Hell Hath Frozen Over

Chapter 8

"Just how self-absorbed can the man be? He didn't even say 'thank you,''' said Vivienne as she glared at Dandelion galloping down the mountain trail on the back of Pegasus.

After determining that the witcher was actually going to survive his injuries, the troubadour had snatched up the monster trophies from the ground and rushed to his horse.

"You'll be able to take care of yourself without me, right?" he'd asked.

"I don't know, Dandelion," Geralt had replied, after a slight roll of his eyes. "You've been such an invaluable asset to me so far."

But the bard hadn't even bothered to wait for Geralt's response before yelling out, "Yee-haw!" and spurring his mount towards Novigrad.

Geralt winced in pain as he pushed his torso upright, leaning back against the large log that had been Dandelion's resting place for most of the day.

"Yeah, well, he's probably just anxious to finally get that curse broken. I'm sure you can understand that, right?"

Suddenly, her facial features softened, for she did remember what it was like.

"Yes, I can," she answered softly. To this day, she still regretted how she'd sometimes treated people back when she'd lived with her curse. Particularly how she'd treated the young, love-sick knight, Guillaume de Launfal. She had no doubt that many people had viewed her as a bit of a shrew - cold and unapproachable. Most had probably thought her aloofness was caused by arrogance when the truth was that it had been her fear and insecurity that had kept people at a distance. She thought that, perhaps once Dandelion was no longer cursed, how he treated people – especially Geralt - would change. Or, at least she hoped he did. Regardless, she determined that she needed to be more understanding and compassionate until then.

"Plus," he added with a small smile. "I'm just grateful to finally have some peace and quiet. I forgot just how much the man loves the sound of his own voice."

"That he certainly does," she agreed. From hearing stories about Dandelion from Anna Henrietta, Vivienne had no doubt that that particular aspect of the bard would not change – even after his curse was finally lifted. "But enough about him. How are you feeling?"

The witcher groaned as he adjusted his body. He was still holding his left arm close to his side. He was also still completely covered in monster blood and guts.

"I'm a bit of a mess. But I'll live…" He peered deeply into her eyes. "Thanks to you."

Vivienne blushed but never took her eyes off his.

"I simply poured the potions down your throat as you instructed me to. That's all."

"No," said Geralt with a shake of his head. "That's not all. I thank you for that, too. But I'm not talking about the potions. I'm talking about you sending down those birds. I was in a world of trouble down there. Surrounded. Out of bombs. The monsters' toxins running through my veins. I probably had only a minute or two more before paralysis would have set in. Then, the birds flew into the cavern and began swarming the monsters. Distracted them. Gave me just enough time to down a White Honey and flee towards the mine shaft, where I had a bunch of explosive traps set. So, thank you. You saved my life, Vivienne."

"But I didn't. I didn't even know what I was doing. I was just standing there in front of the entrance, listening to what was going on down below. Completely terrified. Frozen. I didn't know what to do. I just knew that I somehow wanted to help you. And, suddenly, this sound came bursting out of my mouth. And the next thing I know, birds are flying into the mine. What? What are smiling about?"

"The irony of life. Your curse…turned out to be a blessing after all. At least today it did."

That thought brought a small smile to her face, but it quickly disappeared as she bit her lip.

"But how? Does this…does this mean I'm still cursed?"

"I honestly don't know, Vivienne. I wish that I could tell you that you are completely free of it. But I just don't know. Your curse was unique. You were touched by magic for a long time. Even while you were being formed in the womb. So, I just don't know, but there's no doubt that there's some residual trace of it still inside of you. Kind of like how a woman's perfume lingers, even after she leaves the room. You couldn't have spoken to those birds today otherwise."

"But what does it all mean?"

"Curses…the Power…" he said with a shake of his head. "I don't think anyone truly understands it. Not fully. Not even the greatest sorcerers from Ban Ard or Aretuza. Because, ultimately, it's Chaos. It doesn't want to be understood. And it sure as hell doesn't want to be controlled. That's why I don't really trust it. It's why I don't like portals."

"So, then…what I did today…speaking to the birds. I should never attempt that again, no?"

"Well, that's entirely up to you, but you should be fine."

"Should be? But you just said that you don't trust it. So, should I mistrust it, too? Never use it?"

"I do mistrust it. But I still use it. I tap into the Power whenever I cast my Signs. The medallion around my neck harnesses it as well. And I'm not afraid of using it because I earned it. And you have too."

"What? Earned it? I don't understand."

"Look, I'm no expert on any of this. I told you that. But I have learned a few things about the Power. As I said, it doesn't like to be controlled, harnessed. To do so exacts a serious toll. You have to pay a tremendous price if you want to use it. But I paid that price. The hell I went through to become a witcher…the mutations, the experiments…you can't even imagine. And you paid the price, too. The curse you lived with was the cost. So, now, whatever magic is inside you, the magic that allows you to commune with birds, that's yours. You earned it, and you shouldn't be afraid to use it."

Vivienne nodded her head.

"But if I wanted to learn how to do more than that? If I wanted to learn other types of magic? Spells?"

"You'd either discover that you don't have the ability. Or, if you do have the ability, then you'd have to go through more hell…pay an even greater price if you wanted to use it."

"I don't think I want to do that."

Geralt let out a small laugh.

"I don't blame you. Neither do I."

His laughter had caused him to grimace. She had seen it.

"You're still hurt. What can I do for you?"

"I probably need to suture my wounds. Could you bring me my saddlebags, please?"

She immediately grabbed his gear that he'd left by the now-cold campsite and placed them by his side. A few moments later, he pulled out a small wooden box, and from that, he retrieved a curved, metal needle and several long strands of what looked to be animal hair. After he pushed his trousers down to his knees, Vivienne quipped, "What? No thong?"

He looked up at her and smirked. "It's being laundered. Otherwise, who knows?"

She didn't believe that for a second and was about to respond when she saw his leg. She couldn't keep from gasping. The wound there was about six inches long and quite deep.

"That looks awful," she said. "But it's not bleeding very much. How is that possible?"

"It's one of the blessings of the witcher mutations. One of those blessings that I earned. We heal much better and quicker than a normal human. That, and the Swallow potion I took. It speeds up the healing and recovery process."

He threaded the eye of his needle and immediately began stitching up the wound. And, once again, Vivienne was amazed by his skill. She thought that he may, in fact, be more adept with a needle in his hand than a sword. But, of course, having seen his body the night before at the Passiflora, she could understand why he'd be so skilled. He'd clearly had ridiculous amounts of practice suturing wounds over the course of his life. And, now, he was probably going to have more scars to add to his collection, and all because Dandelion hadn't been able to keep himself from meddling back at the Grove - despite the witcher's clear instructions not to do so. Thinking about that brought a small scowl to her face.

"Can I ask you a question, or do you need to concentrate of what you're doing?"

"Nah, I could do this blindfolded. What's your question?"

"How exactly is it that you and Dandelion became friends?"

Geralt paused mid-stitch and looked up at her with a small smile.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well…he's your friend so I don't want to insult him, but…"

"Go ahead. You can say it."

"He's just…you and he seem so different. I only saw the two of you interact with one another for a few hours today, but he did seem to get on your nerves quite a lot."

"Yeah, he is a bit of an acquired taste. Trust me, he and I didn't exactly hit it off at first."

"So, then, how did you become friends?"

"He did me a favor."

"Must have a been quite the favor."

"It was," said Geralt with small nod. "He saved my life."

"Wait, he saved…that foppish blowhard saved your life?"

"Hard to believe, I know. But more than that, he actually risked his own life when he did it. That's not something you ever forget. And it weighs pretty heavy in the scales when you balance it out against all of his irritating nonsense."

"Okay, I'd agree. But, surely, over the course of your friendship, you've saved him as well. And I don't just mean today."

"True. I have. Many times, in fact. But with friends, you don't keep count. Or, at least, I don't. Not with something like that."

Vivienne nodded her head because she knew he was right. She may have technically saved his life an hour earlier, but despite that, she still felt as if she 'owed' him for what he'd done for her back in Toussaint. And she knew that she always would.

"Plus, it's more than just that," he added. "I've lived a long time, and I can probably count on one hand the number of humans that I would actually deem to be a good friend. Virtually all of my friendships are – or were – with outsiders. With those that normal humans don't consider to fit into proper society. Other witchers, magic users, elves, dwarves. Hell, even a few monsters – believe it or not. And it's because most folk have never wanted anything to do with me. Not really. I mean, sure, they'll use me when they absolutely need me, for my witcher skills, but other than that? No. But Dandelion? From the very beginning, I never got the sense that he considered me…lesser. He's always treated me like he does everybody else."

He then smiled.

"Now, one could argue that – what did you call him? A foppish blowhard? One could argue that the foppish blowhard is so narcissistic that he doesn't treat anyone well, and that may be true. But, regardless, he's never treated me differently because I'm a witcher. And that goes a long way in my book."

Vivienne nodded her head and smiled.

"Thank you, Geralt. That explains a lot. And I understand completely."

"That right?"

"Well, maybe not completely, because no one ever treated me differently – like an outsider. Because no one knew I was cursed. But I knew. I felt like an outsider, regardless of whether anyone else knew it or not."

Geralt didn't say anything to that. He just nodded in understanding.

"Do you remember that first night that we spoke?" she asked. "In the glade with the pond, near the palace?"

"Of course. You thought I'd come there to kill you."

"But you told me that you'd come to help me instead. When I asked you why I should trust you, do you remember what you said?"

"Vaguely…but no. Not really."

"You told me I could trust you because the Duchess trusted you. And because breaking curses was – how did you say? Your butter and bread?"

"Bread and butter."

"Right. But I cared little for either of those answers. They meant nothing to me. However, you said something else. Something else that made me believe you. Do you remember?"

Geralt swallowed hard before answering.

"Yeah. I said, 'Because I'm a freak, too.'"

Vivienne nodded. "It was then that I knew…that I could trust you. I remember looking into your eyes when you proclaimed that. And I could tell that you meant it."

"I did."

"Do you still?"

He simply nodded.

"Because you are a witcher?"

He nodded again.

"But you are retired, no? You told me that you own a vineyard. So, you are no longer a witcher, correct?"

He gave a small shake of his head.

"The word's got two meanings. One's a profession. The other's a state of being. So, yes, I am retired from the Path. I no longer kill monsters for coin. But I'll always be a mutant. No matter where I go or what I do."

He then gave a small shrug as a wistful smile came to his face.

"But…that's okay. I accepted that fact a long time ago." Before she could say anything else, he cleared his throat and continued, "I better tend to these other wounds."

He broke eye-contact with her and removed his witcher jacket. Underneath, his white shirt was stained blood-red along his side and back. He took it off to reveal two wounds that looked similar to the one on his thigh, and Vivienne swallowed hard at the sight. Up close and in the light of day, the scars on his body were even more noticeable than they'd been in the dimly-lit Passiflora the night before. She slowly shook her head. How could one man endure so much trauma and still be alive?

Geralt immediately began stitching up the laceration that cut across his ribcage, and it only took him a minute before he was done. At that point, he reached over his left shoulder towards the wound on his back. He tried several times to stitch it up, but given its location, it was impossible for him to reach it with both hands, and she didn't think there was any way that he'd be able to properly suture the gash closed with just his right. She heard him sigh in frustration, and her heart broke for him - not only for the physical injuries that he'd sustained but also for what he'd just told her. And even more so – from the look in his eyes when he'd spoken those words. It was the same look she'd seen in that magical meadow two years past when he'd called himself a freak.

And she realized then that there were actually two Geralts. There was the Geralt who was the professional witcher. The master swordsman. The monster-slayer who feared nothing and no one. A man who faced down all dangers. She'd seen first-hand that Geralt in action. Two years ago, in the Toussaint tourney, she'd watched him with a blade in his hand. He'd killed a shaelmaar while barely breaking a sweat. He'd dueled and defeated the best knights that the Continent could offer, and he'd done so easily. That Geralt possessed an undeniable calmness. He exuded both incredible maturity and wisdom. That Geralt carried an air of absolute confidence in himself and his skills. And rightly so.

But she had learned over the past two days that there was a second Geralt, as well. The man underneath the witcher armor. The man without the swords on his back. The man who viewed himself as lesser, as a freak and an outsider. The man who had trouble accepting compliments, who didn't think he deserved nice gifts – like the vodka she'd bought him - and who would never, ever consider himself to be heroic. That Geralt was a gentle, injured soul - full of insecurity and self-doubt. She knew it was true, for she felt the same, and so it was easy to see those same qualities in him.

She rose from where she was sitting and approached him, kneeling by his side.

"Here – give me the needle. I'll stitch up your back for you."

"Are…are you sure?"

"Of course," she said with a smile. "I was trained at an early age to be a lady-in-waiting, and learning to embroider was part of that training. For some reason, that's a desired skill in noble houses. Stitching up a wound shouldn't be too different."

Geralt smiled at her response, but it quickly disappeared.

"No. That's not what I meant. I wasn't questioning your skills. I'm just…I'm filthy. Covered in blood and guts. Are you sure you want to touch me?"

After a moment, she stood and retrieved the canteen that had been left by the campfire. She returned and then bent down to grab the knife at his waist.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

But she didn't answer. She simply pulled the hem of her skirt up and cut off a long piece of fabric from the bottom. She knelt down, straddling his uninjured leg and carefully placed the knife back in its scabbard. Their faces were now only a little more than a foot apart. She soaked the balled-up cloth with the water from the canteen, slowly brought it up to his face, and began to carefully wash the blood and grime from his skin. Across his forehead, down his cheeks, along both sides of his nose. She took special notice of the scars, particularly the long one that ran down the left side of his face. She again wondered at just how much pain the man must have experienced in his life, and her heart went out to him even more. After a bit, she wrung out the fabric and soaked it again with more water.

"Close your eyes," she whispered.

But he didn't. He simply stared into hers for several, long seconds.

"Don't you trust me?" she asked.

The two looked at each a moment longer until, finally, he swallowed hard and gave a small nod before closing his eyes. She gently cleaned the filth from his eyelids before moving to his chin. And, finally, she came to his lips. By then, he had re-opened his eyes and was staring at her again. She tenderly dabbed the cloth at his lips several times before letting her hand fall to her side.

"There. Now, you're all clean."

Her heart was thundering in her chest as they both started to lean in for a kiss when, suddenly, he lifted his hand and placed it along her collarbone, stopping her advance.

"We'd better not, Vivienne," he said in a low voice. "It may not be safe."

"Why not?" she whispered.

He breathed in deeply and continued to stare into her eyes before answering.

"Because…" He then swallowed. "Because of the witcher potions. They may not have dissipated from my system yet."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Let's give it a bit more time. Okay?"

Vivienne wanted to say, 'No,' and lean in and kiss him anyway. But she respected him too much for that. And, suddenly, like a flash of lightning, things became crystal clear for her. Whatever she wanted from Great – and the truth was that she still wasn't sure herself – then it was going to be nothing like the romantic fairytales that she'd read as a girl. There would be no dashing knight pursuing her and sweeping her off her feet. If anything, she would be the one who had to pursue. Because she saw now the truth - that Geralt was afraid. She was almost certain that he was attracted to her. Their kiss before he entered the mine was proof of that. So, if he was reluctant now, it had to be due to fear. She didn't think there was any other explanation. She completely understood his feelings, because she felt the same. In fact, she was terrified. For pursuing him meant that she was opening herself up to rejection. But she kept hearing her cousin's words in her head, 'Life's too short to play games. Too short to live with regrets.' So, she decided right then and there that 'No regrets' would be her new mantra. To strengthen her resolve she even repeated it to herself. 'No regrets, Vivienne. You may only have five more years to live…so no regrets.' And then she gave him a warm smile.

"Of course, Geralt. If you say we need more time, then that's what we need. I trust you."

oOo

A moment after Geralt and Vivienne stepped into the Chameleon, he heard Zoltan's laughter booming across the main room. The dwarf sauntered over from the bar, shaking his head and with a big smile on his face.

"You've already been in pig shit and dog piss. So, what was it this time? Another zeugl in the sewers?"

"Hematophages."

"Oooh, those are nasty buggers."

"You don't say."

The dwarf chuckled.

"Well, at least you're keeping our laundress busy. I hope you're tipping her well."

"You know me." He then looked around and lowered his voice. "Dandelion been in yet?"

Zoltan's eyes widened a bit. "No, he hasn't. You're expecting him?"

Geralt nodded. "Must've got hung up in the Grove. He should be here at any time."

"Huzzah! That's great news, pal! So, where's he been?"

"Into trouble, as usual."

"But you got him out? Well, you can tell me all about it after you've cleaned up. ViLula!".

"I'm already on it," the chambermaid answered from the other side of the room. "Head to the bath house, Master Witcher. You know the way. I'll be there shortly."

A half hour later, washed and in his last set of clean clothes, Geralt sipped on his ale, as he waited for Lady Vivienne to come down the stairs and into the main room. She'd agreed to meet him for a late lunch, and while he waited and nursed his drink, he let his mind drift back over the events of the day.

After Vivienne had stitched up the wound on his back, they had made their way back to Novigrad. Unlike Dandelion, though, they had been in no rush to return, and on the slow ride down the mountain, the two of them had taken the time to get to know one another better – sharing stories from their pasts. He'd asked her about her formative years back in Toussaint. About her family and friends. About her time in Duchess Anna Henrietta's court. He'd noticed that she'd had a light in her eyes and a smile on her lips when she'd spoken about her family and about her childhood experiences on the small, family estate in the south of the duchy. Her childhood had obviously been nothing like his, for she'd clearly been doted on, but he didn't envy her of that. In fact, knowing that she'd been so loved and cared for had made him smile.

When she'd queried him about his past, he'd done his best to avoid his childhood years – simply brushing over them in some broad strokes. The day and mood were both so bright and sunny that he'd been loath to spoil it by sharing any details of his decade at Kaer Morhen. He knew that recounting the events of that time in his life probably would have been a conversation killer and would have done nothing but elicit pity from her, which was the last thing he wanted. Therefore, he'd purposefully recalled only humorous moments and fun adventures from his decades on the Path.

And, of course, he'd spoken a lot about Ciri – the woman who would one day become empress of the entire Nilfgaardian Empire. He'd admitted to Vivienne that it was still difficult for him to imagine her in that role. Not because he thought she didn't have the ability to handle the position, but rather because, in his heart, he still viewed her as the snot-nosed little girl he'd first met in the Brokilon Forest. The little girl that he still considered to be his daughter. In truth, he'd probably spoken to Vivienne more about Ciri than he had about himself. For the entire last hour of the journey back to the city had been taken up by him telling her the story of Ciri's adventure versus the Wild Hunt.

"I never told her, never let on, but I was terrified the entire time," he'd admitted at the end of the story. "Not for me. But for her. Afraid something bad would happen to her. But she was hell-bent on facing them down. She always was so damn stubborn. But courageous, too. And I've always been proud of her for that. Of course, I wasn't too pleased when she told me she was going to confront the White Frost."

"Why not?" Vivienne had asked.

"Because I thought it was foolish. There was no need to risk her life against it. Taking on the Wild Hunt – that made sense. I understood that, because they were on her heels and would've never let her be. But the White Frost? That wasn't her fight."

At that point, Vivienne had looked at him with a small smile on her face.

"So, you believe she was foolish to risk her life for others?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Geralt," she'd said with a laugh, "Who do you think she learned that from?" When he didn't answer, she'd continued. "Sounds to me like she's quite…heroic. Wouldn't you say?"

At first, he hadn't bothered to answer that question either because he knew what she was implying. He knew what she wanted him to admit, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He wasn't even sure he knew why, but the idea of someone calling him heroic made him feel more uncomfortable than when someone called him a mutant freak. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Alright. I'll admit I'm heroic…" He saw a smile come to her face. "…just as soon as you admit you are, as well." And quickly the smile disappeared.

"Me?"

"Yeah. You. You saved my life today. Makes you a hero in my book."

"No, no. We already discussed this. I didn't even know what I was doing. That can't be heroic."

"I don't agree, but even if I did, then, there's last night at the Passiflora. You saved me from a complete disaster then."

"That wasn't heroic."

"It was to me. Not all heroes carry swords. And, sometimes, a kind gesture is more powerful and makes a bigger difference than any blade ever could."

Vivienne grinned. "Fine, you win. Because how can I argue with that? I'm living proof…as you chose to break my curse instead of drawing your sword against me."

Recalling that exchange – and the entirety of his afternoon with Vivienne – brought a small smile to his face. For he couldn't believe how easy their conversation had been. If truth be told, they'd only known each other less than a week's time in total – a couple of days back in Toussaint and, now, another two here in Novigrad. But, despite that, he already felt incredibly close to the young woman. He'd respected from before – due to her integrity and decency in choosing the 'hard' path of the egg ritual in breaking her curse as opposed to having it transferred to someone else. But, now, he felt more than just respect for her. For these past two days had revealed that she was one of the most kind-hearted and generous people he'd ever met. And if all of that weren't enough, there was the fact that she truly had saved his life back in the mountains. Even if it had been nothing but a magical accident, he knew that her motivations behind the act were genuine. She had simply wanted to help him. Because she cared for him. That was obvious, now. Even to a thick-skulled, romantically-clueless fool like himself.

Geralt sighed with that realization because he knew what he needed to do. What he should have done back up at Bedlam's mine. It wasn't something he was skilled at, and he knew it was going to be incredibly uncomfortable for him, but he knew they needed to discuss – well, 'them.' He needed to find out exactly what she wanted with him, what her expectations were. Because the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her in any way, and the truth was that he had an absolutely lousy record at relationships. His past was littered with broken commitments and hurt feelings, and he cared about her too much to subject her to his nonsense. The kindest act that he could probably do for the woman would be to just end things now, before he made a hash of things.

And it was at that moment that Geralt looked up and saw Vivienne walking down the stairs and into the main room, and his breath caught in his throat – all of his previous thoughts suddenly pushed to the back of his mind. She had changed her clothes, and he could also tell that she'd washed her face and brushed out her hair. He thought she was absolutely stunning, and he stood for her when she approached the table.

"Hi," she said

"Hello to you. You…you look great."

"Thank you, Geralt. That's sweet. You've cleaned up nicely yourself."

At that point, they simply stood there staring at each other for a bit. After a moment, Geralt finally came to his senses and cleared his throat.

"Here, allow me," he said as he pulled out her chair.

"Whatever is cooking back there, smells incredible. I'm starving."

"I figured. So, I already ordered."

"How do you know what I like?"

"Don't worry. I got it covered. You may sing like a bird, but I hope you don't eat like one, too," he joked.

She blushed slightly at that but couldn't help but smiling. "Just wait and see."

And, as if on cue, a second later several bar staff – along with Zoltan - arrived with their food, covering the table top with bowls of Hunter's stew, platters of pierogis, cups of Rosol chicken soup, and plates of kielbasa, cabbage, and potato pancakes. A fresh loaf of bread and a couple tankards of cider were placed right in the middle of it all.

Vivienne took it all in with eyebrows raised.

"Is this everything on today's menu?" she asked the dwarf.

"Aye," answered Zoltan.

She turned to Geralt.

"How can you pay for all this? You said you gave your last coin away this morning."

"No need to worry yourself, lass," said Zoltan with a chuckle. "I put it on Dandelion's tab. Now, tuck in. You've earned it."

"Earned it?"

"Aye. The little rascal finally showed hisself while you two were changing. He looked happier than a pig in slop and went straight up to see Priscilla. I'm sure she'll be tickled pink to see him back."

Vivienne looked at Geralt and smiled.

"Congratulations, Witcher. Another contract successfully completed."

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "And hopefully the last."

"There's still a couple of days till the wedding," said Zoltan. "Think he can stay outta trouble till then?"

"If not, then you can take care of him. I'm done. Now, let's eat."

For the next ten minutes, Geralt and Vivienne hardly said a word as they scarfed down the food in front of them, and he thought it may have been the best meal he'd ever had. Of course, he realized that surviving the hematophage attack may have had something to do with it. Every time that he'd ever escaped death in the past, food, drink, and sex had always seemed to taste just a bit better. But, perhaps, it was even more than that. Maybe the food tasted so good because of the company he was with.

Eventually, they began to slow down, at which point, Geralt went to the bar and returned with a couple of clean cups. He, then, pulled out the blue bottle of Bitter Steel vodka that she'd bought for him the day before and poured of a finger of liquor into each cup.

"Here you, go," he said, handing the drink to Vivienne. "Do you drink vodka?"

"Well, typically, I only drink wine."

"You're such a cliché. A Toussaintois who only drinks wine."

"Says the vodka-loving Nordling."

"Touché. So, you willing to try it?"

"Of course. The more I'm here in the North, the more that it's rubbing off on me. I'm starting to see its charm. The food, the culture…the people." She smiled as she said the last, and then lifted her cup. "So, am I supposed to down it all at once or sip it?"

"This stuff? It's too good to slam. You need to sip it. Savor it. The crisp bite. The slow burn. Enjoy the warmth as it creeps from your gut out to the rest of your body. Making your fingertips and toes tingle."

"Sounds almost…sensual."

He smirked. "It's that good." He then tapped his cup against hers and said, "Here's to living."

"With no regrets," she added.

He nodded, and they both took a drink.

Geralt honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good. He'd escaped death that day. His stomach was full. He was drinking some of the best vodka found on the Continent. And he was having lunch with an absolutely amazing woman. And not just an amazing woman, but a woman who actually seemed to be interested in him. He didn't think anything could ruin the mood that he was in at the moment. And, then, suddenly, a little voice popped up in his head.

"Hey, asshole, it's not gonna work. And you know it's not. So, quit being a selfish prick and spare the poor girl the trouble."

Geralt broke eye-contact with her and stared down at the bottle of vodka on the table in front of him. He could just make out his blurry reflection in the glass. His white hair. His mutated eyes. Which reminded him of just what he was. And what he'd always be. And he realized that the voice was right.

"What's wrong?" asked Vivienne. "You look like someone just stole your puppy."

Eventually, he exhaled deeply, gave a small nod of his head, and looked up at her.

"Remember what I said right before I entered the mine today? That we needed to talk? Well, I…I think it's time…before this goes any further."

He saw the smile fall from her face.

"Okay. What is it you want to discuss?"

"Five years ago, I wouldn't have even brought this up. I'd have just enjoyed the moment and been on my way, but…for whatever reason, that's not the man I am anymore. I'm just…" He then looked to the ceiling and sighed. "I'm just not sure what we're doing – me and you."

"We're…I thought we were having lunch."

"That's not what I mean. I mean… after the wedding, I'm going back to Toussaint. As fast as I can. To be honest, I didn't even want to come up here in the first place, since our first harvest is going on right now. So, in a couple of days, I'm heading south, and you're sailing to Skellige. So, what are we doing, Vivienne?"

She opened her mouth, but at first nothing came out. "I…I guess I'm not real sure either. Truthfully, for once, I wasn't even thinking that far ahead for. I was just enjoying our time together today."

"Do you expect me to come to Skellige with you?"

"I...no. I honestly don't have any expectations right now. I was just…living in the moment, with no regrets."

"Even if I wasn't going back to Toussaint, even if I could travel with you to Skellige…would you even want me to?"

"Geralt," and then she gave him a small smile. "I don't know what else I can do to show you how I feel about you. So, yes, I'd love to spend more time with you. To see…to see just where this might lead. Do you not?"

"A part of me does. But another part says we're a couple of fools. That I've got no business spending time with a woman like you."

"What do you mean - a woman like me?"

"Vivienne, you could have any man you wanted. Do you really want…I just think I'm all wrong for you. You do realize I'm old enough to be your grandfather, right? Maybe your great-grandfather."

"Just how old how you?"

"Close to a century."

Her eyes widened momentarily, but then she shook her head.

"So what? Age is just a number. It's not as if you're some feeble old man with one foot in the grave. I was the patroness of the Toussaint tourney, remember? I saw you outshoot, outride, and outfight the best knights in all the kingdoms. Men in the prime of their lives. So, I don't care how long ago you were born. It's maturity and compatibility that matter. If I was twelve or fifteen, then, yes, the difference in maturity levels would matter. But I'm not a little girl, Geralt. I'm a grown woman, who knows what she wants."

Internally, Geralt was just shaking his head. Why was she making this so difficult? Why couldn't see – see that he was trying to do her a favor? And, in that moment, he knew he had to tell her everything.

"Vivienne…I'm sterile. My mutations, they…I can't sire children. And you deserve someone…you deserve a lot better than what I can offer you."

He lowered his eyes because he didn't want to see the look on her face. He knew it would be one of revulsion. That, after that news, the sparkle that was in her eyes when she looked at him would have vanished. After a moment, she still hadn't responded, and when he glanced up what he saw made him blink several times. She had the smallest, saddest smile that he'd even seen on her lips, and her eyes were full of tenderness.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Geralt. That was incredibly personal, and I could tell that it wasn't easy for you to say. But it's okay…because I made the decision years ago that I wouldn't have children."

"What? Why?"

"There's a high probability that I may only have five more years to live. I can't in good conscious bring a child into this world knowing that I won't be around to raise it. To love it."

Geralt didn't know what to say. Never in a million years would he have imagined that she'd have responded with that.

"Do you respect me, Geralt?"

"Yes, of course. You know I do."

"Okay. Then, respect my choice. If you're not interested in spending time with me, then just say so. It'd hurt to hear, but I can take it. But please don't try to tell me what I want. To convince me that you're not good enough for me. I'm a grown woman. I can make that decision for myself, okay?"

Geralt swallowed as he stared into her eyes, and then he finally nodded.

"Okay. I -"

But he was suddenly interrupted by loud shouting coming from the other side of the cabaret, and a moment later, Dandelion came scurrying down the back stairway that led up to his and Priscilla's living quarters. He was carrying his lute in both hands, holding it closely to his chest. On his tail was Priscilla, her face red and eyes blazing.

"You lying, cheating bastard!"

Once Dandelion got down the stairs, he turned to face her, all the while slowly backing up from her advance. Everyone in the cabaret had stopped what they were doing. All eyes were fixated on the couple.

"But, sugarplum, how many times do I have to say it? I didn't cheat on you. Not technically. I'd never cheat on you. You're the denouement of my life. The sonnet of my soul."

"Don't use your gilded, serpent tongue with me!"

"She meant nothing, honey muffin. I swear it. I was just grieving, that's all. You wouldn't begrudge a man for the way he grieves, would you?"

"Shut up!" interrupted Priscilla, her fists clenched tightly. "My father was right. You're nothing but a…an unscrupulous, low-class, ne'er-do-well."

"Hey, now! Low-class? That's hitting below the belt. Besides, if you hadn't broken things off, then I never would have been in that situation."

Geralt winced. "Not good, Dandelion," he said under his breath. "Not good."

"So, this is my fault?! You're blaming me?"

"Well, not…blame. That's such an ugly word. More like – Hey, what are you doing? Put that down!"

In a fit of rage, Priscilla had stormed across the cabaret and had snatched a large painting off the wall. The painting of Dandelion heroically standing over the dead wyvern, his cape snapping in the wind behind him.

"Sweetie pie, what do you think you're doing?"

"What I should have done a long time ago! I'm going to destroy this ridiculous embarrassment."

"You wouldn't dare! That's the defining piece of my collection."

"Yeah, well, then the definition is shite! You look like a jackass in it, and no one believes for one second that you actually killed a wyvern, you…you ninny!"

And then she raised the painting over head.

"Besides, I'm grieving! Grieving the fact that I'm in love with such a worthless philanderer! And you wouldn't begrudge a woman for the way she grieves, now would you?"

And with that, she slammed the painting down over the back of a nearby chair, ripping the canvas and shattering the frame.

"Now, get out!"

Dandelion just stood there in the silence of the Chameleon, staring at the mangled mess of what had once been the defining piece of his art collection. A mess that now defined his relationship with Priscilla. After a moment, he trudged out the front door of the cabaret with his head down, still clutching his lute to his chest.

Geralt watched him leave and then turned to Vivienne.

"I better go after him. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"Yes, well…good luck with that. Talk to you later?"

"Of course."

Geralt grabbed his bottle of vodka off the table and headed after his friend. He quickly found the bard heading north into the city.

"Dandelion, wait up!"

When the troubadour turned, Geralt noticed the scowl on his face.

"Oh, it's you!"

"Hey, I was down in the main room just now. Saw everything."

"Well, you gotta fix this, friend. Because it's all your fault!"

"My fault? What the hell are you talking about? I'm not the one who slept with Tiffani."

"'If you want my advice,''' mimicked Dandelion in a gravelly, Geralt voice, "'then you need to come clean with her. Tell her the truth. I mean, you are gonna marry the woman.'''

Geralt grimaced. "So, you actually took my advice."

"Yeah, like a fool. And look where it got me. I should've just made up a lie about why I've been gone."

"Damn, man, I'm sorry. I really am. But how was I supposed to know? I mean, hell, isn't that what women are always pestering us about? Opening up to them. Being honest with our feelings and such."

"Yeah, well, I guess there are some occasions where ignorance is bliss."

"Yeah. So, what are you gonna do now?"

"Now, I am going to drink. And play my lute. And I'm going to keep drinking until I can't drink or play my lute any longer."

Geralt wanted to try to talk Dandelion out of that course of action. Wanting to say, "That's what got you into this mess, you dolt. Getting drunk's what led you to Tiffani, remember?" But he knew that Dandelion was in no mood to take any more advice from him at the moment. So, instead, he said, "Sounds like a plan." He then handed his friend his bottle of Bitter Steel vodka. "Here, the first round's on me."

oOo

Author's Note: To all the book lovers who are reading this, yes, I know that Dandelion did not save Geralt's life in "The Edge of the World." In the first scene, when I had Geralt tell Vivienne that Dandelion had saved his life in the beginning of their friendship, he was referring to a not-yet-written, non-canon compliant fanfiction story that I have in mind in which I take the two of them on a bit of an adventure. An adventure that will act as a sequel to 'A Wolf and a Weed' and will help explain (to me, at least) just why Geralt would want to be friends with a goofball like Dandelion. Given that their personalities are so different, then how they initially became friends is something that has always been a bit of a mystery to me. Just thought I'd clear that up for all you hard-core book fans. :-)