Summary: Our emotionally reeling Witcher attempts to deal with the sudden and strange appearance of a young man that only brings more questions than answers. In this chapter, we get a deeper glimpse into the heart and soul of our favorite Witcher and his ward. ***CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains an explicit love scene. (Okay, so i couldn't help myself!) ;)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text CHAPTER TWELVE Revelations - Part 1Chessa slumped into a chair before the hearth and breathed out a tired sigh. Fingers covered in blood, she found a way to swipe damp strands of hair away from her face with the back of her hand, careful not to smear any on her forehead. She wiped off the blood as much as possible from her hands and arms with a well-used cloth.
At the far end of the room at a table, Geralt watched, silent. A mug full of wine sat untouched before him. No one spoke, actually, Chessa clearly exhausted, and Ciri solemn. Dandelion unusually quiet through it all, stared at the small fire in the hearth. When Chessa's concerned gaze sought out his, he held it without wavering, but did not soften his expression or give any sign he was all right. He was not all right, far from it. She broke the connection and turned her attention toward Ciri.
"Come, dear. No frettin' now. Let him sleep. He needs rest."
Ciri handed Chessa an earthenware cup, which she took gratefully, and drank a large gulp of its contents. Drawing her into an embrace, the healer was careful not to get any more blood on her than she had already and kissed her hair.
"I'm grateful for your help tonight, Ciri. You were wonderful."
With a worried expression, Ciri snapped her gaze across the room and found his, her eyes questioning. He simply nodded. Relaxing, she smiled at Chessa. "You know my real name now."
"I do. Geralt told me... He couldn't help himself."
Dandelion eyed him sharply. He returned the bard's stare.
"Good. I like to be called by my real name."
Dandelion sighed and sat down on a chair opposite from Geralt. He laid out the visitor's sword on the table between them. "Well, it worked for awhile."
"My fault, I know," Geralt growled the first words he had spoken since the young man's appearance. He did not need for him to point it out.
Ciri returned to the newcomer's side, gazing down on him. "He's going to get better, right, Chessa?"
"Yes, he will," she reassured, weariness clearly present in her tone. "A textbook case, that arrow wound. It missed any major arteries. We removed it without problems, cleaned it up, and sewed the wound closed. He just needs rest and time to heal. He'll be fine in no time."
"Good." Ciri sat down on the bed beside him, found his hand, and wove her fingers through his.
Geralt frowned. Dandelion looked at him with a puzzled expression. Why was she so clingy with the young man? A total stranger they knew nothing about. Where he was from or why he had appeared here of all places were just a couple of the many questions jumbled in his mind.
Chessa rose and called for Ciri to join her outside. She glanced over at the men. "We're going to get cleaned up at the pond." Opening the door, she let Ciri out before her.
Geralt rose from the chair. "Wait…"
She stopped and glanced at him. Blood smeared along the side of her nose and streaked down the column of her neck but somehow made her all the more alluring. For regardless of who the visitor was, she had saved his life. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to kill him when he discovered his intent.
Suddenly, he felt foolish for what he was about to say, and they were not alone. He shouldn't worry so much. They would be safe at the pond. He nodded. "Be careful."
"We'll be back shortly." Grabbing a couple towels and a bar of soap from a nearby woven basket, she paused before leaving the house offering him a comforting smile. "We'll be fine." Stepping out, she closed the door behind her.
Dandelion yawned loudly. "You that worried about them going to the pond alone?"
Grimacing, he felt stupid, but he did worry about them out there alone. "It's dark and late. After what had happened tonight, you question why I worry?"
Shrugging, he frowned. "No, I suppose I don't. It's only natural. But you worry way too much, in my opinion."
"Didn't ask your opinion."
"A little testy tonight, I see."
Geralt shot his friend a harsh glare that shut him up.
Turning his attention to the young man's sword, he studied it, although it did not make him feel any better. Instead of providing answers, it only instilled more questions. Silver-plated siderite steel core. He'd recognize it anywhere. Finely crafted too. He gazed down the length of it. Slightly shorter than his forty and a half inch silver blade, this one was about thirty-eight to thirty-eight and a half inches long, he'd bet. Look at that, runes etched down the middle too… just like his own Witcher's sword, but this was… No, it couldn't be…
Movement drew Geralt's attention and he looked up. Dandelion approached the sleeping young man. Looking back at the sword, he turned the shiny blade this way and that for a clearer view inspecting the runes in the candlelight.
"By the Gods, Geralt…" Dandelion mumbled, raking a hand through his hair.
"What's this?" he murmured, peering closer at the blade.
"I just can't get over it…" Dandelion was saying. "It's remarkable, really. And did you see his eyes, Geralt?"
He stared unblinking at a glyph just below the cross guard. Strange a symbol like that would grace a blade of master quality. Unusual... A single word inscribed beneath it, and recognizing the elder speech, he read it aloud. "Zire-"
"Geralt?"
"Yeah?" He gripped the hilt. Lighter than a normal sword too. Good balance, but a smaller hilt… Hmmm... the boy must have delicate hands. This was a master crafted sword, no doubt about it.
Still holding it, he reluctantly joined Dandelion standing by the bed, and his throat tightened. He was not sure he could… Taking the last step, he stood beside his friend and gazed down at the boy. His medallion trembled and his stomach flopped.
"I just can't get over it," the bard said softly. "Did you see his eyes before?"
Swallowing hard through a constricted throat, Geralt nodded. "I know," he grated in a hoarse voice. "I… I don't understand, Dandelion. How can this be? What are we witnessing here?" He looked to his friend truly desiring support in a way that was unknown to him. Support he never knew he'd ever need. Dandelion laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. A small gesture, but he drew comfort anyway.
He spotted the young man's hands. Definitely not delicate. Before he even realized what he did, he placed his large hand on top of the boy's. Hmmm… Same size. Breathing in deeply, he stepped back and held up the weapon. "And his sword… There's something about it…" He shook his head.
"A fine weapon, but what's wrong with it? Is it enchanted?"
Shaking his head, he propped the sword against the wall by the hearth. "Not enchanted, but… hmmm. Can't put my finger on it. It's a smaller, lighter sword than a man his size should wield."
"Everything about this boy is a right mystery, Geralt, and one we will uncover at some point, I'm sure. It's one of your strengths, friend. Until we can talk to him… You watch. All will become clear once we learn who he is and where he's from-"
"And why he's here," Geralt added swallowing the lump that choked him. He stared down at the boy. "It's not possible… Is it, Dandelion? It can't be… Can you believe how much he...? A Doppler... or magic," he nodded convinced. "It's gotta be higher magic that changed him…"
"Geralt," Dandelion muttered turning his full attention on him. "My friend, don't do this. Don't go there. You'll drive yourself insane. You've clearly been around too many sorceresses."
"Someone is fucking with me, Dandelion!" he growled. "This shit isn't possible. It's not, and you know it. What if he is a Doppler? Only they can change their likeness, take on the image of another person. The resemblance is too real…" Geralt turned away, knowing all too well he couldn't see through the illusion, see the true person behind the magical mask. It was not because the magic was beyond his Witcher abilities to detect, but because there was no illusion. No magic involved, here. At least, in the case of the boy's appearance. He was genuine, and everything about him was real. This was no joke, no prank. But who could be behind this?
His breathing out of control, his chest constricted painfully making it difficult to breathe. He hadn't felt this way in ages. Anxiety like he had not had since before his mutations. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he forced himself to calm down. "Need some fresh air."
"But…"
Geralt held out his hand. "Stay here with the boy in case he wakes up." And out he went, the door rattling closed behind him.
The autumn night, fresh and cool, however, a little warmer than usual for this time of year, brought him back under control if only for a few minutes. He hadn't been this shaken about anything since he survived the mutation process and woke up with white hair and strange eyes.
Taking a deep breath, he slowed his pace. Quietly approaching the pond, he kept to the shadows of the trees. The moon, bright and high in the sky, lit up a layer of wispy white clouds and bathed the pond in its silvery glow. Its reflection glittered down the center of the water's black surface in a brilliant jagged line. A doe approached and drank to her content before leaping off into the woods sensing his presence. The constant singsong of cicadas and frogs filled the night and in a few hours, any birds that had not yet migrated south would join the symphony with their own songs come dawn. The idyllic peaceful scene was at odds with his tumultuous thoughts. Questions he had no answers to left him anxious, perplexed, and disturbed among a host of other feelings he did not care to identify.
Halting, he sat down on a large boulder and tried to calm his shaking hands. A giggle echoed over the water. Ciri. Just over the way, she finished tugging on her boots and picked up a towel for Chessa. The herbalist waded out of the water.
Hungrily, he devoured her with his eyes, grateful he hid in the shadows. Her long hair, even longer now soaked and plastered to her back, the ends came to just above the swell of her backside. The backside he admired in their rendezvous earlier, and even now from this distance. She shook out her hair and turned. He lost his breath. The moonlight blessed him with a clear view of her beautiful body before Ciri wrapped her in the oversized towel. He breathed out slowly. He had enjoyed her once, but wanted more. Needed more.
He was always searching... always...
Within moments, she had dressed and they headed back toward the house hand in hand. When they had vanished from his line of sight, he listened until the door opened and then closed a few seconds later. They were back safely in the house and he relaxed, if only a little.
It was then he became aware of the deep longing, a pesky recurring ache in his soul he had tried to appease all his life, usually with promiscuous actions, and he groaned, for it had surfaced yet again. It was a feeling he'd rather not experience and burying it deep down only brought temporary relief until something triggered it. At first, being with Yen had stilled that ache for a while, until the deep void reared its ugly head again. Perhaps, that also contributed to the behaviors which drove them apart. Ah, who knows. He was tired of it all. He squeezed closed his eyes.
He always searched for that which he never had.
Sitting there on a boulder in the darkness, he felt more alone now than ever. He was the only one who understood the potential gravity of their situation. He alone had to protect them, and anticipate what new danger they might yet face.
He chucked a stone into the water. The thump and swoosh it made penetrating the surface momentarily quieted the frogs. If only he could be still.
Truth was, he had no idea what the fuck to think or do next.
Except one thing.
Gently, he pushed open the door to the bedchamber, but did not enter.
Stillness had settled like a blanket over the house at this late hour. Not a sound met his ears save for her barely detectable quiet and even breathing and the constant muffled pitch of cicadas outside offered a soothing backdrop.
The soft silvery glow of moonlight lit the cozy room enough to pick out the contours of colorful petals of floral garlands adorning every space and sheer white curtains draped around the windows and bed that gave the room a warm, inviting, and distinctly feminine touch. Not a single trace of a male presence in this house. Unusual that. Why an attractive woman in her prime would have no husband and children to her name was a question he couldn't bring himself to vocalize.
The hearth was dark and cold for the autumn night was pleasantly warm. He took a step inside then hesitated. Gazing at Chessa's slumbering form, the deep longing that had gripped him tonight continued to gnaw even after the long walk he had hoped would drive away.
It didn't.
On a bed just wide enough for two people, she slept serenely on her belly, her soft curls swept up above her head and piled on the pillows revealing a slender alluring neck. He imagined his lips there, with slow tender kisses and the thought burned him hotter than he was already. The blankets covered her from the hips down and the backless sheer white lace nightdress left her back tastefully exposed. The bumps of her shoulder blades framed a beautiful line of a spinal column that dipped into the small of her back. The anticipation of knowing what a delicious bottom awaited concealed beneath lodged the breath in his throat.
Propping his swords against the nightstand, he only removed his hand from the scabbards when they wouldn't make a sound when he let go. He shouldn't do this. He'd only be using her to satisfy his own selfish desires. He paused. He really shouldn't, but the need was too great.
Despite the sliver of hesitation, he unbuckled the leather strap around his thigh and let it and the scabbard it supported slink to the rug. With trembling fingers, he unlaced his trousers.
But, it was more than that. It was more than just satisfying a physical need. The ache grew more intense at the sight of her now. He breathed in deeply and exhaled through his nose and in the quiet, sounded loud to his ears. It was an emotional need, a deep one, one he didn't understand fully, but it centered around the very core of his being.
Stripping out of his jerkin and tunic, he tuned out the voice of reason and knelt on the mattress. It dipped beneath his weight. Heart in his throat, he feathered fingertips down her side beneath her arm, slowly tracing the side of a breast, and continued down until he reached the blankets. He followed the trail with his lips.
"Hmmmm…" she sighed. Stirring, she glanced over her shoulder. "What took you so long?"
At her groggy whisper, he could only watch her, grateful the shadows hid his face. Although he could see her clearly, she probably could not see him well.
"Are you all right?" Stretching languorously, she found his gaze.
Both hands gripped her sides and caressed the length of her torso while she stretched, the texture of the lace soft as silk and utterly pleasing. He craved more of her softness.
"I'm worried about you," she murmured. One hand reached for him and found the sensitive spot just above his knee. He sucked in air. Her touch scorched him.
She started to roll over, but he pressed a hand between her shoulder blades preventing her. He did not say anything, only let his touch communicate his wish. His other tugged the blankets down passed her knees eliciting a sigh from them both. Hers was a fluttering sigh, his, low and deep in his throat at the sight of the sheer white lace gown hugging her curves. The embroidered flowers spaced enough apart offered a tantalizing view of the smooth skin of her rounded backside, and the promise of the dark shadow splitting her down the middle flamed his excruciating need. Positioning himself behind her, he massaged her bottom and squeezed and caressed until she writhed beneath him begging for more.
The sweet and saltiness of her back, fresh from the coconut oil infused soap, pleased his senses. Placing heated kisses along her shoulders, down her shoulder blades, and then the line of her spinal column, he licked the dip at the small of her back right at the edge of the lace just before the swell of her backside. Her taste ignited every nerve ending in his body.
Sighing, she arched her back. Her mane of glorious waves spilled down over her backside. "Geralt… I know the young man shook you… I can understand why… Do you know him?"
"Ssshhh," he hissed in her ear. "Don't want to talk about it." Hunched over her, he stretched both arms out supporting himself on the downy pillows on either side of her head. Flattening his cheek against the side of her face, he buried his nose in her fresh fragrant curls. "I'm a wreck, Chessa." He grated in a rough voice against her ear, "And I need you."
Groaning sympathetically, she clutched his arm. "I know..." She turned her face towards him, her parted lips a hair's breadth from his. "Whatever you need... I'm all yours, Witcher," she breathed.
With a guttural growl, he possessed her lips in a fierce kiss before she could utter a sound. Leaning on one arm, his other hand shoved the lace gown up over her rump and it pooled in folds at her hips. Tearing his lips from hers, he scorched her backside with his mouth all the way down and drank her musky delight, savoring her taste on his tongue and in his mouth, inhaling her scent and only hers craving to be overcome by nothing else. He did not, could not think about anyone or anything, only escape from the torrent of questions and the gut-clenching emotions they fueled. This was the only way he could cope. It anchored him, gave him a sense of control and empowered him to continue on in the harsh environment of their world.
Amidst urgent moans, she whimpered and writhed, ready for him. Good... he would not last long. Already dripping, he rose to his knees behind her and plunged into her slick softness, deeply and repeatedly, not giving her time to adjust to his hard invasion. He groaned, losing himself in her hot wetness, the silver medallion rattled and jostled in rhythm against his chest. Gripping her hips and encouraged by her cries, he focused on a much more delicious kind of torment.
Forcing her into the pillows with short quick drives, he reassured himself things would make sense later. He'd sort things through, willing to believe it would be all right… he'd know what to do. Now, he was in control and would remain that way in this entire situation. He groaned, confidence and intense pleasure forced all thoughts aside and sent waves of tingles throughout his body and soul.
Her hands clutched the headboard until her knuckles turned white. Raising her hips higher enabled deeper penetration. Alternating from short quick thrusts to long slow drives erupted high-pitched vocals spurring him on. A deep growl escaped him.
Smoothing his hands up over the curvature of her bottom, they dipped in at her slim waist and over the ridges of her ribcage. Reaching around, he filled his palms with soft pliable breasts, caressed and fondled them before raking his fingers through her wild storm of curls. Flipping her glorious mane over her head, they spilled on the pillows. He tasted the back of her neck and nipped her just below the hairline. She moaned sweetly.
His breathing turned erratic, as did hers. The effects of the night melted away clearing his mind and unclenched deep muscles only to tighten again to serve another purpose.
He was not the sort of man who finished before the lady, and he clenched his teeth attempting to restrain his climax, but at the same time, craving release. It was the worst and delicious kind of torment known to man. The room spun, he squeezed his eyes closed.
"Yen…" he ground out, panting. Anything else he might have said evaporated in a breathy sigh. At this point, nothing mattered, only burgeoning release dominated all thought. Groaning, one hand clutched a hip, the other plastered her head into the pillows. With a hoarse growl, he sank deep driving into her as far as he could go and erupted, emptying himself along with all the negative thoughts and emotions that had ruled him tonight. Wave after wave of pleasurable tingling heat rippled through of his body.
She followed suit, crying out trembling around him, her spasms massaging every inch of him. Breathless, her hands sank back to the pillows.
She achieved her pleasure and he was relieved, although he would have made sure she had. Every muscle relaxed and his mind stilled, finally… Collapsing on his side next to her, he savored the warmth and rejuvenation flowing through him.
Gathering him close to her balmy body, she wrapped herself around him in lace and verbena pressing his head against her bosom holding it there steady. Whispering sweetly, she gently removed his hair tie and let his long strands fall loose around him, her fingers combing lovingly through the hair that had been white since he was a boy. Occasionally, she traced tiny kisses along the scar that dominated his face while fingers tenderly caressed the prominent slashes marring his back long scarred over.
Oh, Gods... This tender show of affection was like a soothing healing balm over his frayed soul. Comforted, he fondled and suckled her breasts through the sheer lace and then deep relaxation came over him.
Just before he let soft blackness of sleep claim him, he breathed in and sighed against her softness, her affection, and her comfort, the hunger for that which he never had, abated, if only for a little while.
Stomach clenched and a lump constricting her throat, she stepped away from the door that was not closed all the way. Her heart thudded in her chest again. All she wanted was to crawl in bed with Geralt after a nightmare that had awakened her in a cold sweat. Strangely, she heard him in Chessa's bedroom and hurried here to be with him, desperate for his presence. He always calmed her and she needed to feel safe. He always made her feel safe.
But the scene she had just witnessed burned her mind and squeezing closed her eyes, she willed them away but at the same time, intrigued by it and not understanding why. Silently, despite the anxiety, she sped back down the hall to her room and threw herself on the bed, burying her face deep into the pillows and fought against the fear lurking in the darkness.
No, she would not cry. Would not give in. Geralt was just in the other room, he would protect her.
But… the fear had no mercy.
Clutching him to her breasts still, Chessa dropped a kiss on top of his head, blinking away the fierce tears that burned her eyes, grateful he was unaware. A wave of emotions assaulted her, ones she did not expect. The bitter disappointment of being called someone else's name in the middle of such an intimate moment was bad enough, but she was not unrealistic.
He was a Witcher, and it was well known his kind traveled incessantly and would find a warm lovely woman like her to escape from the pressures their trade imposed. The constant and horrid witness of death and destruction on a regular basis and knowing he was the harbinger of most of that, must be a tough burden to carry.
But what really melted her heart was his deep need for comfort and affection. That widely perceived understanding that Witchers were void of emotion and feeling was completely false. She grinned to herself despite a tear that rolled down her cheek and dropped in the wild mass of her tresses. Oh, that was a bare-faced lie and a true misrepresentation of his kind. She had no doubt that he possessed a canny ability to keep his emotions in check when it suited him, but the raw emotion uncovering his soul tonight was palpable. Reality was, underneath his rock hard exterior with all the many scars she couldn't fathom one body possessing, he was as vulnerable as any human being, possessing deep feelings and needs. And that just made him more dear to her heart.
She had no idea who this 'Yen' was, but she must be someone very special to him. Kissing the top of his head again, his deep and even breathing told her he was fast asleep. Good. He needed the rest. She could, yet in many ways could not, understand what he was going through, but she was glad he found reprieve with her. She squeezed him in a tight embrace.
Even if it was only temporary.
Drifting awake, he floundered between that state of sleep and wakefulness, verbena prominent and soothing his senses. Total relaxation like he had not had in a long time warmed him through. Or it was Chessa that heated him. He squinted open his eyes. Molded behind her frame their legs intertwined, he laid on his side with an arm draped over her holding her possessively close against him. He wanted to stay like this forever with the fragrant softness of her hair against his face. Breathing in the sweet floral scent, he closed his eyes again. Hugging her tighter, he savored her closeness and the feminine scents surrounding him brought bliss.
She was still fast asleep and he was comfortable enough and did not want to move, but his thoughts stirred him. And his bladder. Groaning, he debated whether to take care of that now or not. He did not want to move.
The bladder won.
Ever so slowly, he peeled himself from her, grinning at the floral imprints her lace nightdress branded on his skin. When he was sure she would not awake, he sat on the edge of the bed in the dark. No one stirred the hour before dawn. It was the darkest, coldest part of the night just before the foggy gray light of the new day made its appearance. With elbows on his knees, he raked a hand through his loose hair. She still slept soundly, and even though he found restful sleep for only a few hours, he grew restless thinking about their visitor downstairs. He needed answers. The sooner, the better.
Spotting his hair tie on a pillow, he took it. Gathering the top section of his hair, he tied it back into a ponytail. Tugging on and lacing his trousers, he shrugged a cotton tunic over his shoulders. Padding over to the nightstand, he retrieved his swords and leather armor quietly. With a long glance at her slumbering form amidst tousled locks and even more rumpled bed sheets, he sighed both with longing, and regret. Last night brought relief in more ways than one, but embarrassed by his desperate need for her, he exited the room without looking back.
He shouldn't have fucked her. At least not in the manner he had. It was a bad idea from the start. Should've listened to his conscience. It was only for himself, really, to make him feel better and a terribly selfish thing to do. She should hate him for it. Probably would wish him gone now and did not blame her if she did. But thoughts of her tenderness afterwards would suggest otherwise, but he was not one to wear out his welcome.
Without a sound, he trod down the hall, her scent following him, or more to the truth, was stillonhim. Traces of her taste lingered in his mouth and he smiled at the memory despite feeling conflicted over it.
Passing another room, he stalled and peeked in the cozy bed chamber, its door slightly ajar. Ciri slept peacefully, sprawled on her belly in a tornado of twisted covers, her hand resting against her cheek and long fair tresses fanned out on the pillows. Grinning at the adorable picture, he memorized it, storing the memory before closing the door quietly.
He continued down the stairs, deposited his swords and armor on the trestle table by the door, and stepped outside and relieved himself. When he returned, he glanced at the still sleeping visitor with apprehension. His stomach started knotting up again. He just couldn't believe the resem-
A piercing high-pitched wail split the quiet and when it didn't stop, he bounded up the stairs taking the steps two at a time. He burst through the door to her chamber. Ciri, tangled in the linens, flailed her arms and legs, her long pale hair swooshing in all directions. Tears streamed from her eyes. She gasped, then screamed again.
"I'm here, Ciri!" he whispered urgently, grabbing both her arms and sitting down on the bed. He had to hold her wrists fast or she would have pommeled him. "Ssshhh, I'm here." Drawing her into his chest, he embraced her fully, smoothing back her hair, running his hands up and down her back until she stilled. "I'm here. You're safe. It was just a bad dream."
She climbed onto his lap and flung her arms around his neck tightly, almost possessively. With her sniffles, wet tears pooled and dripped down into the hollow of his collarbone and dampened the collar of his tunic. Kissing her hair, he continued soothing her, rocking her back and forth until the tears stopped.
He became aware of a presence at the door. Glancing over quickly, Chessa stood there tying a robe that matched her nightdress around her waist. Her expression was one of questioning concern. She mouthed to him if she was all right and he nodded confident the worst had passed.
"Ssshhh. It's early you know," he whispered against Ciri's ear. "Try to get some more sleep, all right?"
She shook her head against him.
"Ah, come on." He paused. "You wanna talk about it instead?"
Again, she shook her head.
"Fair enough."
Chessa took a hesitant step inside the room. "Ciri… Dear...?" she began softly.
Shoving some hair away from her face, Ciri glanced at the healer. Her eyes swollen and red. Tear steaks shone on her cheeks.
"Want to sleep in my bed, hon? Just for a little while longer."
Ciri looked to him and he nodded, encouraging the idea. Glancing back at the healer, she nodded and got off his lap. Holding out her hand, Chessa took hers and led her from the room.
Geralt caught Chessa's gaze and nodded, grateful. She started to leave and he thought to apologize, but clamped up. She gazed at him a moment longer and returned to her bed chamber.
He poured a mug of wine, and downed it while watching the slumbering young man. Placing the empty mug on the table, he slowly approached him and sat in the chair beside the cot and lit the candle on the nightstand. For a long while, he studied the visitor.
He had noticed it before when he had brought the boy in from outside, but did not get a close view. Now, he could. Reaching for the young man's neck, he drew the silver chain from underneath the collar of his finely tailored tunic. Holding his breath, his mind spun… What if he recognized it? But, more so, what if he didn't? Indeed, the chain ended in a large black and gold pendant about the size of a woman's palm. Swallowing hard, he turned it around in his hand. Constructed of solid gold and onyx, its background consisted of a black checkerboard in the shape of an eight-pointed star that boasted the relief of a golden sun in the foreground, its squiggly rays pointed in all directions. Clearly, the Black Sun, the god and symbol of the Nilfgaardian Empire. So the boy was a Nilfgaardian. Sent by the Emperor himself, maybe?
He gazed back at the man and his throat closed. Was he the…? No, he couldn't be. Ciri would not have been so close and caring for the man if he were the knight that had whisked her away from the massacre of her home. So then who was this mysterious stranger and why did he look so familiar?
But there was more to the pendant, which was highly unusual. The Black Sun alone was the most recognized emblem on the continent, but in its center... a small, but with distinct detail, a silver snarling wolf-head…
"What the-?"
Tugging off his own medallion, he held it beside the boy's pendant. The wolf-heads were identical, however, the boy's was smaller in scale to fit within the circumference of the sun. Both medallions trembled in his hands and he ceased to breathe.
What the fuck is this?! HOW?!
Notes: Thank you to Vic-of-Thor for his ongoing support and insight! Thank you to all the readers who have stuck it out this far - just wait - it gets even better!
