The first thing Geralt smelled was lavender.
It was warm, wherever he found himself – cosy, orangish, with the afterscent of medicinal salve. There was something light and soft on his body, something covering him in the absence of his armour, and he grunted a bit, shifting in place, feeling as sensation began to slowly return to his extremities. He flexed his previously broken hand, feeling the ache of bones having only recently knitted, before opening his eyes, staring groggily at the ceiling, trying to decipher where he was and how he had gotten there.
The last thing he remembered was darkness; before that, there was only cold, blood, and indescribable pain, with the silvery moon filtering wan light through the window to illuminate the carnage of a trap he had unwittingly walked into. He remembered lying on the warehouse floor, the smell of packed dirt soaked with gore, and the singular thought of how much he would miss living, because living meant being with Yennefer. He vaguely remembered a flash of gold filtering in through his weary lids after that, but everything else was just a black abyss, an unconsciousness that had swallowed him whole, one he had been convinced was death.
It was strange to think that nothingness was the only thing that awaited him after his final defeat; he had died once before, with Yennefer, and thanks to Ciri, they had found tranquillity waiting for them on the other side. Perhaps that was why he found nothing this time, he thought – he had turned his back on paradise once, and in return, paradise had abandoned him when he once again crossed the veil.
The mystery of the afterlife was not long-lived, however, as the scent of lavender soon reached his weary senses, and, soon after, the muffled sound of someone humming began to buzz gently at his ears. Fluttering his lashes, Geralt groaned, feeling the first pangs of reality begin to settle in; his body felt like wet clay, heavy and shapeless, but he could still distinctly feel the pain of his injuries as they began to return in full. Shani looked up at the sound of her patient waking, stopping quickly in her idle humming, before moving to sit on the edge of his bed, picking up a handcloth from the nightstand and using it to dab cool water across his forehead. "You're awake," she observed, brushing a lock of sweaty hair from his face. "I was afraid you might not make it. I've never seen wounds quite like the ones you came in with."
"Shani…?" Geralt croaked, barely able to force the word out.
"Shh, don't speak," Shani insisted, gently, reaching over to touch the bandage on his throat. Lifting it slightly, she peered under it, checking the status of the wound, before letting out a soft sigh and pressing it down again, reaching back to dip her handcloth in the cool water by his bed. "You injured your neck pretty badly," she told him, ringing the excess water back into the bowl. "Whatever attacked you knew exactly where to puncture to hit a major artery. You're lucky you didn't bleed out from that neck wound alone."
"Vampire," Geralt answered, shortly, coughing as the word scratched his swollen throat. "Bit me… three times."
"Ah, see, there's your problem," Shani returned, nodding. "Should've told it to stop after one."
Geralt glanced up to see if she was smiling at her own joke, and sure enough, he could see the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips, though he could tell she was trying hard to hide her cheeky grin as she turned to him again, starting to dab cool water across his face. "I'm glad I learned a little about witchers before this happened," she told him, a slightly more playful tone to her voice now. With him awake and talking, he figured, she had less reason to be on edge, and he could feel tangible tension leaving the room as she tended to him. "Like how your heartbeats slow down to preserve energy. Quite useful when you're a witcher and you need that extra energy, but disconcerting when you're looking for a pulse to make sure someone isn't dead."
Geralt snorted at the comment, coughing as a chuckle got stuck in his throat, but Shani only gave a soft huff, setting her cloth aside on the nightstand again. Looking down at Geralt then, she paused, considering him for another moment, before reaching out to pull the sheets down on the bed, uncovering his heavily bandaged chest. He could feel cold air on his skin as the covers were drawn away, but he could still not quite convince himself to move, despite his senses becoming clearer the longer he listened to Shani's grounding voice.
"You're lucky Yennefer studied your alchemy," Shani told him, picking up a shoulder-satchel from the floor and moving it to her lap. Looking down, Geralt could see a few familiar poultices sticking out from the lip of the bag, along with a collection of medicinal leaves in glass vials that reminded him of his own potion bottles. "She managed to brew a few batches of Swallow for me to use in addition to my own medicine," Shani continued. "Without that, I don't think you would've made it. You were losing blood quickly, but you also had intestinal leakage, which comes with a high risk of infection. I had to stop the bleeding, but If I'd tried to sew you up like that, you might have died of toxic shock, even with your advanced healing."
Pushing aside a few smaller bottles, Shani pulled out a jar of red liquid that Geralt immediately recognized as the aforementioned Swallow, setting it down on the bedside table beside the handcloth and the bowl of water. "The Swallow healed your intestinal wounds so I could sew up your stomach without risk of infection," she concluded. "It also helped with managing some surface wounds I wasn't comfortable trying to fix with surgery just yet." Looking up at Geralt again, she paused, her hazel eyes trailing down the bandages on his chest, before she set the satchel aside again, instead getting up to fetch something from a far corner of the room. Geralt huffed as she stood from the bed, taking the opportunity to look down at his body, and he made a face as he stared down at his broken form for the first time since waking up.
His wounds were still bloody, which was disconcerting, though he had no idea how long he had been out to give them time to heal. Wounds from supernatural creatures were different than wounds from non-magical creatures, he knew, and he had no idea if the vampire had had something in its venom which would cause his wounds to resist healing. Letting out a groan, he lifted his head, feeling the weight of his body pulling him back towards the bed, but he fought against it, pushing himself up onto his elbows to look down at the rest of his injuries.
Lifting the covers, he tossed them aside, looking down at the bandages that covered him from head to toe – at the gruesome residue of blood and pus that crusted the surface of his dressings, at the black and yellow bruises that covered both legs, his entire ribcage, and both of his arms. Reaching to his back, he felt the soft cloth of bandages running the length of his spine, and he made a face as his fingers trailed over a surface that was more compress than witcher. "How long has it been?" Geralt croaked, looking up at Shani again, letting his tired arm fall back to his side. "How… did I get here? I thought… I was…"
"You were," Shani answered, not waiting for him to finish. "You've been out for three days. And you have Yennefer to thank for bringing you back." Returning to his bedside, she made a face as she saw him sitting up, but she quickly shook her head, deciding it was not worth it to argue. Witchers were restless, and Geralt was the worst of them – an idle body meant an unprepared mind, which made an easy target for watchful adversaries. Setting down the two buckets she now carried in her arms, she sat on the edge of the bed again, reaching out to gingerly touch his bandages. "I need to stitch up your wounds," she told him. "I'm pretty sure they've healed enough that I can finally do it without the skin tearing. But I need to disinfect them first, so it's probably going to hurt."
Geralt grunted at her honesty, nodding to give her the go-ahead, and Shani nodded back, before starting to gingerly unwind the bandages around his chest. He could feel the cloth sticking to the pus from the wounds on his back, but he bit back a grimace at the feeling, not wanting Shani to think he was ungrateful for her work. This was just as unpleasant for her as it was for him, he knew, and if she was not complaining about it, then he had no grounds to complain, either. "How… did I get back?" he asked, still hoarse, though he could hear his voice returning the more he used it.
"Yennefer portalled you here," Shani answered, pulling the last of the first bandage free. Winding it into a compact ball, she dropped it into one of the buckets she had brought over, before starting to undo the second wrapping, her expression impassive as it pulled free from the wound with a ghoulish puckering sound. "Thankfully I'd finished watching all the megascope records before it happened," she continued, no inflection in her voice to indicate she was at all affected by the gruesomeness of her task. "I was out in the garden when she suddenly appeared. There was a flash of light, and then this giant portal opened, and out stepped Yennefer, covered in blood and dragging a body."
Pausing in her unwrapping, Shani shuddered bit at the memory of the sorceress' murderous appearance. "It was downright grisly," she admitted, careful not to pull too hard on the stubborn dressing. "I very near wet myself from fright when I saw it— which is a perfectly legitimate reason to wet one's self. It was absolutely not because I have a hard time not wetting myself these days, even without a giant blood-stained portal opening over the begonias." Looking up at Geralt then, she paused, as if waiting for some reaction. "That was a pregnancy joke, Geralt," she told him. "It's okay to laugh."
"I don't get it," Geralt admitted, honestly.
Shani shook her head, another small smile lighting her lips. "It's okay," she said, tossing the second bundle of used wrappings into the bucket. "I'll explain another time. For now, can you turn over? I need to get to the lacerations on your back."
Geralt nodded, before doing as he was told, turning over on his side to allow Shani a full view of his back. He wondered what it actually looked like back there – from the state of the discarded bandages, it seemed like a pulpy massacre, but without actually seeing the extent of the damage he could not fully comprehend what he had just lived through. Turning his head, he tried to glance over his shoulder at the nail-marks sliced into his back, but he could only see the white shape of Shani's cloth as she dabbed warm soapy water on his wounds, tending to his injuries with a touch so gentle he had barely even felt her beginning to wash him.
She was good at her work – damn good, he told himself – and it always amazed him how humble she was about that fact. He watched her over his shoulder as she concentrated, her hazel eyes solemn as she focused on his injuries, as if his wounds were the only thing in the world that mattered. "What'd you find out?" he finally spoke, causing her to look up in surprise, pulled from her medical trance. "About the megascope records. Said you finished watching them. What'd you find out?"
Shani considered for a moment, her lips thinning into a soft pink line, her washcloth hovering over his wounds as she let out a soft hum. "Well…" she finally answered, starting to gently wash his back again. "I discovered that Moreau's research was very grotesque… but it was also very thorough, which was incredibly helpful." Wringing the blood from her towel again, she dipped it back in the soapy water, before starting to wash near the nape of his neck, causing him to give a soft hiss as she dabbed at the deepest of his cuts. "It was helpful that the focus of his research was specifically in the hopes of reversing his son's sterility," she continued, gingerly brushing his dishevelled hair aside to get to the back of his neck. "If nothing else, it gave me a starting point for trying to piece together what might have gone into that potion you took. Just… nothing specific that would explain what actually happened. Medically speaking."
Wringing out her bloody towel again, Shani draped it over the edge of the soapy bucket, before reaching down to her satchel and pulling out a curved sewing-needle and fishing-twine. Looking to the candles around the room, she paused, considering getting up, before looking to Geralt instead and holding out the needle, offering him a hopeful smile. "Help me out?" she asked, her voice optimistic. Geralt faltered, but did as he was asked, holding out a hand to produce a small flicker of Igni, and Shani eagerly tipped her needle into the flames, toasting the metal brown, before retrieving it again and blowing on it, cooling it and threading it for use. "Now sit still," she said, reaching out to pinch his reddened skin. "This will hurt, but it'll be over soon. Hopefully it'll keep you from scarring more than you already have."
"Don't mind scars," Geralt answered, honestly. "Got plenty of them as it is."
Shani said nothing to this, but her pretty brow furrowed in concentration as she made her first prick, carefully sliding the needle through his skin and pulling it through to the other side of the laceration. Geralt clenched his teeth as he felt the skin being pulled taut, a burning and pinching sensation he never grew quite accustomed to, but he made no sound, only balling his fist into the edge of his pillow as he waited for her to finish her work. "Moreau's research was not part of the study from Oxenfurt that created your potion, unfortunately," Shani went on after a moment, gently pulling the skin closed on a new stitch with a few soft, assuring tugs. "He was an independent researcher, trying to figure it out on his own. Though I doubt there's more than one way to go about successfully altering the sterility of witchers."
She paused at this thought, before making another stitch. "Except perhaps the use of dark magic," she conceded, the same playful tone entering her voice again. "We shouldn't dismiss that possibility."
"Hm," Geralt answered, uncomfortable with the joke. Dark magic was no laughing matter when it came to his and Yennefer's affairs, but he was not about to scold Shani for something she had no reason to know. A weary silence fell over the room as she continued to work, gingerly sewing her way up his spine to the worst wounds at the back of his neck, until he finally felt the last catch of the needle being pulled through, and the satisfying snip of the twine being cut. Shani let out a soft sigh as she set her needle and twine aside, before bending to pull her soapy bucket forward again, letting out a huff as she bent to reach it. Geralt frowned a bit at the show of effort, wondering if simple actions were really that much harder already, but he said nothing, not wanting to embarrass her in case she was still trying not to let on that she was having difficulties.
"I'm going to wash your back again," Shani announced, lifting her soapy towel. "Then I'm going to apply some Swallow and bandage your stitches up. That's enough doctoring for one day, I think, but I just wanted to be sure you were well enough before I tried anything."
"Appreciate it," Geralt answered, nodding his gratitude over his shoulder. The soapy cloth against his back felt clean and cool in contrast with his stitches, and he let out a soft grunt, nestling his chin into his pillow as he waited for her to finish. "Shani," he said after a moment, speaking slowly as he formulated his thoughts. "Did you… keep in contact with the couple from Murky Waters? The ones taking care of Alvin?"
Shani frowned at the question, wringing out her towel before dipping it again in the soapy water. "Alvin?" she asked, thinking about it. Then, shaking her head, she began to dab at his stitches again. "No," she answered. "I tried, but they stopped responding to my letters after a while. Why? What made you think of them?"
"Thinking about Alvin," Geralt returned, giving a weak shrug. "Topic of Sources came up in Beauclair. Hadn't thought about him in a while, but… can't stop thinking about him now." He frowned a bit at the thought of the boy, starting to pick distractedly at his broken nails – in truth, he had almost forgotten about Alvin entirely until Shani had come back into his life, and even then it had taken him until just now to realize she had never been made aware of the child's unfortunate fate. Geralt, himself had only recently discovered what became of the lad – barely six months prior – and only then by coincidence, having picked up a book out of pure curiosity and finding a letter addressed to the witcher inside, tying events together in a way that even he, a hardened cynic, found difficult to dismiss.
"Can't help thinking about the last time we had to make a tough decision," he added, speaking again after a moment of silence. "Another kid with circumstances nobody understood."
"Alvin's circumstances weren't exactly the same," Shani answered, her frown deepening a bit more at the thought. "Others wanted to use him for his powers. I just wanted him to be happy and safe. But we knew what he was, at the end of the day. Even if not a lot of people really understood it." Finished with her washing, she draped her used towel over the edge of the second bucket, before cleaning her hands on a fresh, dry cloth and picking up the jar of Swallow from the bedside table. Taking the handcloth she had used to cool his face, she dipped it in the potion, wetting it through, before starting to gently spread the liquid over his stinging stitches.
Geralt gave a low hum at the soothing sensation, taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes, grateful for the doctor's healing hands and Yennefer's infinite resourcefulness. "I couldn't go out there myself to check on him after they stopped responding to me," Shani added after a moment, shaking her head. "I had my own work to do. Then, one day, I met someone who had recently come from Murky Waters. I asked him if the three of them were alright, but…" Letting out a deep sigh, she dipped the cloth into the Swallow again, starting to spread it generously across a line of stitches snaking between his shoulder-blades. "He said the young couple had moved away a few months back, and nobody had seen Alvin in a while, either," she said. "Maybe he moved with them, I don't know. I hope so. It just seems strange that they would up and leave like that, without bothering to tell anyone where they were going. They could have at least told me. Or you."
Securing the cork back in the jar of Swallow then, she let out another soft, overburdened sigh. "There wasn't anything else I could do," she added, disappointedly. "I guess I'll never know what became of poor Alvin."
Geralt hesitated, debating for a moment whether it would be better to say something, or leave the situation as it was. This way, Shani was spared the knowledge that the boy she had gone out of her way to protect had grown up to be a despicable xenophobe, and had died at Geralt's own hand – but the look on her face that spoke of her remorse in not keeping better tabs on Alvin made a swell of guilt rise in his chest, and he took a breath, readying himself to speak the awful truth. No sooner had he opened his mouth to speak when the door to the bedroom suddenly swung open, and a new figure rushed in, her dark hair bounding in frazzled ringlets over her shoulders as she turned towards the bed to see if the witcher was awake.
Yennefer looked as he had hardly ever seen her – her lips were unpainted, her hair untamed, and a faint line of darkness had hollowed under her violet eyes, betraying a lack of sleep the likes of which he had not known her to suffer in years. "I thought I heard voices," the sorceress announced, breathless. "Is Geralt awake?"
"For now," Shani answered, nodding with a soft smile. "I just need to finish bandaging his stitches. Then I can leave you two to your own devices."
"Hey, Yen," Geralt greeted her, offering her his best half-grin. His face still hurt, but he felt it was worth it to let her know he was glad to see her looking so worried for his well-being.
Yennefer froze at the sight of Geralt in the bed, at the gruesome line of stitches making a puffy ladder up the length of his spine, and she pursed her lips, her hand moving to grasp the door handle, fumbling a few times before finally taking hold. "I see," she said, her voice forcibly stiff. "And how long would you recommend he stay on bedrest? With injuries like his, I can't imagine he'll be ready to move around again anytime soon."
"At least a week," Shani answered, turning to look back at Geralt again. "Though I'd prefer he do two or three, if I'm being totally honest. He is a witcher, but the damage he took wasn't negligible, even so."
"No, it wasn't," Yennefer agreed, her jaw visibly clenching. "Three weeks seems very short, for what he went through. Don't you think?"
"For most, yes," Shani admitted, pulling a length of rolled bandages from her supply satchel and starting to unravel them. "Lucky for Geralt, though, he heals faster than most. He'll be good to walk around again in a week or two. I wouldn't recommend any strenuous activity for at least a month – like horseback riding – but…" Looking up at Geralt again, she let out a hefty sigh. "I know better than to try to stop him from doing whatever he wants," she said, starting to carefully wrap the length of the bandage around his back and chest. "With or without my medical advisement."
"He is a stubborn one, isn't he?" Yennefer answered, coldly, looking to her husband again. "Never listens to anyone, even when they know what's best for him."
Shani said nothing, only making a face as she continued to wrap Geralt's stitches, making it clear that she knew he was in trouble and she wanted no part of it. Yennefer sighed as she watched the doctor work, before crossing to sit beside her on the bed, resting her hand by Geralt's injured leg as she took in the extent of his damages. "Shani told you how you got here, didn't she?" she finally asked. "After you blacked out from blood loss, I found you in that warehouse and portalled you back home. I knew nobody would be able to treat your injuries as well as Shani." She paused for a moment, as if expecting some reaction, before finally letting out a soft huff, raising a brow. "Nothing?" she asked. "That's a bit disappointing. I was expecting some snide comment about how much you hate portals."
"Hm," Geralt grunted, a weak smirk gracing his lips. "Starting to warm up to them a little after this."
Yennefer pursed her lips, turning her head to watch as Shani continued to wrap his stitches. "Thankfully Shani was incredibly level-headed about the whole thing," she added after a moment. "Clearly she's grown accustomed to your antics by now."
"I am a field medic," Shani answered, softly. "I'm used to treating drop-ins."
Geralt snorted at the joke, but Yennefer only frowned deeper, before looking down to smooth the rumpled material of her trousers. "I found someone to help bring Shani's crib and our supplies back from town," she announced, changing the subject. "Two boys. They said they knew you, Geralt, and that you'd helped them out recently." Looking up at her husband then, she paused, before sighing, folding her hands in her lap. "I heard about your friend as well," she told him. "I'm sorry something happened to him. The boys mentioned that they'd worked for him, so I offered them jobs as stable-hands here. They're here now. They're not very bright, but they're determined workers. I suppose that's what really matters."
Geralt nodded, relieved to hear that the boys had not suffered the same fate as their employer. He had worried about them when the working-men had admitted to not seeing them all day, but he supposed without Rudin to tell them what to do, they had simply wandered off to fish again. "How'd you know to come looking for me?" he asked after a moment, looking back over his shoulder at Yennefer again. "Figured you'd think I just forgot. Thought I'd be dead before you found me."
Yennefer huffed at the question, shaking her head. "Please, Geralt," she told him. "I know you better than that. I knew that death was the only thing that would keep you from an opportunity to get your dick wet."
It was Shani's turn to snort this time, but she quickly sucked the sound back in again, giving a small cough as she tied off the end of the bandages she had been applying. "All done," she announced, looking up with a smile. "I'll leave you two to your own devices." Reaching out to Geralt then, she rested her hand gently on his shoulder, before pushing herself up from the bed with some effort and collecting her buckets and medical supplies from the floor. "I'll take these over to the clinic," she told them, turning back at the door to make sure she had gotten all her materials. "I'll be back in a while to treat your leg, Geralt. In the meantime, don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you, Shani," Yennefer returned, offering the doctor a grateful smile. As the door closed behind her, Yennefer turned back to Geralt again, her violet eyes solemn as she stared at the bandages now covering most of his chest. "She did a good job," she commented, softly. "You might even walk again, if you're lucky."
"Hm," Geralt answered, taking his scolding. "Thanks for coming to find me, Yen."
Yennefer sighed, brushing her hair over her shoulder. "Yes, well," she told him, long-sufferingly. "I almost didn't. While I was waiting for you, I met a lovely young man who told me I reminded him of a song he'd once heard. It was quite flattering."
"Oh?" Geralt smirked, turning onto his back again. "And what song was that?"
At this, Yennefer sighed again, sounding much more put-upon this time. "The Wolven Storm," she answered. "I simply couldn't sleep with him once I found out. So disappointing. I'll give a man credit for poetry, but not for blatant observation."
Geralt chuckled at his wife's stark humour. "Guess I should learn some poetry, then."
"I wish you wouldn't," Yennefer returned, turning her gaze to look down at him again. "Listening to you recite verse is like trying to sleep on a hornet's nest."
"I'll keep that in mind," Geralt answered, smirking.
Yennefer nodded. "As you should," she told him. "And while you're at it, do try to remember something else for me."
"What's that?" Geralt asked.
Yennefer did not answer immediately, instead pushing herself back further onto the bed, turning to lay down on the pillow beside her husband and slipping her dainty foot between his bruised legs. Taking his scruffy face in her palm, she stared at him for a long while in silence, her eyes meeting his as her thumb trailed tenderly across his silvery beard. "Should you ever take another contract which I have advised you against, I will not give the monsters time to kill you," she told him. "Because I will kill you myself. Do I make myself clear, dear?"
Geralt grinned. "Crystal," he answered, taking her hand from his face and bringing it to his lips to kiss it.
Yennefer nodded, satisfied. "Good," she said. "So what was it, then?"
"Hm?" Geralt asked, distracted by her dainty fingers. He kissed them again, before pulling her hand a bit further towards him to kiss the inside of her slender wrist.
"The monster," Yennefer answered, not bothering to fight him as he trailed soft kisses up her arm, though her expression did not change, even as his beard tickled against her porcelain skin. "The one that nearly did you in."
"Vampire," Geralt said, simply, kissing the crook of her arm.
Yennefer frowned, pushing a lock of unruly white hair away from his face. "I find that hard to believe," she told him. "You've fought vampires before and never had an issue. I find it difficult to think a fleder or ekimmara could knock you down so efficiently."
"Wasn't either of those," Geralt answered, kissing her shoulder. "No idea what it was. Smelled like a bruxa, but… definitely wasn't. Some kind of subclass of higher vampire." He kissed her neck, before pausing, thoughtful, resting his chin against her shoulder. "Never seen one before in my life," he added, sliding a hand around her back to hold her close. He moved his knee over her milky thigh, and she huffed, resting her head against his bandaged shoulder.
"How well-versed are you in vampires?" Yennefer asked.
Geralt paused, before making a face, unsure. "Not as well as I'd like to be," he admitted after a moment. "Definitely want to know what the hell this one was. Need to be prepared in case I run into one like it again." Taking in a deep breath, he filled his lungs with Yennefer's sweet, floral scent, before letting it out again in a long, low sigh, burying his face in his wife's soft hair. "Think I'll write to Regis," he said. "See if he can help me identify it."
"You're still in contact with Regis?" Yennefer asked, looking up at him.
Geralt nodded, brushing a hand over her silky raven locks. "Yeah," he answered. "Met back up with him here in Toussaint, actually. Been corresponding back and forth a little. Not as much recently." Kissing her forehead, he closed his weary eyes, allowing his lips to rest against her warm skin. "He's been busy lately, trying to help another acquaintance," he added after a moment. "Vampire friend of his. Helped him out, too. Told you about that, I think."
"Hm," Yennefer answered, lifting her head to kiss her husband's lips. "I don't know why that surprises me. I suppose it doesn't. You always did make unusual bedfellows."
Geralt hummed as he kissed Yennefer back, the sound a low vibrato in his bandaged throat, feeling the softness of her lips against his as he pulled her in, never wanting to let her go. The conversation had lightened with the topic of Regis, but the pain in his body still reminded him how close he had come to death, and how short his life seemed, looking back on the time he had been given to spend with Yennefer. He wanted to hold her warmth against him until the two of them became one, a singular entity, but she was so slender in his calloused hands, so lithe and featherlight in his grasp, her hands and feet so dainty and small, that he feared he might lose her if he ever let go. He had nearly lost her too many times before, and this last time had come far too close for his liking – but he was alive now, and so was she, and that was all that mattered right now.
Geralt kissed his wife again, deeper and more desperately than before, tangling his fingers in her thick, dark hair – until a sudden thought occurred to him, and he pulled his mouth away, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against hers, hearing his heartbeat in his ears. He had not even realized he had forgotten to breathe, too focused on wanting to be with Yennefer, but he swallowed hard, wetting his lips, before taking in another deep breath, preparing to say words he knew would end the precious moment. "Can't put off seeing Ciri anymore," he said, speaking softly and shaking his head. "Starting to think… you might be right. Someone was definitely setting me up with those contracts."
"You don't say," Yennefer answered, sarcastically.
"Hm," Geralt grunted, looking up to meet her eyes. "Sorry, Yen. Should've listened sooner. Guess I just didn't think I was worth killing anymore." Letting out another sigh, he kissed her cheek, before rolling onto his back again, staring at the ceiling and blinking slowly as he turned his thoughts over in his tired mind. "Couldn't figure out why they would bother," he added after a moment. "I'm retired now. Not doing anybody any harm."
"You've had a long career, Geralt," Yennefer pointed out, nestling her head against his bandaged shoulder. He stifled a hiss as she pressed against one of his bruises, draping his arm around her and pulling her in closer to his chest. "It's possible someone saw an opportunity to get rid of you when they knew you'd least expect it."
Geralt shrugged, running his fingers absentmindedly through Yennefer's silky hair. "Maybe," he agreed. "Should've been more wary. Guess I got blindsided by how much that… girl reminded me of Ciri." At this, Yennefer looked up, seeming surprised, and even Geralt had to pause a moment as he realized the connection. He had wondered what it was about Rosie that always gave him such strange pause, and he could not deny, now that the thought had revealed itself, just how much she reminded him of his child surprise – the girl who had threatened to bite him as a child, the girl who had warmed her cold feet on him on winter mornings; the girl whose response to a powerful mage's attempt on her life was to spite him with a middle finger, and whose answer to an eternal elven winter was to shove snowballs down her foster father's back. Ciri had come from unusual family circumstances as well, he remembered, and despite his best efforts throughout her life, she too had found herself far too often alone in her tender youth.
"Whoever set me up probably did that on purpose," Geralt added after another moment, his silver brow furrowing. "Picking a blonde girl with green eyes to deliver their contracts. Counted on me not being able to say no."
"Hm," Yennefer answered, her tone notably stiffer. "I would've called her a redhead with blue eyes, personally. Not very much like Ciri at all. A bit of an insult to compare them, don't you think?" Geralt frowned, but said nothing in response, knowing full well why Yennefer took issue with mention of the girl – still, the topic had been relevant at the time, and he found no reason to regret having brought it up. Sitting up again, Yennefer stretched her dainty legs, before bending over to kiss her husband's cheek, pausing a moment as she did so to run her thumb across his scruffy, overgrown beard. "Need to trim that," she murmured, more to herself than to him. Then, getting out of bed again, she stretched, brushing her hair back, before turning to look towards her husband again.
"Get some rest," she told him, firmly. "We'll talk more about things once you've healed."
"Need a new silver sword," Geralt put in, quickly, pointing at her before she could leave. "Has to be made by Lazare Lafargue. He's the only one who can make it right."
Yennefer sighed at his request, propping her hands on her shapely hips. "I'll tell Barnabas-Basil," she agreed, before scoffing and adding, "You're as finicky about your swords as I am about my delicates."
"Important to get the right tool for the job," Geralt answered, smirking across at his wife.
Yennefer stared at him at this, saying nothing for a moment, allowing ample time for the weight of her displeasure to sink in. "Charming," she finally told him. "I'll remember that next time you're close to death."
"Love you too," Geralt answered, smiling, closing his eyes and laying back against his pillows again, content.
The Swallow had done a commendable job in healing Geralt's wounds over the course of the first week, and by the end of the second, he could barely tell he had been injured at all in the places where Shani had stitched him up. The marks left by the vampire's fangs had been resistant to medicine, witcher or human, but even they had eventually scarred over with his advanced healing, leaving only small, puncture-shaped discs of smooth tissue to remind him of his near-brush with death. During his first week of bedrest, at Yennefer's insistence, he had written a letter to Ciri, explaining that he was simply taking his time in gathering supplies for his journey; he had objected to the letter, arguing that Ciri would easily see through the lie, but Yennefer had been adamant, claiming that it was for the empress' own good to be kept in the dark.
"You could always portal me there," Geralt had suggested, blowing on the finished letter to dry it. "Save everyone a lot of time and frustration."
"I could," Yennefer had answered, distractedly stroking the wings of the black kestrel. It had still not disappeared, despite having returned with Ciri's previous letter more than a week prior – instead, it had since made a home for itself in one of the garden trees, and made sharp shrieking noises at the witcher whenever he happened to pass beneath it. The bird stared at him across the room now as it waited, nestled down against Yennefer's wrist as she scratched idly under its feathered chin. "But who would I be if I deprived you the chance to ignore our sensible health advice?"
Geralt grunted at her answer, folding the letter into thirds, before handing it over to the sorceress to seal. The kestrel had squawked as it felt the letter being wrapped around its leg, before Yennefer lifted it to the open window, allowing it to take off into the sunshine with Ciri's note in tow. Geralt's next letter had been to Regis, though he had taken his time in writing this one, wanting to remember every part of his encounter before sending his query off to his friend. The letter, once written, had been succinct, wishing Regis and Dettlaff well, before describing the vampire in the warehouse in full detail, making sure to include its human name, Mirik, in case that carried any significance. He had signed off with an invitation for Regis to visit the vineyard if he was ever in the area, before pressing the letter with a clumsy wax seal, wondering how Yennefer always managed to keep hers so neat.
The black kestrel in its garden tree opened a sleepy yellow eye as Geralt approached, staring down at him suspiciously as he rested his hands on his hips. The witcher had no idea how to speak to magical creatures, unsure if they possessed the same intelligence as their masters, but he cleared his throat as he squinted at the ruffled bird, before holding up the letter so it could take a look. "Come down," he coaxed the raptor, causing it to open its second curious eye. "Got a letter here. Need you to deliver it."
The kestrel burbled at the command, and then trilled, before squatting down deeper in its makeshift nest, pulling its head into its feathery neck as it stared at the witcher, two yellow dots against a rumpled sea of black. "You're supposed to be in bed," the kestrel squawked, its voice like crackling firewood.
Geralt sighed, letting his arm fall back to his side. "Forgot you things talked," he said, shoving the letter in his pocket. "Leave it to Yen to conjure a bird to scold me when she's not around."
"Not conjured for you," the kestrel retorted, sharply. "Conjured for Ciri." Its angled head popped up like a cork, and it cocked a yellow eye at him, staring down at him, knowingly. "You had a bird," it told him, curtly. "You let him go. I belong to Ciri."
Geralt frowned at the explanation. "You mean I have to have Yen conjure up a whole new bird just to deliver a letter to Regis?" he asked, incredulous.
"No," Yennefer answered, appearing from behind him, and Geralt turned with a start, so focused on his conversation with the bird he had not even heard his wife approach. "I just need to give it a different command. It's a simple spell, as I told you before. No complex free will. Unless I give it different instructions, it remains loyal to whoever it was originally conjured for." Stepping in front of him, she lifted a hand towards the tree, and the kestrel instantly flew down from its perch, alighting on her wrist with a high-pitched squeak before looking up at the witcher again with a piercing stare. Pulling her arm in, Yennefer petted the bird on its sleek head, turning to face her husband. "It makes things simpler to create these birds with a single directive," she explained. "I seldom use the same bird twice. Most birds don't return after delivering their missives. This one just seems to like to stick around."
"It certainly likes you," Geralt agreed, dryly, staring back at the bird. Then, pulling the letter from his pocket again, he held it out to Yennefer instead. "Can you send this to Regis?" he asked. "It's the one I told you about. Asking about the vampire."
Yennefer took the letter with a faint frown, turning it over between her slender fingers to examine the wax seal he had attempted. Then, turning her attention to the kestrel again, she whispered something to it that Geralt could not hear, before kissing the bird gently on its hooked beak, producing a soft aura of shimmering blue light around the kestrel's head as her lips departed its feathered face. The kestrel peeped, its pupils growing wide, and as Yennefer held up the letter again, it took it eagerly in its beak this time, holding it securely as it took off into the sky again, heading in the direction of what Geralt assumed was wherever Regis was staying. For what Yennefer touted as such a simple spell, it amazed him how the birds always knew exactly where to find their letters' recipients – magic worked in mysterious ways, of course, but he had to wonder if there was some sort of scrying component that went into the conjuration of the kestrels, and if perhaps they were a bit more complex than the sorceress was willing to let on.
The kestrel did not return again until nearly his entire two weeks of recovery had ended, and when it did, it carried no return letter from Regis, as the witcher had hoped it might. He only knew the bird had returned when he happened to pass beneath its garden tree, and had heard the familiar protest of his presence coming from the branch where he knew it to stay. He had paused at the noise, turning to squint up at the bird, hoping for some small hint of correspondence from the vampire, but the kestrel had only stared back at him with wide eyes, before telling him in a low warble, "You need a haircut."
Barnabas-Basil and the stablehands had worked hard to put together Geralt's supplies for Vizima while he had been recovering, and by the time he was ready to head out, he found he had very little left to worry about. His new set of armour had been laid out for him to wear, and beside it, the new silver sword he had requested, perfectly balanced and masterfully designed by Lafargue, just as he had asked. Geralt gave the sword a swing to test its weight, and found it to be highly satisfactory, the polished blade whistling through the air at his side like a falcon in dive as he twirled it. He grinned at the craftsmanship, starting to set the weapon down again, before a sudden glint from a nearby window caught the flat of the blade, illuminating a finely-printed script along its length he had not noticed earlier. It was an inscription in the Elder tongue, masterfully engraved, and clearly chosen by Yennefer when she had put in the order for the sword.
"Cáemm adref diel," Geralt read aloud, feeling his heart swell at the message. "'Come home safely.' I will, Yen. I promise."
His new armour was attractive, albeit a bit heavier than his last few ensembles, but he supposed with how near he had recently come to death, a bit of added weight for the sake of padding could only do him good. The new suit was made of polished leather, Zerrikanian camel leather from the look of it, with insewn maille panels protecting his most vulnerable parts and lamellar scaling along the sides of his cuirass, greaves, and across the layered pauldrons that buckled down nearly to his elbows. The knuckles of his leather gloves were studded for close combat, with the outer lengths lined with a row of silver spikes, a resourceful detail that reminded him strongly of the sleeves of Eskel's armour – useful in a pinch to help fight off an unexpected bite from a monster.
Geralt checked his appearance in Yennefer's vanity-glass, straightening the collar of his armour to hide the still-fading fang-scars on his neck, before turning to head next for the clinic, not wanting to forget to talk to Shani before he left. Shani was lounging in one of the clinic chaises when he arrived, balancing a book against her tucked-up thighs, and sucking on a strawberry she had apparently fished from a bowl of them she had set out on the nearby side-table. She was dressed again in one of Geralt's loose shirts, the sleeves rolled up to give movement to her slender arms, and he found himself pausing as he noticed that her hair was tied back in a short ponytail, just long enough to be swept off her neck.
He realized, in all the years he had known her, he had never seen Shani with anything but short hair – a practical choice for a woman of her occupation, but a detail he had strangely never thought of as something that would change. That was foolish, of course – hair grew, sometimes wildly, a fact he had learned during stints on the road where he came home looking more like a lion than a wolf – but it still surprised him to see Shani with longer hair, and it took him a moment to shake the strangeness of it enough to return to reality.
Shani looked up as he approached, not bothering to close her book as she pulled her knees in tighter, making room for Geralt to sit at her feet on the far end of the fainting-couch. Geralt smirked as he took in the leisurely scene – the pile of strawberry stems on a napkin on the table, the stack of half-read books on the floor – before looking up at the doctor again with a fond huff. "Busy day?" he guessed.
Shani chuckled around the strawberry, reaching up to bite off the half she had been sucking on. "So busy," she agreed. "I've got this one unruly patient… can't seem to get him to do anything I tell him."
"Hm," Geralt answered. "Sounds like a real asshole."
"I can't argue that," Shani admitted, shrugging and closing her book. "Unfortunately, I'm carrying his child, so I'm stuck with him. At least for the time being." Setting the book on the floor with the others, she finished her strawberry, discarding the stem on the napkin, before starting to sit up, frowning a bit as she leveraged her weight against the back of the chaise. She huffed as she finally righted herself, stretching out her bare feet across the floor, before letting out a soft, frustrated moan as she stared down at them, flexing her toes. "My shoes are getting tight," she commented, more to herself than the witcher, causing Geralt to look up in interest at the observation.
Geralt frowned, unsure what he was supposed to say to that – he could offer to send Barnabas-Basil into town for a new pair, he thought – but the opportunity to react was quickly ended as Shani looked up again, tucking her feet under the couch as she stared up at him in interest. "Did you come to tell me something?" she asked, folding her hands in her lap. "I'm sure you didn't come to hear me talk about my womanly woes."
"Headed to Vizima," Geralt answered, deciding to drop the subject of shoes. His next thought had been to offer her a pair of his boots, but the idea of her stomping around in his unwieldy riding-shoes was enough to put that thought quickly to rest. "Figure Ciri's waited long enough. Probably getting worried about me at this point."
Shani nodded, listening attentively. "I wondered when you might head out to see her," she admitted. "Truth be told, it seems a little strange you waited this long to do it."
"Had other things to do," Geralt answered, shrugging.
Shani hummed, looking across the clinic towards the filling bookshelves. "I guess," she agreed. "Still seems strange." Then, reaching across to the strawberry bowl, she picked out a fruit, taking a bite, before pausing to stare at a spot on the floor, chewing slowly as she considered her thoughts. "Geralt," she said after a moment, slowly, causing him to look up again, attentive. "Have you noticed there's been a sort of… shift, lately? I'm not sure if that's the right word for it, but… hmm." She frowned, trailing off, before distractedly finishing the last of her strawberry, setting the stem aside and shaking her head with a soft sigh. "I'm not really sure what I'm trying to ask," she admitted, not waiting for his answer. "Things have just felt… not quite right, lately. I can't explain it. Maybe it's just me."
"Hm," Geralt answered, glad to have been spared the subject. "They do say pregnancy can mess with your head."
Shani looked up at the dismissive comment, her expression a mix of humour and incredulity. "Some people might call that kind of talk rude," she told him, causing Geralt to look over again, his cat eyes wide. "Never call a pregnant woman crazy, Geralt."
"Sorry," Geralt grunted. "Didn't mean it like that."
Shani chuckled at his fumbling, reaching over to rest a reassuring hand on his knee, and Geralt quickly picked it up, running his gloved thumb over her dainty fingers. It was difficult to learn new things at his age, but Shani was a blessedly patient teacher, and he let out a soft sigh at the thought of how much he still had to learn before their child was born. Noticing his anxiety, Shani moved a bit closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder as she stared at their hands entwined in his lap. "What do you think of Julian?" she asked after a pause, breaking the thoughtful silence.
Geralt frowned, before finally shrugging, resting his chin against the doctor's soft hair. "He's a good friend," he answered after a moment. "Kind of a mess at times."
"No, not Dandelion," Shani told him, shaking her head and letting out a small, amused huff. "I mean the name, Julian. What do you think of Julian? If the baby is a boy, that is."
"Hate it," Geralt answered, bluntly.
Shani gave a sharp laugh, moving her free hand to cover her mouth. "Well that's succinct," she returned, still giggling. "Guess that's a 'no' on Julian, then."
"Yeah," Geralt grunted, his brow furrowing at the thought. "If we name the kid after Dandelion, he'll never let me live it down. Nobody should have to deal with that."
"Alright, alright," Shani conceded, nodding. "I see your point. Not Julian, then."
Geralt hummed in response, looking down at their hands again, staring at them a moment longer before taking another breath. "Like the name Shani," he said, causing Shani to look up in surprise. "If it's a girl."
Shani faltered, seeming a bit confused. "I'm not going to name my daughter after myself," she finally said, shaking her head. "That's just… not something people do. At least, not usually."
Geralt shrugged, folding his second hand over hers in his lap. "Men name their sons after themselves all the time," he pointed out. "Don't see why women shouldn't. Doesn't seem fair."
Shani paused at his logic, staring at Geralt for a moment, before a gentle smile began to lift the corners of her lips. "You make a good point," she told him, softly. "But I think we should keep looking. There's bound to be a perfect name out there we can both agree on." Leaning in again, she kissed his scruffy cheek, before sitting back against the couch and resting her hand across her stomach with a tired sigh. "This is only week eighteen," she said, stretching her aching legs again. "Hard to believe time moves so slowly. Though it'll probably be around… week twenty-two when you get back. Unless you decide to stay in Vizima awhile."
"Week twenty-two of what?" Geralt asked, frowning over at her.
Shani smiled, running her hand over her subtle bump, and Geralt blanched, feeling suddenly very foolish for asking. In truth, he had never considered the actual math of her pregnancy, but he now realized he had no idea how he would have asked, even if he had wanted to. It was lucky she had volunteered the information of her own accord, though now he could not help wondering what it actually meant – unfortunately, it seemed bizarre to him to simply ask to see a pregnant woman's stomach, even if the woman was a dear friend and he, himself was the baby's father. It took him a moment to realize Shani was staring at him as he thought, her pretty brow furrowed as she watched his expression, and he quickly looked away, not wanting to seem rude, unsure how long she had been observing him for a reaction.
He hated how clueless he was about this – how completely helpless he felt as a grown, learned man – but he realized it was not his fault, as he had been told all his life he would have no reason to know these things. He pursed his lips as he dug for a response, trying to think of anything useful to say, but before he could find it, he felt Shani's hand on his wrist, pulling off one of his gloves, before she guided his now-bare hand to rest on her stomach, folding her own hand reassuringly over his. Geralt froze as his hand made contact with her stomach, every muscle in his body tensing with uncertainty, but after another moment, he began to relax, feeling the warmth of Shani's palm against the back of his hand.
He could feel the rhythm of her lungs as she breathed, the tempo of her heart beating in her chest, and he swallowed hard as he began to move his hand, slowly taking in the shape hidden beneath her spacious shirt. He could feel his heart fluttering in his throat as he cupped his hand beneath the base of her thus-far shallow curve, giving a soft huff as he tried to wrap his head around how someone like himself could contribute to something like this. "It'll probably be week twenty before it starts kicking," Shani said after a moment, speaking softly. "I admit I'm looking forward to that. Even if it does seem a little strange."
Geralt did not look up as Shani spoke, but after a moment, he seemed to register her voice, and he raised his head, blinking a few times, still in too much of a daze to respond. After a few more seconds, however, he seemed to return to reality, and he retrieved his hand, letting out a short breath as he felt it still trembling with residual nerves. He nodded as Shani handed back his glove, taking it and starting to put it on. "Thanks," he said, speaking softly, trying to keep from fumbling with it as he slid it on over his shaking hand. Shani nodded back, understanding, before stretching out over the couch again, laying down against her pillow and picking up her book from where she had left it on the floor.
Geralt glanced up at the book cover, still distracted, before he suddenly recognized the emblazoned spine, with its familiar image of a golden fern etched into the olive binding. Reaching hesitantly across the couch, he gingerly touched the book's cover, giving his medallion a moment to register – but it gave no shudder as his fingers brushed the tome, and he frowned, realizing it was likely just an ordinary book after all.
Shani lowered the book as she felt Geralt touch it, staring at him curiously over the top, but he only shook his head, retrieving his hand to his lap. "Nothing," he assured her. "Just checking something."
"You can read it if you want," Shani offered, smirking.
Geralt shook his head again. "No time," he said. "Need to head out. Behind enough as it is."
Shani nodded, understanding, before lifting a hand, indicating for Geralt to lean in closer. He did as he was asked, and she reached out, pulling gently on his sword-strap to bring him in for a soft kiss on his cheek. "Please take care of yourself," she told him, brushing a stray lock of white hair away from his eyes. "I always worry about you whenever you leave. And Yennefer worries too. I know because she told me. She'd do anything if it meant your happiness." She paused, considering, before smiling and adding, "Even if she'd sometimes have you believe she'd rather portal you into the ocean than put up with you."
Geralt grunted, smirking at the comment. "She's done that before," he confessed. "I deserved it." Then, leaning in again, he pressed a kiss to Shani's forehead, before pushing himself up from the couch and starting to head for the doors. "Oh," he said, turning back suddenly, remembering something. "If my friend Regis stops by while I'm away… don't… tell him you're pregnant. He has a… thing, about babies."
"Regis, the barber?" Shani asked, raising a curious brow. "Julian told me a bit about him. What's his distaste for babies?"
"'Distaste' isn't exactly the word I'd use," Geralt admitted, bleakly, hoping to be as vague as possible. "I'd just… avoid bringing up the topic, if you can." Shani frowned, still seeming confused by the suggestion, but nodded in agreement, regardless. Geralt nodded back, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. "Good," he said. "I'll be back in a month or so. Don't let Yen drive you crazy in the meantime."
"Give Ciri my love," Shani called back, catching him just as he stepped out the door.