Hell Hath Frozen Over

by Luke1813

Geralt of Rivia has retired from the Path, no longer killing monsters for coin but spending his days toiling on his vineyard instead. But one evening a letter arrives at Corvo Bianco – a letter from Dandelion containing unbelievable news. It's news that forces the witcher to travel back to Novigrad - to see if hell actually has frozen over.

10. Chapter 10

Hell Hath Frozen Over

Chapter 10

Geralt was walking the streets of Novigrad, but he had no real destination in mind. He was lost in his thoughts and simply letting his feet take him where they wanted.

After the duel with Quentin, the gang had helped Dandelion to the hospital to receive some medical attention. He'd suffered multiple wounds that needed sutures, but the bard had refused the witcher's offer to stitch them up.

"No offense, Geralt, but I've seen your body. If that's the best your medical expertise can do, then no thanks. I'd prefer the care of actual doctors."

"Fine. Your loss then," Geralt had growled out. "Chicks dig scars."

"I've already got the only chick I'll ever need," the troubadour had replied, grinning like a love-sick puppy at Priscilla.

"Hoo, boy. Looks like the pain meds have already kicked in," said Zoltan. "Or, at least, let's hope they have. That was a stinker."

"Shut your gob, dwarf," interjected Priscilla with a smile. "It was sweet."

The doctor had informed everyone that the bard's injuries were superficial and that, while he would be in a substantial amount of pain for a few days, he would definitely survive. However, he also stated that he wanted Dandelion to remain in his care for the next several hours for observation – just in case he had an adverse reaction to the healing medicines that he'd been given. Priscilla, of course, had decided to stay with her husband-to-be while Zoltan said he needed to get back to the Chameleon. So, at that point, the witcher had left the hospital and had, suddenly, found himself wandering.

As he roamed the streets, Geralt kept replaying the events at the Golden Sturgeon in his mind, recalling all of Dandelion's words from both the previous evening and that morning with regards to Priscilla. It seemed as if hell truly had frozen over. For, as shocking as it was to believe, the bard really was in love, and, more so, he was truly committed to spending the rest of his days with just one woman. And not only that – but he was going to be a father, as well. Geralt shook his head because he honestly couldn't get his mind wrapped around it all. He'd thought that Dandelion would forever be a bachelor, chasing anything in a dress until he was finally too feeble and decrepit to do so. Hell, Geralt figured that, even after the troubadour had reached an age when he could no longer get any lead in his pencil, he'd still be an incorrigible flirt who'd craft sonnets and sing sappy, romantic ballads to women half his age. That was just who Dandelion was. Or, at least, that's what Geralt had always believed. Until now.

The witcher, of course, was happy for his friend - happy that he'd apparently found love. But the idea that Dandelion could possibly change in such a fundamental way was also leaving Geralt feeling a bit melancholy and unsettled, as well. For, even though the two of them could sometimes go years without seeing each other, the thought that Dandelion would always be, well, Dandelion had been comforting for the witcher. His friendship with the bard was one of the few constants in the world by which he could 'set his compass,' and he'd just always assumed that bachelorhood would be something that they'd always have in common. No matter had much time he'd spent on the Path, the witcher had always known that, once he ran into the Viscount of Lettenhove, things would always be the same. But, now, Dandelion had finally moved on without him, and, in a strange way, Geralt felt as if a part of the bard had died. Or, at least, a part of their friendship had. He realized that, with Dandelion becoming a husband and father, their relationship would be forever changed.

And, suddenly, a trace of loneliness crept into his soul, which caught him off-guard. For almost his entire life, he'd been alone – traveling from town to town, seeking contracts, just him and Roach. And, in time, he'd learned to accept that solitary, nomadic lifestyle. But, now, here he was in a bustling city, surrounded by tens of thousands of people, and he thought that he was perhaps feeling more lonely than he'd ever felt when he'd been on the Path.

"Life is so damn strange," he thought to himself.

Geralt eventually made his way to the docks, and he stood by himself at the end of a long pier, simply staring west, out towards the Great Sea. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the salt air, and a cool, autumn breeze blew in off the harbor, letting the city know that winter was just around the corner. As he stood there, contemplating just what he should do with his unwelcome feelings of melancholy and loneliness, an image of Dandelion and Priscilla flashed in his mind. He recalled them together that morning in front of the Golden Sturgeon – the bard lying on his back in the middle of the street, bleeding out, and her right next to him trying to revive him. At the time, the sight had reminded him of another day, many years prior in Rivia, when he had been the one bleeding out in the street and Yennefer had been trying to bring him back to life. And it was that memory that he dwelled upon now.

A decade or more had passed since then, and he still didn't understand any better now what had truly happened in the aftermath of the pogrom. He honestly didn't think that he and Yennefer had died that day in Rivia because, well, the two of them were both still alive. That was clear. That said, his days with the raven-haired sorceress on that mysterious island covered in apple orchards was just about the only time in their stormy relationship when they had actually gotten along – with no arguments, no hurt feelings, no distrust, no haughtiness or condescending remarks. Therefore, the island had to have been some type of heavenly paradise, right? Geralt honestly didn't know. All that he did know was that it didn't last. In the end, things had not come up roses for him and Yennefer like they always seemed to for Dandelion. No matter what stupefyingly idiotic decisions that the bard made, life had always worked out for him. And, frankly, it didn't seem fair.

"But when has life ever been fair?" he whispered to himself.

He continued to stare out at the sea for a while, thinking back over his life and recalling all of his broken and failed relationships. Doing so brought to mind what he'd told Dandelion that morning. He exhaled long and slow, slightly nodding his head.

"Maybe you're your own worst enemy, too. At least when it comes to romance. So, quit your bitchin'. If you don't like the way things are, then do something about it. Change it."

At that point, the breeze shifted directions for just a second, and the witcher caught a scent that made his mouth water. He turned his head to see a small shack a couple of piers over, and the sight made him smile. The building wasn't much to look at. The sign above the counter was so faded by years in the salt air and wind that it was virtually unreadable, and it looked like the next hard breeze would knock down all four walls. But he'd dined there before so he knew that the shack's appearance was deceiving. In his opinion, it was one of the gems of Novigrad. As his stomach growled, he realized that he'd only eaten a bite or two of his breakfast that morning, and he suddenly had an idea. He hoped that perhaps he could find a certain someone special to join him for lunch.

oOo

Vivienne had spent all morning on Temple Isle. She'd found a tiny – but very pretty - park up there that had suited her purposes perfectly, and she'd enjoyed the bright sun and cool weather as she went about her task at hand. Around noon, she packed up her supplies and decided to head back to the Chameleon, hoping that perhaps Geralt had returned by then. She was walking up the street, just a short stone's throw from the cabaret, when she suddenly stopped and smiled. For there he was, also heading towards the Chameleon but from the other direction. He hadn't noticed her yet, and so she watched him closely as he walked. The twin swords on his back made it clear exactly what he was so all the passers-by were giving him a wide berth, but if he noticed their wariness, then his face didn't betray it. As usual, he was completely stoic. But she knew that it was just a façade, that he was just playing the role of the emotionless witcher. He'd probably played the role for so long in his life that it was just second nature to him by now. But she knew different. In the past few days, he'd dropped the mask with her a few times, so she knew that behind the gruff exterior was a man of kindness, generosity, and insecurity.

"Geralt!" she called out.

He stopped and looked her way, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw a large, warm smile come to his face. He immediately approached.

"Good morning," he said. "I was just coming to find you."

"And I you."

"Must be fate, then."

She smiled at that remark, but then her face turned serious.

"How did it go last night?"

He shook his head. "It's a long story. Can we talk about it over lunch?"

"Yes, that'd be great."

"Excellent. There's a place in the harbor – it's not much to look at, and, well…it's no ducal table, but they serve the best clam chowder in all the North."

"Now, that's a bold statement," she said with a smile. "One which I'm now very curious to find out if it's true."

"Oh, it's true."

"Then, lead on."

They talked as they walked towards the harbor with Geralt recounting the events since he and Dandelion had left the Chameleon the night before. Vivienne both laughed and gasped several times. He had just finished the story as they were approaching the run-down shack on the pier.

"Wow!" exclaimed Vivienne. "What a crazy morning. Is your life always like this?"

"When Dandelion's around, yeah, pretty much."

"Sounds exhausting," she said with a smile.

Geralt nodded. "But rarely boring either. Well, here we are."

Vivienne recognized at once that Geralt hadn't been lying to her. The shack in front of her did not inspire confidence. It was in poor condition and looked as if it had been constructed decades before she'd been born. Never in a million years would she have ever chosen to eat at a place like this on her own. But she was willing to trust Geralt. The shack was too small to have indoor dining, but there was a long table with a couple of benches nearby. Despite the appearance, she couldn't deny that the aroma in the air smelled amazing, and she glanced at the benches again to realize that there wasn't an empty seat to be found – testimony to the food's popularity.

Vivienne followed Geralt to the counter where he ordered two lunch specials from a young man. He was just pulling out his coin pouch to pay, when she heard a voice from the back.

"Geralt?!" came a cry from the interior of the shack. "Geralt of Rivia?"

A second later, an incredibly wrinkled old woman came to the counter. She was raw-boned with sunspots and iron-gray hair, and she wore a dirty apron over a thread-bare dress. But despite her obvious age, she also possessed a booming voice and a definite gleam in her eye. Vivienne decided that – just like with the shack – she would not let herself be deceived by appearances with this woman.

"I thought that was you!" she said. She wiped her hand on her apron before extending it over the counter towards Geralt.

"Greetings, Nerlene."

After they shook hands, she said, "Now, put your coins away. You know they're no good here."

"Right. I forgot. So, how's Harlan?"

Suddenly, the woman's smile faltered a bit. "He passed on. Couple years back."

Vivienne saw Geralt immediately tense up.

"Was it…?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. It was just old age. It was his time."

Instantly, the witcher relaxed, letting out a low sigh.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's alright. I've got my kids and grandkids to keep me company," she said, patting the young man behind the counter on the back. "And who's this pretty gal with you?"

Geralt introduced the two women, and then the witcher and Nerlene spent the next minute or so catching each other up on their lives. By then, however, there was a line of customers backing up behind Geralt.

"We'd best stop yapping our mouths," said Nerlene. "It was great seeing you again." Then, she looked at Vivienne. "And I hope you treat this man well. He's one of a kind, he is."

"I agree," answered Vivienne with a smile. "He definitely is."

The two took their meals, and since there was no place to sit at the table, they walked a bit up the pier. They found some wooden crates and sat down on them, facing west toward the harbor. Vivienne took a bite of the chowder and couldn't help but moan in ecstasy. Its flavor was as good as its smell, and it, indeed, might have been the best clam chowder she'd ever tasted. A few minutes later, they were both scraping the bottom of their wooden bowls with their spoons.

"So, I know it can't compare to what's served at the ducal table, but what did you think?"

When she glanced at him, she could see some genuine concern in his eyes. He clearly wanted her to like it.

"It was incredible, Geralt. Thank you. I'll be honest – I was a bit leery at first, but…oh, it was so good."

At once, she could see relief come to his face.

"Well, I'm glad you liked it."

Vivienne put her bowl down and peered intently at the witcher.

"And just so you know, I don't care about ducal tables or royal courts or high-class balls."

"Really? Because I thought you told me those are the places you've been visiting on your travels."

"Okay, fair enough. Then, let me rephrase. I don't need those things to be happy. Okay?"

"You honestly don't mind 'slumming' with me?"

He'd asked the question with a smile, but she could tell that it was a serious matter for him. She wanted to reply, "I'd go anywhere with you," but she thought that it was way too soon for that type of response. So, instead, she simply said, "Not at all. I'm enjoying it. You're showing me a side of the city that I never would have experienced on my own."

After a pause, she continued. "Can I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"Back at the shack, when Nerlene mentioned that her husband had died, you seemed to have tensed up. Can I ask what that was about?"

He paused for a moment and swallowed.

"It's okay if you're not comfortable," she said quickly. "I'm just…I'm just curious about you. That's all."

"No, I…I want to tell you. You're easy to talk to. Believe it or not, I think I actually enjoy talking with you."

"Thank you. I think."

They smiled at each other, but a moment later, Geralt turned serious again.

"Just promise me you won't make a big deal out of it, okay?"

"Well, I can't promise you that, Geralt. But I'll try, alright?"

He nodded and then started the story.

"Many years ago, I was in the area for a contract. After I'd completed it, I came into the city to spend a few coins from the reward. Nothing special. Just a bottle of vodka. A hot meal. That sort of thing. Anyway, it was late in the evening, and I happened to stumble across Harlan and Nerlene's shack there. They were about to close up, but they served me anyway. In fact, they gave me everything that was left in the pot but only charged me regular price. So, I'm sitting there by myself at the table, minding my own business, when four or five thugs arrive. Started hassling Harlan and Nerlene. Turned out these low-lifes had been coming by once a week for months, demanding 'protection' money. Anyway, I politely asked them to leave and to never come back."

"And did they?"

Geralt shook his head.

"They declined my request."

"So, what happened?"

"They pulled their blades. So, I pulled mine."

Vivienne nodded her head. She didn't need to ask what had happened next, and she doubted that he'd want to talk about the specifics of it, anyway. Instead she asked, "What made you get involved? You could have minded your own business. Simply finished your meal and left."

"I can't abide bullies," he said. "People who terrorize those who are smaller, weaker. When tyranny comes from monarchs and nobles, well, there's not much I can do about that. But down here, at the street level, I stand up to it when I see it."

"So that's why she wouldn't let you pay for our meals."

He nodded. "Yeah, but…it doesn't always end up like that. There have been countless times when I thought I was doing the right thing – helping the oppressed, standing up against injustice – and, instead of coming up roses, it came up…a dung heap. Thrown out of town and saddled with the moniker, 'The Butcher of Blaviken.' That or run through with a pitch fork.''

Vivienne furrowed her brow.

"I don't understand. If you were helping others, why would they be so ungrateful?"

"Witchers, as a whole…well, we don't have the best of reputations. And, to be honest, we're partly to blame for it. Over the centuries, there have been a lot of us who didn't handle the Trials well. Between the mutations and the training, there were many that really were stripped of their humanity. So, now, even when a witcher does 'good,' it's difficult for people to accept it. It's just easier to see us in a negative light. To expect the worst from us."

"But despite that, despite those bad experiences, you still have never stopped standing up to tyranny when you see it, have you?"

"I guess not," he said with a shake of his head.

"Because you're a bloody, noble hero. Why can't you just admit it?" she wanted to yell at him. But she'd promised that she wouldn't make a big deal out of the story. So, instead she just said, "Thank you for sharing that with me, Geralt. I appreciate it."

He nodded and then looked at her with one of the saddest smiles she'd ever seen.

"You know…I'd really like a 'happily ever after' just one time in my life. I think that would be nice."

"Me, too, Geralt. I'd like that, too."

"But maybe that's asking too much, huh? Maybe, in this world, the best we can hope for is just…'happily right now.'''

"Maybe. But that sounds pretty good, too."

The two of them stared at one another for a moment before he suddenly cleared his throat and said, "Well, enough about me. Now, it's your turn. Tell me, what's in your satchel? I don't know much about fashion, but I know that's not a typical hand-bag for a lady-in-waiting."

Vivienne smiled. "You would be correct. I carry my art supplies in here."

"You're an artist? That's great."

"Oh, are you an art aficionado?"

"Aficionado? Not hardly. But I do know the difference between a van Rogh and a van der Knoob."

Vivienne couldn't help but laugh. Geralt continued to surprise her – pleasantly.

"Well, look at you!"

"Hey, don't be too impressed. When you're my age…well, there's all kinds of useless knowledge rolling around in my head. So, can I see some of your work?"

Her instinct was to say no, because she rarely showed her artwork to anyone. But she actually wanted to share what she'd done with him.

"I don't normally, but for you? Okay. Since you told me the story about Harlan and Nerlene. I guess I owe you."

She pulled out a large sketch book and opened it towards the back.

"This is what I drew this morning," she said, biting her lip, and then she passed the book over to Geralt. "Be kind, please. It's not finished."

She watched him as his eyes moved all over the drawing. A pencil drawing of her kneeling down in front of a large wolf in the middle of a beautiful meadow. For over a minute, he said nothing, and then, finally, a smile came to his face and he looked at her.

"This is amazing. You're incredibly talented."

"You really think so?"

"Yes, I do. And you just started drawing this this morning?"

She nodded and bit her lip again, unsure if she should tell him. 'No regrets, Vivienne,' she told herself.

"I had the most vivid dream last night." And then she went on to retell the events. When she came to the end of it, she smiled shyly. "It's obviously about you, but, if so, then I don't know why I dreamt of a wolf instead of just dreaming of you. I mean, I know your nickname is the White Wolf, but still."

"Who knows why we dream what we do?" he said with a shrug. "I think most of the time it's just nonsensical stuff."

"Most of the time?"

"There have a been a few instances in my life when it was more. I can't explain how it happened, but I've had some dreams that were part vision or warning…or, maybe, prophetic. But those were really rare."

"Did you know they were prophetic when you had them?"

"No, I only figured it out after-the-fact." He then smiled. "Which wasn't really helpful."

She smiled along with him. "Yeah, I'd guess not."

He then swallowed hard.

"I've, uh, I've had a couple dreams about you, too,"

"Really?" She couldn't believe just how good hearing that made her feel.

He nodded.

"The first one was just a few weeks ago. The night before I got Dandelion's wedding invitation in fact."

"What was it about? Do you remember?"

Suddenly, a strange look came to his face. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he looked embarrassed.

"What? You can tell me. I promise I won't laugh."

"I'm not real worried about you laughing. It's just…okay. I dreamt about the night I broke your curse."

"Is that right? Had you ever dreamt about that before? About…us?"

"No. Was the first time. And I dreamt it just a few weeks before I ran into you here. Strange, huh?"

She nodded.

"And, uh, in the dream, I dreamt that, well, that we kissed."

"Really?" Then she smiled. "Hmm, prophetic, indeed. Anything else?"

He swallowed hard again and shook his head.

"I think that's enough for now. So, how long have you been drawing?"

It was obvious that he was changing the subject on purpose, and, even though she desperately wanted to know more about the dreams he'd had of her, she wasn't going to press him. He clearly didn't want to discuss them any further so she was going to respect his decision. She wanted him to feel safe with her so she decided to drop the topic and answer his question instead.

"I started when I was a little girl. My parents said that I always loved drawing, even when I was a toddler. So, as a grew up, they continued to buy me more and more art supplies. Then, when I was maybe seven or eight, I actually started taking lessons from a local artist. It was so much fun. Of course, later, it became my refuge."

"Your refuge?"

She nodded.

"When I became a teenager and my curse started to manifest itself…my life changed drastically. I, more or less, stopped visiting friends and relatives. Friends could come over, but they had to leave before sundown. I became withdrawn and started to isolate myself – especially at night. I was terrified that someone would find out. So, drawing and painting became more than just a hobby. My art became almost therapeutic. It's where I poured out all my emotions. My anger, my fear. My sadness and hopes. I'm not sure I would have made it without having that outlet. Well, my parents, too. They were an incredible support for me, but when you're a teenager, you want more than that. You want friends your age that you can connect with. You want to meet young knights at high-society balls. I began to imagine I was a princess in a fairy-tale. Locked up in a tower prison by a wicked witch, waiting for my prince charming to come save me. But he never did. Years and years went by – more than a decade – but he never arrived."

At that point, she shook her head and let out a small laugh, but there was no joy in it.

"I bet I must have painted a hundred scenes of me at the tower window, looking down at my prince charming in shining armor and flowing cape on the ground below. But he never came."

"I'm sorry, Vivienne. I'm sorry you had to go through that. That…you felt so lonely."

"It's okay," she said, and then she reached over and tenderly squeezed his hand. "My knight showed up eventually."

They only gazed at one another for an instant before they both leaned in and kissed. She gripped his hand tightly and brought her other hand up to his chest, and she let her lips melt into his. That morning, she'd told herself that she wanted a man who could make her heart thump just from a simple touch. Well, Geralt was definitely that man. For, in that moment, her entire body was reacting to him. She'd never met anyone who made her feel that way, and, though it made no sense to her, she wished that, somehow, the two of them could fuse into one flesh. She didn't even know what that really meant. She just knew that she longed for it.

"Oi, get a room!" she heard someone say, followed by laughter.

She opened her eyes as the two of them broke their kiss. She looked to see a couple of passers-by strolling along the pier, having just walked past them.

"I suppose we are making a bit of a scene," she said. 'But I don't care,' she thought. 'Life's too short.'

"Would you…" and then he hesitated for a moment, "would you like to go back to the Chameleon? For some privacy?"

For a second, she wondered exactly what he had in mind. Did he want to go somewhere private so that they could continue talking or for something more? Then, she realized she didn't really care. She wanted both.

"Yes. Definitely, yes," she said, and she started to stand.

"Wait. Before we go, I want to discuss one thing with you."

"Okay," she said sitting back down.

"Yesterday, at lunch, we talked about us, and I basically tried to talk you out of being with me."

"I remember."

"So, I'm not trying to do that again, now. But I do want to be completely honest with you. To make sure that I'm totally upfront with you before this…we…goes any further. Because the last thing I want to do is hurt you in any way. I've done way too much of that in my life."

"I'd prefer not to get hurt," she said with a smile.

"Right. So…I've decided to follow your philosophy of just enjoying the moment. Of simply enjoying your company and not worrying about the future. But I also want you to know that, as of right now, I still plan to return to Toussaint in two days. I've got to get back to my vineyard. I've put too much hard work into it these past two years for it to fail now. It has to succeed because…I don't want to go back to the Path. Ever again. I'm done with it. Done with the killing. Done with the wandering. With having no home." He paused and sighed. "I know I'm rambling a bit. I just…I want you to know that I want to spend as much time with you as possible in these next two days, but if doing so is going to make our goodbye too painful, then…I understand if you'd prefer to just say goodbye now instead."

Vivienne squeezed his hand and brought her other one up to caress his cheek. She looked into his face and saw a man that she could fall in love with. If she was completely honest with herself, then she had to admit that she might already be falling in love with him. She leaned in and gave him a short, gentle kiss.

"Thank you, Geralt, for being considerate of my feelings. But I want to spend as much time with you as possible, as well. To have a 'happily right now.' And if that makes our goodbye more painful, then so be it. It'll be worth it. So, yes, I still want to go back to the cabaret with you."

"Okay," he said, grabbing their bowls. "Then, let's go."

They swung by Nerlene's to drop off the bowls and spoons, said a final goodbye to her, and then began slowly walking hand-in-hand through the busy streets. And they continued to talk as they headed back to the cabaret.

"Dandelion's wedding is tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, tomorrow night."

"Well, surely, between now and then, he won't be able to get you into anymore -"

"Whoa, whoa!" interrupted Geralt with a smile. "Stop right there. Don't say it. 'Cause you might jinx me. I don't need you tempting fate."

"Okay," she replied with her own smile. "I won't say anything. Other than, I hope you have a stress-free time between now and then."

"From your mouth to fate's ears. But you know what – I was thinking about this entire situation this morning, and I don't think this whole fiasco was completely Dandelion's fault. I'm in no way excusing his actions at all, but I realized that most of this mess could have probably been avoided if Priscilla had just told Dandelion the truth in the beginning. Told him she was pregnant as soon as she suspected it. I still don't understand why she kept it a secret."

"I thought you said that she explained why she didn't tell him when you were taking him to the hospital."

"She did. I just still don't really understand."

"Would you like a woman's point of view?"

"It might help."

"Well, I think she didn't tell him because she wanted to know that, if Dandelion married her, it was because of love and not out of a sense of duty or obligation."

"Right. That's what she said, but I say, 'What does it really matter?' Regardless of the underlying motivation, the result would have still been the same – they'd have gotten married either way, which is what she wanted."

"True, but, as a woman, I think that she might have felt more safe and secure knowing that the foundation of the marriage – their relationship – was based upon love and not on something else. Because love is supposed to be eternal, right? It's supposed to last."

"It's supposed to, but it doesn't. Not always. In fact, in my experience, it rarely does. Personally, I'm not sure that love is any more enduring than any other emotion. I'd argue that a promise based on duty or honor – or hatred - can be just as strong, if not stronger, as one based on professed love."

"Fair enough. Maybe. But even if that's true, it's not near as romantic. And face it, women like romance."

Geralt just grunted and nodded his head at that.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"If you were in a relationship, would you prefer that the woman was with you out of love or a sense of duty?"

Vivienne watched him as he furrowed his brows and looked away for a moment, clearly lost in thought. Eventually, he brought his eyes back to hers.

"I honestly don't think I'd care."

"Really?"

"I think that all I'd really care about is how she treated me. I was in an off-and-on relationship with a woman for a long time, a lot of years. It was pretty rocky. And she claimed to love me. I can remember her saying those words, but…she just didn't treat me very well. So, if I was ever in a relationship again, I think that I'd just want to be treated with respect and kindness. That's all. And if her actions were born out of love, great. But if they were born from something else – like duty or honor or just common decency – I honestly think I'd be fine with that, too. How she or I chose to label her underlying motivation just wouldn't matter much to me.

"I guess after everything I've been through in life…words just don't mean a whole lot to me anymore. People lie and break promises all the time. It's their actions that matter. Their actions – over time – will prove if what they profess is actually true. It's why, a couple of days ago when you bought me that bottle of vodka and the mask, it meant so much to me. And, yesterday, when you were willing to stitch up my back and wipe the filth from my face…that meant a lot, too." He then sighed deeply. "Hell, I don't know – maybe I'm not making any sense."

"No, Geralt, you are. 'Don't tell me you love me. Just show me. Because if you show me, then you'll never even need to say the words.'"

"Yeah. Exactly. Did you come up with that?"

"No. My father. Mother told me that he said that to her in the early days of their relationship."

"Sounds like a wise man," said Geralt with a smile.

"He is."

"And much more eloquent than me."

"He is decent and honorable, too. I think you two would get along well."

"Perhaps. And he and your mother – they're still together?"

"Almost thirty years now."

"Happily?"

Vivienne laughed.

"Yes, they're still very much in love."

"So, 'happily ever afters' are possible. You know, men and women, we're so different - our personalities, how we view the world. Sometimes, I think it's a miracle that any relationship actually lasts."

"You might be right. Mother once said that – despite the affection they have for one another – they still had some difficult times. She said it's because, even if two people are hopelessly in love, the problem is that they're still in love with a flawed and sometimes selfish person."

"Yeah. No one can hurt you quite as much as the one you love."

"It's why she said that making the relationship last takes a lot of patience and forgiveness – both asking for it and giving it."

"Your mother sounds wise, as well."

She nodded.

"She is. You know, despite growing up with a curse, there was one area where I always felt blessed – my parents. They were such wonderful role models for me. They showed me just what a healthy, loving marriage should look like. And I'll be forever grateful for that."

She noticed that a sad smile came to his face.

"Yeah…that must've been nice."

She bit her lip for moment, unsure if she should ask what she wanted to know. Because she knew that she might be digging into some very personal territory.

"I…I don't mean to pry, but…what about you? What were your parents like? If you don't mind talking about it, that is."

She didn't know why exactly, but something told her that their childhood experiences had been very different. He didn't answer immediately. He simply stared her into the eyes for a moment before giving a tiny nod of his head. He'd clearly been deciding what to say.

"I never knew my father. Don't even know his name. My mother I remember, but…I wasn't with her long. I was taken to Kaer Morhen when I was really young. So…my role models – the witcher cadre - were a lot different than yours. That's for certain."

He then went on to give her a short summary of his time growing up at the witcher fortress. She could tell that he was sparing her the details, but even so, it was clear that he'd suffered tremendous abuse and trauma as a child, and it caused her heart to break for him. And hearing about his formative years explained a lot for her. It helped her to understand the man that he was now and just where his insecurity came from. For it sounded as if he'd experienced very little kindness and love growing up. But if that were true, then she was amazed that he carried so much empathy and compassion for others. And she wondered where those qualities had come from.

She stopped walking and tugged on his hand so that he had to stop, too. She wanted to say how sorry she was that he'd had to go through all of that. That it all seemed so unfair. But she remembered what he'd said earlier. So, instead of saying anything, she stepped up close to him, caressed his cheek, and then kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?"

"I just wanted to show you I care."

He gave her a small, warm smile.

"Thank you, Vivienne. I…I care about you, too."

That brought a beaming smile to her face, and then they kissed again before continuing on their way. A moment later, they stepped into Hierarch Square, and a cacophony of voices assaulted them.

"Everyone, to me! To me!"

"Why buy tomorrow what you can buy today?!"

"The best deals this side of the Pontar!"

"Don't think twice! Just buy!"

There were countless merchants in their stalls, and all of them were doing their best to attract the attention of the passers-by. Virtually every good under the sun was being hawked – shoes; books; rugs; a variety of meats, fish, and vegetables; kitchen utensils; useless household items; and much more. Adding to the noise were all the street artists – musicians, jugglers, painters, fire-swallowers, and the like. A priest of the Church of the Eternal Fire was standing on a wooden crate, admonishing any of the towns-folk who were willing to listen. City guardsmen were milling about, and little girls, playing hopscotch, laughed loudly while young boys yelled out fake insults as they played 'knight-and-bandits' with wooden, play swords. Vivienne felt Geralt squeeze her hand a bit tighter, and then he pulled her close to his side as they entered that mass of humanity.

"Great values! Candles, ink wells, razor blades, and jewelry! I've got it all!" shouted a vendor at a nearby stall.

"Can we stop for a second?" Geralt asked. "I'd like to look at something."

Vivienne agreed, and a moment later, Geralt was speaking to the local merchant.

"Greetings. I heard you mention that you sell jewelry. Do you have any rings?"

"Only the greatest selection in all of Novigrad."

"Right," said Geralt dryly. "Let me see what you got."

She was just about to ask why he was looking at rings when she was shoved from behind and knocked to the ground. And, suddenly, her world turned to chaos, with loud shouting filling the air. She winced in pain as she raised herself up from the cobblestones and saw that Geralt was on the ground with about a half-dozen men on top of him. He was on his back with a man holding every appendage.

"Grab his swords! Don't let him draw his swords!" one of the men yelled.

"It's Letho of Gulet. Get the city guards!" shouted another.

One of the attackers had just unbuckled the strap of Geralt's scabbards when two of the men shouted out in incredible pain. And a moment later, Vivienne noticed that their clothes were on fire. They instantly jumped off the witcher and began rolling around on the ground, and as soon as they did, he raised himself up and forcefully threw both of his hands downward. A telekinetic force blasted everyone – including herself – backwards several feet. By the time she righted herself, when she looked up, Geralt was on his feet, and the entirety of Hierarch Square was filled with screams of terror as townsfolk fled in every direction.

"It's Letho of Gulet!"

"It's the king slayer! Run for you lives!"

Before his attackers could get back to their feet and surround him, she watched him run over to two boys who'd been playing 'knight-and-bandits.' The lads were rooted to the ground with their mouths open – dumbstruck by what they were watching. Geralt snatched the wooden swords from their hands, and when he looked up, Vivienne's eyes widened and she swallowed hard. The witcher had smile on his face, but it was one of pure malice.

He swiveled both swords at his sides and growled out, "Come get some."

In a flash, he advanced on his attackers, who all carried clubs or rusty blades. And though she'd seen the witcher wield a sword on the stage at the Passiflora, that was nothing compared to what she was watching now. He whirled between the men so fast that he was almost a blur, and as he did, the enemies howled in pain as he smacked his wooden swords against their skulls, wrists, and groins. A moment later, a couple of the men lay on the ground moaning in the fetal position, and two others had dropped their swords and were cradling their broken wrists against their chests. The remainder were still armed and glaring at the witcher, but they looked dazed and were holding their heads where he'd just whacked them. To Vivienne's eyes, none of them looked as if they wanted to continue the fight.

At that point, Geralt walked over to where his witcher swords lay on the ground. He tossed the wooden, play swords aside and grabbed his steel blade. The snarl returned to his face.

"Drop your weapons and leave. Otherwise, you're just a few moments away from death."

Immediately, the attackers threw their swords and clubs to the ground and fled from the square. A second later, Geralt scooped up his silver sword and empty scabbard and ran toward Vivienne.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asked as he knelt in front of her. His eyes were frantically scanning her body for any blood or injuries.

"Just my hand. Nothing else."

She showed him her bloody palm from where she'd scraped it against the cobblestones when she'd fallen, and his face instantly went cold. She could see the murder in his eyes so she grabbed his hands.

"Don't, Geralt. I don't know who they are, but they're not worth it. It's just a little scrape, okay? I fine. Honestly, I'm fine."

She stared him in the eyes and willed him to calm down. Eventually, he unclenched his jaws and gave a little nod of his head, at which point she exhaled in relief. But her relief was short-lived because a moment later she heard the sound of men in metal armor approaching. She looked past Geralt to see at least a dozen city guards all pointing crossbows in his direction.

"Letho of Gulet, drop your swords and surrender!" yelled one of the guards. "Or we will use deadly force."

Geralt took in the situation and then turned back to Vivienne.

"Find Dandelion or Zoltan," he said, handing her his swords. "Listen close. My name is Ravix of Fourhorn. Got it? Ravix of Fourhorn. And whatever they do, tell them not contact Dijkstra. Okay? Don't contact Dijkstra."

Before she could answer, he turned and slowly walked towards the guards with his hands out to his sides. They quickly shackled his wrists in chains and marched him off. Before he was even out of sight, Vivienne was running as fast as she could for the Chameleon.

oOo

"Whatever benefit I get from Dandelion's friendship…is it really worth the trouble?"

That was the question that Geralt had been asking himself for the past couple of hours as he sat inside of a foul cell of the Novigrad city jail. Which was actually a new experience for him. He'd seen the interior of a lot of jails in his life – those of Rinde, Vizima, Oxenfurt, La Valette castle, just to name a few – but this was his first time inside of the Novigrad jail. And he didn't particularly like it any better than he had the others. And he was there all because of Dandelion's mouth.

Geralt had recognized the men that had attacked him in Hierarch Square because he'd confronted them before - at the Seven Cats Inn. He gritted his teeth and shook his head at the thought of Dandelion telling Cletus and his boys that he – Geralt – was Letho of Gulet, the most wanted man in the North. Of all the dumb things he could have said, that had to be near the top. And it was bad enough that he was in jail due to the bard, but now he was having to rely on the knucklehead to somehow get him out. The witcher had absolutely no confidence that he'd be able to do so. In fact, he figured that somehow the poet would end up making the situation worse.

He'd told the city guards that he wasn't Letho of Gulet. That it was all a mistake. That his name was Ravix of Fourhorn and that he'd been defending himself. But they'd simply told him to shut-up.

"The captain will get to the bottom of this," they'd said. "He don't need your help."

He hadn't revealed his true identity to the guardsmen due to his confrontation with Dijkstra two night before. For he had no doubt that the Chancellor had already told the city guards to contact him immediately if a certain Geralt of Rivia happened to run afoul of the law. And if that happened, then that 'favor' that Dijkstra wanted from Geralt would suddenly turn into an obligation – his payment for getting out of jail.

The sound of a far-away door opening on its metal hinges brought Geralt out of his musings, and few moments later, Dandelion himself stood in front of the bars of the witcher's cell.

"You just can't seem to stay out of trouble, can you?" the bard said with a big smile on his face.

"I'm in here because of you, dumbass," he growled.

"Now, now. There's no use trying to blame others. Personal accountability – that's the key to wisdom and growth, I always say."

"Since when? Besides, I'm not trying to blame you. I am blaming you. Cletus and his goons are the ones who attacked me. And why? Because of your fat mouth. They thought I was Letho."

"Yes, yes. We've already gone over that. I told you it wasn't my fault. But that's neither here nor there. The bottom line is you're in trouble – again. And once again, I have to come to your rescue."

Geralt just stared at the bard and shook his head.

"Right."

"What would you ever do without me?"

"I've been asking myself that very question for the last few hours. So, did you talk to the captain, tell him I'm not Letho?"

"I did. Vivienne was clear regarding your instructions. Though, to be honest, I don't really understand the need for all the subterfuge. But, regardless, I informed him that you were not Letho of Gulet, but rather, one Ravix of Fourhorn, an old friend of mine."

"And?"

"He said that my word didn't count for much! That he was very aware of who I was and, therefore, I wasn't exactly credible. Can you believe it?"

"Shocking."

"I know! So, I found someone whose word he would believe."

At that point, Geralt heard a woman's voice echoing down the hallway. He craned his head to peer through the bars and saw Keira Metz walking his way.

"Damn it, Dandelion," he hissed. "I told you not to contact Dijkstra."

The bard furrowed his brows.

"And I didn't. Do you see him here?"

"Keira's on his bloody council, damn it. What she knows, he knows."

"Relax, Geralt. Relax," said Dandelion with a large smile. "Have I ever let you down?"

"Just this week? Or since I've known you?"

Before the poet could respond, Keira arrived and peered at Geralt through the bars. The captain of the guard had accompanied her down to the dungeon.

"So, Lady Metz, do you recognize him?" he asked.

"Oh, I do, indeed," she answered with a sly smile.

'Terrific,' thought Geralt. 'Just bloody terrific. Looks like I'll be heading to the chancellor's palace next.'

"This man is none other than Sir Ravix of Fourhorn, an upstanding citizen and a very dear friend of mine. I am quite confident that he was in no way responsible for the kerfuffle in the square."

'Wait, what?' thought Geralt. "Did she just lie for me?'

Geralt blinked his eyes and looked from Keira to Dandelion. The bard was simply standing there with a knowing grin on his face.

"Well, uh, of course, Lady Metz," stammered the captain. "We've got several eye-witnesses that stated, uh, Sir Ravix here was simply defending himself. We just wasn't sure of his identity. There was some confusion about that. Some said Letho of Gulet. Others said he was Geralt of Rivia. But, if you say he's Sir Ravix of Fourhorn, then, of course, it must be true."

Keira turned to face the captain and flashed him a smile. "Yes, it must."

Geralt didn't know exactly what was going on, but he knew better than to open his mouth at the moment. A few minutes later, he was processed out of the jail, and the three of them exited the building and walked a block down the street.

"In here," Dandelion said, pointing to a small alleyway.

Geralt turned into the alley to see Vivienne waiting for him. She rushed towards him, and for a second, he thought she was going to jump into his arms. But at the last moment, she paused and glanced at Dandelion and Keira. She calmly reached for his hand and squeezed it tenderly.

"It's good to see you," she said.

"You, too," said Geralt before turning to the sorceress. "Let me guess – you lied for me back there because you need a favor. A favor dealing with the wife of the Ofieri ambassador?"

"No, Geralt. You've already done me plenty of favors," she said. And then her faced slowly transformed into that of Dudu Biberveldt's.

"Ha!" exclaimed Dandelion, slapping Geralt on the shoulder. "I told you to trust me! When have I ever let you down!?"

oOo

Song and laughter permeated the air of the Chameleon, and Vivienne was definitely caught up in the festive mood. It had been close to sundown by the time Dandelion and Dudu had rescued Geralt from jail, and at that point, they'd all headed back to the cabaret. For the past couple of hours, Dandelion, Priscilla, and a large group of their friends had been sitting at a long table on the second-floor balcony that overlooked the musicians on the stage down below. It was a night of great food, strong spirits, and humorous tales, and Vivienne – sitting next to Geralt – was loving every minute of it.

Dandelion was naturally the center of attention, regaling everyone with a variety of stories – stories that made him look good, of course. But unfortunately for the bard, he had too many friends present to let him get away with his 'poetic license.' Priscilla, Zoltan, Geralt, Dudu, Elihal, and everyone else at the table would quickly reveal the truth of the tale and put the troubadour in his place. Vivienne laughed at virtually all the stories, but the ones she loved the most were those that involved the witcher. It was enlightening to hear others speak of Geralt; to get a glimpse at just how they viewed him. And it quickly became apparent to her that they all held him in just as high esteem as she did.

Her favorite story had been the one in which Geralt had been forced to act in a play in order to, ultimately, save Dandelion from certain death. It seemed as if almost everyone at the table had been involved in that adventure in some small way. So, it was a delight to hear them all chime in at various points to voice their different perspectives and memories of what had actually transpired. Towards the end of the tale, a woman named Irina Renarde asked Geralt if he remembered his lines from the play, and even though he said that he didn't, they were still able to pressure him into standing up and trying to recite them. It had been years since the play so, of course, he flubbed virtually every one, but that just made the entire story all the more humorous.

Geralt had been resting his hand on her leg most of the night, and she loved his touch. Loved that he wanted to touch her. And throughout the evening, she would routinely reach down and gently give his hand a squeeze just to let him know how much she was enjoying his company.

There was a lull in the story-telling, and the band below started playing a ballad – at which point, Dandelion and Priscilla arose from the table and began to slow dance nearby.

Several others in the party joined them.

"Do you dance, Geralt?" Vivienne asked, biting her lower lip.

"You've seen my dancing skills – at the Passiflora," he said with a smile.

She smiled with him and said, "But that was different. With slow dancing, you can just hold me tight and we can sway to the music."

He paused for a moment, simply staring into her eyes before finally giving a small nod of his head.

"Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Lady Vivienne?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she said with a smile.

They rose from the bench and moved a few paces away, and then he grasped her hand in his and pulled her close. He bent his head so that their cheeks brushed against each other and his mouth was close to her ear.

"It's no ducal ball – no rubbing elbows with nobles and knights – but are you having a good time?" he whispered.

"Immensely."

The truth was that she'd never been happier. For the past two years, she'd been traveling the Continent under the pretense of exploring new lands and 'expanding her horizons.' But she saw now that she'd actually been searching for something much more meaningful. Unconsciously, she'd been searching for the same thing that she'd been desiring for her entire life. And dancing there in Geralt's arms, she knew she'd finally found it. She'd found him. He was everything that she'd never even known she'd wanted.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and breathed in deeply, inhaling his masculine scent. She didn't really understand how, but just the way he smelled made her body respond. It was almost animalistic. And having her breasts pressed close to his chest and his breath in her ear was making it worse. And, suddenly, an image of him in his blue thong flashed in her mind.

"Get control of yourself," she thought. "Now's not the time."

"And I really like your friends," she said after a moment, hoping to get her mind off his body. "They're so down-to-earth and unpretentious. Well, Dandelion's a bit pretentious, but I think I've started to come around with him. He's got a certain charm."

"Yeah, he's got his moments."

The two of them continued to dance for the rest of that ballad and another. And, then, another song began with nothing but the slow picking of the lute strings. When the singer's voice reached the second floor, she heard the witcher groan, and he suddenly stopped dancing, moving his body away from hers.

"I'm sorry, Vivienne, but I can't dance with you to this song."

"Okay," she said, a bit confused.

After they moved back towards the table he said, "Actually, I need to head outside for a bit. Take care of business, okay?"

"Alright. Hurry back."

After watching Geralt head down the stairs, she moved to the edge of the balcony and peered down at the stage below, listening closely to the singer's words.

'I know not if fate would have us live as one,

Or if by love's blind chance, we've been bound,

The wish I whispered when it all began,

Did it forge a love you might never have found?

'You flee my dream come the morning,

Your scent berries tart, lilac sweet,

To dream of raven locks, entwisted, stormy,

Of violet eyes, glistening as you weep.'

When the song ended, she sat back down and looked across the table at Dandelion and Priscilla, who'd returned from dancing, as well.

"That was strange," Vivienne said to them. "Do you know why Geralt wouldn't like that song?"

"What? He doesn't?" asked Dandelion, disbelief clear in his voice. "You'd think he'd love it. It's about him."

"It is?"

"Yes, of course. Are you saying you've never heard it before?"

"I…I don't think so."

"Unbelievable. It's one of my most popular."

"Our," corrected Priscilla. "Our most popular."

"Right. Of course, sugarplum." Dandelion then turned back to Vivienne. "Priscilla and I wrote it together."

"And it's about him?"

"And Yennefer," said the bard matter-of-factly. "He's told you about her, right?"

Vivienne swallowed and slowly shook her head.

"He…he hasn't mentioned anyone by that name."

"Really? Well, that's odd. She's only the woman that he's had a relationship with for the past twenty-five years."

"Had," interjected Priscilla pointedly. "He had a relationship with her. They're not together anymore."

"And thank the gods for that," added the bard. "For the longest time, he thought the witch was the love of his life."

"He did?" Vivienne was suddenly feeling a pit in her stomach.

"Oh, yes. They were totally wrong for each other, but he just couldn't see it. Or he did and just refused to admit it. If you want my opinion, their relationship was a disaster from the beginning, but I will say this for it – it made for epic poetry. As evidenced by the beautiful song you just heard. It was the kind of tragic love found in Pakesheare's plays. The public just eats that kind of stuff up."

"Dandelion, let's change the subject, shall we?" said Priscilla, first glancing at the bard before looking across the table at Vivienne. "I really doubt she wants to hear about Geralt's past love-life."

"No, no. I…I'm glad you told me," Vivienne answered, putting on a fake smile.

At that point, Dandelion began to regale the table with another story, but Vivienne was only partially paying attention. Her mind was consumed by Geralt's past romance with a woman with raven locks and violet eyes. That morning, he'd told her about being in a rocky relationship that had lasted for years. He hadn't mentioned the woman's name at the time, but he had to have been referring to his relationship with the mysterious Yennefer. A woman who inspired tragic love songs.

And, with those thoughts, the wonderful mood that Vivienne had been feeling all evening disappeared - replaced with insecurity and, if she was honest, a bit of jealousy. She knew it wasn't rational. There was no need to have those feelings because, as far as she knew, Geralt had no desire to be with Yennefer. Or did he? That morning, he'd never mentioned to her just how their relationship had ended. Perhaps, she'd been the one to end it, and he still longed for her despite the fact that their romance was, by his own admission, a rocky one. Maybe that's why he'd stopped dancing with her earlier – because he felt it a betrayal to Yennefer to be dancing with another woman during 'their' song.

A few minutes later, Geralt finally showed back up, and after he sat down next to her, she asked, "Everything alright?"

"You bet. Bladder was full. That's all."

But he didn't mention the song or Yennefer, and she wondered why.

For the next hour, she wore a fake smile and laughed politely in the appropriate places when people told the tales, but she couldn't stop thinking about Geralt's romance with the sorceress. She hated the way she was feeling. She knew it wasn't healthy. So, she wanted to discuss things with him to find out the truth, but she realized that doing so in the middle of Dandelion and Priscilla's party wasn't the right time or place. But she was determined to discuss it with him afterwards.

Suddenly, Dandelion stood up from where he was sitting and exclaimed, "It's Ciri! She actually made it."

At that, the entire table stood and looked over the balcony railing down towards the front door of the cabaret. Vivienne saw a tall, lean, ashen-haired young woman partially surrounded by a half-dozen armed men. A moment later, another woman walked through the front door. A stunningly gorgeous woman with raven hair, dressed in all black.

"What the hell?" she heard Geralt growl out.

She looked up to see the witcher glaring at Dandelion.

"What the hell is Yen doing here?" he asked the bard.

"Search me. I didn't invite her. I guess she came as Ciri's guest."

Geralt peered back down below, and Vivienne noticed he was staring at the beautiful sorceress.

"Terrific," he whispered under his breath. "Just…bloody terrific."