested in pursuing the conversation further.
A vast, starry sky arched over Geralt as he stepped towards the rustic barn. The old farmer named Karel had not been comfortable with him, he could tell. Karel openly gaped at his eyes while they negotiated, but the Witcher's generous offer to pay an inflated price for a heap of straw in a drafty barn along with some food quickly revived the man.
"It'll be good for the animal," the farmer decided, pocketing the coins received and tilting his head at Roach. "Wolves make them nervous, eh? Lots of wolves in these parts, especially after dark."
Geralt had gladly taken the small basket filled with a generous hunk of hearty dark bread, a quarter of a block of cheese, and some dried meat. Once in the barn, he unfurled his bedroll, leaned back against his pack and with flick of his hand, cast Ignii over the lantern he'd borrowed. He read over the contract he'd accepted in Mulbrydale, just a day earlier. The town cryer hadn't even gotten a chance to announce it publicly; he'd seized the contract from the lad's hands.
"What's this?"
"Just arrived," the young man explained. "Courier brought it in."
The contract he held in his hand was new—the chances someone else had undertaken the task were slim to none. Best of all, it was straightforward: missing wife, desperate husband. He held the contract between his lips as he uncorked a wine bottle. At best, the wife had simply gone off to visit a neighboring village without informing them. Perhaps there was even a note sitting right on the kitchen table that the husband hadn't noticed—he'd seen similar things happen before. At worst, the wife was dead. At the very worst, it was the husband's doing.
He tipped back the bottle and took a swig of dry Redanian wine.
Regardless, he decided, it is easy work. He'd look around a bit, engage his senses, and solve the disappearance.
A chilling wind eked between the cracks of the old barn and one of the horses nearby neighed restlessly.
"Whoa," Geralt uttered gently, peering up.
It was then that he heard an unnerving sound: the piercing, plaintive howling of wolves in the near distance. The sound was eerily beautiful even if the proximity to the village was concerning.
Maybe there is someone willing to pay me to chase the wolves away, he thought, as he wrapped a coarse blanket around himself.
The man he sought lived in the center of the small village in a simple cottage behind a split rail fence. Tall stalks of gladiolus hedging the fence bobbed in the breeze. A few chickens strutted across the yard, pecking busily at the ground. When Geralt knocked on the front door, he was greeted by a shapely young woman wearing a wide brimmed tightly-woven straw hat. Her freckled demeanor justified her fashion choice, as tiny speckles powdered her fair cheeks and the bridge of her nose. When he had shown her the contract, she had stiffened as if taken by surprise. Before he was able to ask her any questions, though, a tall, imposing man appeared behind her, his eyes widening upon recognizing who was calling on them.
"Can I help you?" he asked guardedly.
"I was about to ask the same question," Geralt stated. "May I come in?"
Niellen directed him to a wooden chair by the kitchen table. The woman with the hat was introduced as Margaret, his sister-in-law and the missing woman's sister. She quickly vanished into one of the rooms after the introduction, quietly shutting the door behind her. After some gentle prodding, Geralt got Niellen to explain what had happened: Hanna, his wife, had gone missing five days earlier. When asked, Niellen revealed he had been off on a hunting outing, as he often was, and when he returned, she was gone. Margaret did not seem to know her sister's whereabouts either.
"Can you help me, Witcher?"
Niellen, as far as he had gathered, was well liked in the village. While trying to locate his cottage, the small group of villagers he approached had offered, unprompted, that Niellen was a good man: he provided well for his wife—it was a pity they hadn't been blessed with children yet, they often added— and he was generous, allowing Margaret to live with them. They were grateful to him: he was not afraid of braving the woods despite the wolves lurking there. He was kind: he sold the game he caught at fair prices and wasn't averse to bartering his meat for other goods. He worked hard, according to the villagers, often heading far beyond the village to track game.
"T'is a hard time for all of us," an old man had mused, while resting on his knobby cane.
Geralt scratched his chin while contemplating the cottage. Everything looked neat. Tidy. One would never guess at any upheaval from merely glancing at the orderly room.
"Tell me something: did you notice if anything was missing?"
Niellen betrayed a perplexed look.
"Any missing clothing? Personal effects?... Coin?"
"No…" Niellen offered. His expression hardened once he realized what Geralt was insinuating. "Hanna would not have taken off without an explanation! It's not like her at all!"
"You realize I have to ask such questions, right?"
"Between us there's no strife!" he argued.
"Are you sure she would be of the same opinion?" Geralt provoked.
He observed Niellen, trying to garner whether the hunter was hiding something. He'd seen the worst come out in people during trying times. It would not have surprised him one bit if Niellen had done away with his wife. What are some possible scenarios? he began to ponder. Perhaps the attractive sister-in-law suited him better? He wondered at the odd domestic arrangement, eyeing Margaret's closed bedroom door. He was quite certain that if he were to yank the door open, Margaret would stumble out, her hand still cupped to her ear.
"I don't know," Niellen finally admitted after staring at the ground for a moment. "You will have to ask Hanna herself. All I know is that I left on a hunting outing one night and when I returned early the next morning, I found the bed empty—no sign of Hanna. It was unusual, so I went looking for her immediately."
"It was unusual?"
"Aye," the man nodded.
"Interesting."
"Why?"Niellen puzzled.
"Couldn't she be out doing chores or running an errand? Why would you be so convinced something was wrong because of something so circumstantial?" Geralt prodded. Unless, of course, you were behind her disappearance and are trying to cover your tracks.
The man's expression clouded with a pained look.
"Because…it is not something she would do."
"What? She never does chores or runs errands?" he questioned, surprised.
Niellen pressed his lips closer together, and with a furtive glance towards the door, began to speak softly.
"Hanna and I, we always…She does not like it when I spend the night away. Anytime I go away on a hunting trip, I return as early as I can, with the dawn, so we can…" he paused, slightly flustered, "So we can have some time to ourselves, together…before the day begins," he stated meaningfully.
Ah. Time together.
"How long since you two have been wed?" Geralt wondered.
"Eight months. Eight of the happiest months of my wretched life," he stated, gazing away.
He decided there was something terribly melancholy about the hunter, with his sad eyes, in worn hunting clothes. Around his neck was a medallion: Melitele.
Appropriate, he thought, as he sat back in the rustic chair. The goddess was said to offer her protection and aid to foresters and hunters.
"Did she have any enemies? Anyone who might bear her a grudge?"
At that question he noticed when Niellen's eyes darted briefly to the closed bedroom door. He finally shook his head.
"What else can you tell me about Hanna?"
The hunter cast him a weary look.
"When I checked back with Margaret after looking around the village, she told me she hadn't noticed or heard anything unusual: we'd had an early supper the night before, and afterwards, they stayed up for a bit finishing some of the day's chores before retiring for the night."
Geralt nodded.
"That's fine: I'll talk to Margaret soon enough… but I wanted to know if there was anything else I needed to know about Hanna. Anything else that would help me identify her when—"
"Hanna is tall. About this high," he indicated, placing his flattened hand before his nose. "Her hair is long, almost down to her waist…A dark gold…She's very graceful and… gentle. And trusting." His brow furrowed. "Too trusting, even. And she sings softly when she thinks she's alone..." Niellen's voice trailed off and he inhaled deeply. "Do you smell that?"
Geralt stared.
"No?" He appeared a bit crestfallen. "It still smells like Hanna in here: warm—like smoke from the hearth,—and spices. She smells like... home," he told him. "And now I'm afraid that smell is fading," he acknowledged somberly.
The Witcher pressed his lips tightly, a weariness weighing upon him. Unless the man was a formidable actor or a charlatan—sometimes both, if his experience with Dandelion and his troupe served him right—then he could only conclude that the man was in love with his wife. Hopelessly in love at that. He still spoke of her with the reverence of a man who could not believe his good fortune. And if his account was to be trusted, they were also very… 'physically' active, given their cozy arrangement to make up for lost time in the early morning hours...
He wanted to believe the poor, lovelorn man had nothing to do with his wife's disappearance. Niellen was clearly distraught; he could tell.
She smells like home, Geralt recalled Niellen's turn of phrase sympathetically. For the hunter that scent was of smoke and spice.
For him, it was the perfume of lilacs and gooseberries.