A deathly silence prevailed in Marchen's forest in O'Dimm's absence.
For a moment, nothing seemed to breathe, as if afraid even one sound might chance to draw the demon back. The birds hid motionless in their nests in the trees, the squirrels burying their heads in the bushels of their tails, shielding their eyes, as if hoping by doing so, the Man of Glass might leave them be. Geralt had never felt truly alone before, surrounded on all sides by nature like this – but now, as he stood petrified by the weight of what lay on his shoulders, he felt as if he had become part of the forest itself: numbed to the world, eyes unseeing, ears still ringing with the laughter of Gaunter O'Dimm.
He began to take a step forward to leave, but stopped, feeling his feet holding to the ground like lead. Ciri would want to know what happened here – and in truth, she deserved to know. She would be worried about him if he did not return to tell her what he found in the forest, but, though he knew it would be much quicker to return to her in Vizima than travel all the way back to Toussaint just yet, he found he could not convince himself to start for the Nilfgaardian palace. He had been given a deadline for his tasks, and he could feel his time already slipping away, dwindling down, even as he stood here, desperately debating his next move.
Time had always felt abstract to Geralt – plentiful, meaningless, easily dismissed – but now he could almost feel it moving around him, flowing through his fingers like sand from an hourglass. In the unnatural silence of Marchen's forest, he could almost hear the decay of leaves beneath his feet, the rutting of worms in the dirt below him, the sounds of the birds in the trees drawing breath. The concept of death was suddenly very near and very real for him, and time a terrifying absolute, unforgiving in its resolve to consume everything it came into contact with.
He had to return to Shani, he knew. He had to tell her what he had done. He had to warn her, to tell her that her life and their child's life were now in danger, all because he had been too stubborn to listen to Yennefer and refuse Ciri's contract – and now, his curiosity had ultimately driven him into making a deal with the devil.
The journey home was a near-blur, with Geralt pushing Roach as hard as he had ever ridden her, not bothering to avoid the main roads this time as he pressed her on towards the south. He blew past carts and knight patrols, splitting walking-troupes and caravans like alley pins, having no time to consider circumnavigating such things if they insisted on using the same paths he needed to get home. More than once he felt Roach starting to wane beneath him, and he pushed her on with a cast of Axii, feeling a twinge of guilt in his gut as he heard her protest at being forced to maintain the breakneck speed. Still, he knew that sparing even a moment's rest would only harm them all in the long run, and he dug in his heels, stopping only when they were forced to pause at the banks of the Yaruga to wait for a ride across.
Roach slept like an infant on their way across the river, her head resting in Geralt's lap as the boat rocked with the gentle waves, but they quickly picked up their pace on the other side, with the witcher digging his heels hard into his horse's flanks. He only stopped for water along the road when he knew Roach needed it, drinking from streams and filling his water-canteen when convenience dictated he might, and he barely ate anything more than the provisions already stashed in Roach's saddle-bags, having no time to stop along the way and pick up further supplies. Most of their rations he allocated to Roach, knowing she needed the running strength more than he did, and he hardly allowed them chances to pause for sleep, except when he felt he might collapse from the saddle in exhaustion.
Days blurred together into nights as they galloped, driven on with the flame of desperation, until the dusty yellow path and familiar archway of home suddenly leapt out before them, springing up like a spectre in the night. Geralt had hardly noticed the fields of green, the vibrant peacock colours of Beauclair as he had ridden past, but the cobblestones of Corvo Bianco's walkways echoed like thunderclaps in his ears, unmistakeable as the pair made their way onto the grounds at last. Roach staggered as she felt the stones beneath her hooves, hot and exhausted from her lengthy run, and Geralt quickly leapt down, pulling her towards the stable to allow her respite before continuing on towards the main house, himself.
He could feel his head spinning as he walked, his stomach wrenching like a beast had torn it in two, and he stumbled as he pressed forward, feeling his legs start to waver like water beneath him. He was starving, exhausted, unkempt and unclean, his mouth feeling like swamp moss as he forced himself onward, pressing a hand to his aching side and wheezing as he clutched at the fence to steady himself. "Yen," he croaked, coughing for breath, knowing there was no way anyone could hear such a weak and withered sound. He could feel his lungs burning as he took a few more steps, seeing black spots forming in his vision as he walked, until he finally fell up against the manor door, coughing loudly as he lifted a weak hand to bang desperately against the wood.
"Yen," he called again, feeling the cool wood press against his overwarm face. He could almost envision falling asleep here, the thought so tempting he nearly gave into it for a moment – but he was saved from his fate as the door swung open, and a woman's voice screamed as he caught himself on the doorframe, barely managing to keep himself from falling onto the floor. Yennefer held up a warding hand at the frightening-looking visitor, her palm glowing blue as she faced off with her unwelcome guest, and Geralt felt his medallion hum at the surge of magic, sending a shock through his body that woke him just enough to allow him to straighten again.
"Yen," he repeated, just forcefully enough for his normal voice to come through for a moment. That one sound was apparently all it took to alert the sorceress that her guest was no stranger, and she quickly dropped her hand, moving forward to instead grab the witcher and drag him into the house. He could hear the door closing behind him as she pulled him into the front-room, propping him against one of the dining-chairs, before taking a step back to allow him to stand on his own, as much as he could. Yennefer's face was pale as she stared at her husband, anguished with worry, her violet eyes wide, and Geralt took a deep breath, feeling something rattle in his chest as he looked around for a familiar shock of red hair.
Shani was sitting at the table as he was pulled inside, but she quickly stood as soon as he began to look for her, and he wet his lips as she finally entered his line of sight, holding out a hand to her like a man possessed. "Shani—" he choked, the sound coming out like the first gasp of air from a nearly-drowned man. He coughed again, wheezing as he clutched his chest, straining for breath as he reached for the nearest chair, using it to keep himself upright as he fought the pull of gravity against his weary knees. Each painful inhale and spoken word felt like a coal set ablaze in his stinging lungs, and he swallowed hard, huffing a ragged breath, before reaching out towards Shani again, barely noticing as Yennefer took a wary step in front of her.
"Yen," he begged, his ravaged voice sounding more beast than man. "I have—I have to warn you… I have… to warn Shani—!" Coughing again, he doubled over, gripping the back of the chair, feeling his heart hammering in his ears as he fought back the urge to vomit. He was parched – no, dehydrated, he realized – his vision swimming as his stomach pulsated in time with his heartbeat, the gnawing pain of a body not properly fed for a week making his legs go numb beneath him. "Listen," he panted, grunting as he forced himself to speak again. "Listen… please. I need—I need to tell you. Ciri, she—" He groaned, gritting his teeth, dropping his head as his ears began to ring in pain. "Fuck," he spat, a few fine drops of spittle spraying onto his lip, all his dry mouth could spare. "Ciri… told me about… Man. Man of Glass. O'Dimm. He—cast a spell, said that… mages…"
He coughed again, before taking a deep breath, the strain of everything finally causing him to lose his knees beneath him, and Yennefer exclaimed in distress as he fell to the floor, rushing forward to kneel beside him, checking him over for damage. He blinked as he looked up at the sorceress, stunned, watching as she cleared his hair from his face, speaking words too jumbled by his woozy mind for him to understand. "We'll get you some water," she finally said, the first words to cut through his disembodied haze. "Some crackers and bread. Something you can keep down. Shani? Marlene?" Shani was quick to respond to her request, leaving the room to look for water and bread, and, turning her gaze to her husband again, Yennefer frowned, reaching to the tabletop to grab a napkin and using it to dab at the sweat that soaked the collar of his gambeson.
"What happened, Geralt?" Yennefer pressed, her violet eyes intense. "What did you do to yourself out there?"
"Needed to get… home," Geralt rasped, feeling his lungs cinch like something was squeezing them, each breath causing a burning pain in his side that made him grit his teeth in agony. "Needed… to tell… Shani… she's… I'm…" Wetting his lips again, he looked around for Shani, finally finding her as she crouched to give Yennefer her requested cup of water. "You're… in danger," he croaked, nearly choking as Yennefer began to tip water into his dry mouth. He tried to reach up to take the goblet from her, but his hand shook too much to even meet it halfway, his arm feeling like a lead weight was pulling it back to the carpet, and he quickly gave up, allowing Yennefer to tend to him.
"There," Yennefer said, bringing the goblet away from his lips after another moment. "Now what's going on, Geralt? What's got you so upset?"
"O'Dimm, said… mages… but only if Shani… doesn't have hers," Geralt choked, causing Shani and Yennefer to exchange confused glances, each looking as concerned as the other. He coughed again, harder this time, earning a soft hand on his chest from Yennefer, but he shook his head, trying to force a creeping darkness from the edges of his vision. "Look," he insisted, starting to raise his hand again, feeling the weight of the world dragging it down against his efforts. Bringing his shaking glove to his teeth, he pulled it off, spitting it out onto his stomach, before holding his hand up for Yennefer to see, turning his palm to face her. Yennefer frowned as he showed her his hand, taking it gingerly between her slender fingers, staring first at his palm, and then at her husband, as if unsure what she was meant to be looking at.
"Look—l-look," Geralt pressed, nodding towards his hand. "See? He did that, it—it's magic, it's…" He stopped as he noticed Yennefer's expression, before turning his gaze to instead look at the back of his trembling hand, realizing with a sudden cold dread that it no longer hurt the way it had in the forest. Turning his hand around, he stared at his palm, feeling his stomach drop as he realized the wound had disappeared, all trace of it wiped from his skin as if it had never existed at all. "But… it was there," he insisted, clenching his hand as he looked up at Yennefer again, begging her to believe him. "He… took blood, for… tasks, he made me… promise—"
"Who?" Yennefer insisted, clasping his curled hand in hers. "Who took blood, Geralt? What did you promise?"
"Master Mirror," Geralt rasped, heaving another deep breath as his throat scratched raw, threatening to close. He could feel himself making less sense the more he went on, but he knew he had to keep trying. "If—they find out, then Shani… they'll try to kill Shani," he pressed. "And I'm… I antagonized him, I… I turned him down. So he put… curse… on me, on you… all magic users, all… sorceresses… everyone can… They can all…" He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut again, bracing as another wave of nausea made his vision swim. "Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, they… they're coming, they're… coming, the Man… O'Dimm said… Shani…"
"He's delirious," Yennefer fretted, looking over to Shani for help. "I can't understand a word. Do you think he's been poisoned? Gods…" Letting out a hard huff, she turned her attention back to Geralt, cupping his face in her hand as she pursed her lips, refusing to allow herself to cry in her worry. "Bloody giant centipedes," she swore, brushing her thumb anxiously across his cheek. "Don't know why there's so many of them out here. Damnit."
"I don't think it's poison," Shani countered, reaching past Yennefer to check Geralt for a temperature. "He's running a fever, though that doesn't tell me much… witchers' bodies don't always work the same way as ours." Narrowing her eyes at Geralt, she frowned, resting her curled hands pensively against her knees. "You said you went to see Ciri?" she asked him, earning a woozy, delayed nod in return. Shani sucked her lip, thinking a moment, before letting out a soft, disconcerted breath. "It's not centipede venom," she said, shaking her head, causing Yennefer to look up again, her painted brows furrowing. "It's a month's ride out to Vizima and back – two weeks each way. That's what he told me before he left. It's only been a little over three weeks since then. He's half-dead from exhaustion and starvation, not poison."
Yennefer huffed at the news, her feathered collar ruffling like a fuming bird of prey. "I'd kill him myself if he wasn't already on death's door," she spat, looking down at Geralt in indignation. "Bloody idiot. Help me get him up, Shani. He needs bedrest if he's to sleep this off."
"He needs to rehydrate first," Shani advised, reaching out to help Yennefer lift the witcher under his shoulders. Geralt groaned as he was pushed up, doing what little he could to help, and Yennefer huffed as she sagged beneath his weight, coughing at the smell of his armour. Shani sucked her lip as she heaved her half upward, giving only a soft grunt as his knees buckled again, dragging her down – but she quickly regained her composure, shaking her shaggy bangs from her eyes and looking over at Yennefer again. "We should give him a cool bath," she told the sorceress, her voice blessedly calm, keeping things under control. "See if we can get him to drink more water. Maybe some juice if he can keep it down. And he needs a good dose of vitamins— something with niacin, to help him regain his energy. Meat is a good source of that – do you think we can get him to eat some meat?"
Yennefer laughed at the question, the sound coming out as a sharp bark, strangled with stress. "He loves meat," she answered, nodding in agreement. "I often have a hard time getting him to eat anything else."
"Good then," Shani said, letting out another huff as she readjusted the witcher on her shoulders. "Then as soon as he has the strength, we'll get him some chicken to eat. Maybe some pork or mutton. In the meantime, let's get him in the bath and see what we can do from there."
Yennefer nodded at the sound instructions, thankful that Shani was there to help – the sorceress had always known Geralt took poor care of himself on the Path, but she was usually helpless to do anything about it, forced to make do with offering a few healing spells and then waiting for him to patch himself up with potions. Healing had never been her strongest suit – she had always been better with offensive spells and portals – but she hated the feeling of helplessness it gave her, having to rely on the expertise of others. She had taken it on herself a few years back to learn the basics of witcher alchemy, hoping she might be able to better assist when situations like these arose, and it had taken a good deal of time and effort to learn the basic ingredients of Geralt's most important tonics, memorizing the brewing and bottling times to ensure maximum effectiveness. It had annoyed her to no end, then, when, after a bit of study, she realized that Geralt was barely competent in the same subject, himself.
It was not that he was incapable of learning it, she knew – only that he was lazy. She supposed that was mostly Vesemir's fault, with the old Wolf putting far more emphasis into fighting than books, but that did not stop her from chastising Geralt at every opportunity, reminding him that he needed to hone his other witcher skills if he wished to survive. Perhaps there was a potion which could have saved him from a condition like this, she thought; perhaps, if he had only put a little more effort in… but the idea was quickly pushed from her mind as they finally set him down at the edge of the tub, and she let out a huff, wiping herself down, before focusing on the lake just outside the manor gates, closing her eyes as she readied the spell to collect water for her husband's bath.
Geralt hissed as he felt cool water on his skin, opening his eyes as he felt Yennefer start to dab him down with a soft, wet cloth. He had nodded off for a moment, it seemed, and in that moment had somehow managed to lose his clothes. He blinked as he watched the sorceress run a soft towel over his chest, careful not to scrub too hard on any of his obvious bruises, before he realized that another cool cloth had been draped around his neck, and another on his forehead, both clearly Shani's doing. "Shani," he coughed, his voice still hoarse, causing Yennefer to look up at the sound, before reaching out to grab a cup of water sitting beside the tub and lift it to his lips, coaxing him to get down as much as he could.
"Don't speak now," Yennefer told him, softly. "Once we get you cooled down, I'll have Marlene make some chicken soup. If you can keep that down, you're already doing better."
"But Shani—" Geralt said again, only to find himself hushed once more.
"Shani's gone to mix you some supplements," Yennefer informed him, setting the cup aside again. "A mineral draught she says will help recover your strength. She'll be back soon to help me get you up to bed." Picking up the washcloth, she dipped it again in the soapy water, starting to gently wash his neck and shoulders before letting out a soft sigh, seeming lost in thought as she moved the towel in gentle circles. "Shani's very smart," she commented after a moment, seeming to be speaking more to herself than Geralt. "And kind. We're very lucky to have her around. We really should do more to tell her so. A crib is hardly sufficient thanks for everything she's done for us."
Yennefer paused as she said this, frowning a bit, reaching up to wipe a smudge of dirt from Geralt's cheek, before she let out a soft sigh, wetting the cloth again and starting to gently wash his reddened ribs. "Or perhaps I'm being ridiculous," she reasoned, her voice softer now, making Geralt have to strain to hear. "Perhaps I'm fooling myself with frivolous logic, and I'm simply trying anything to entice her to stay. Entreating her presence with… baubles. Trinkets. Hoping she doesn't realize I've nothing of substance to offer in exchange for the peace of mind she brings." She hesitated again, as if having never considered it that way before, her pretty hand hovering for a moment against his chest as she stared at the medallion around his neck.
"Hope for what, I'm not sure," she added after another moment. "Perhaps her presence is merely… a distraction. A welcome one, from these worries I can't shake… worries of us growing apart again, as we did with Ciri." She paused again, her lips thinning into a soft line, her gaze seeming miles away as she stared down at her husband. Geralt stared back at her, watching the subtleties of her face, his eyes never leaving her, even as she reached forward to push a lock of wet hair behind his ear. Yennefer tilted her head as she stared at the witcher, running her nails through the tangles of his beard, before letting out another soft breath, dipping her washcloth in the soapy water and starting to gently pat him down again.
"It's not fair to put that on her," she determined, shaking her head at the thought. "I realize that. Having a child around isn't… salvo. I made that mistake once already. And I can't help worrying…" She stopped again, thinking a moment, before letting out another breath, heavier than the last. "I worry this might simply turn into a repeat of what happened with Ciri," she admitted, softly. "That once Shani leaves, and takes her child with her… we'll have nothing in common again, you and I. Perhaps I'm simply prolonging the inevitable with desperate acts of altruism." She frowned at the thought, before looking up at Geralt again, as if unsure he was even listening.
"Do you think that's what will happen?" she asked, the solemnity in her voice making his heart cinch with guilt.
Geralt frowned at the question, his hands clenching weakly around the edge of the basin as he fought to think how to respond. He could hear what she was saying, but he was having a hard time processing most of it through his haze; even so, the look on her face spoke volumes enough for him to understand her pain, and he took a deep breath, clearing his throat as he prepared to attempt an answer. "Yen…" he said, his voice still hoarse, and she looked up quickly, seeming surprised to hear him speak. He paused, unsure what to tell her, unsure if he even had anything of value to say; he wanted so badly to give her hope, to tell her everything would be all right; to fill her ears with sweet nothings, anything that might alleviate her distress and make her smile again.
But that was not what was needed right now, and he knew what he had to do, as little as he knew she would like it. "Shani's in danger," he repeated, managing to rasp out the words before coughing again. "We have to… help. Protect her from… curse. Baby…" He swallowed, feeling his throat burn with every word, and Yennefer sighed, seeming less disappointed than resigned to his response.
"I shouldn't be putting this on you now," Yennefer told him, shaking her head as she petted his wet hair away from his face. "You're in no state to hear me air my woes. I'm sorry, Geralt. Let's get you to bed so you can eat something and get some rest." Dropping her washcloth to the edge of the tub, Yennefer stood to her feet, lifting her hands to remove the water from the basin, and Geralt gave a shiver as the cold air hit him, watching as the water floated out of the bath in an immense, crystalline marble. The liquid sphere swirled eerily in shape, polished as glass as Yennefer guided it out the open window, until Geralt finally heard the soft splash of it being deposited onto the hill outside the manor grounds where she usually put it.
"Come on, Geralt," Yennefer said, picking up a dry towel and starting to gently pat him down. "Shani will be back soon, and gods know she's already seen your penis enough for one lifetime."
It would have been funny, had Geralt been in any health to laugh, but as it was all he could do was give a weary grunt of acknowledgement, letting his head fall onto his wife's shoulder as she pulled his arm around her, heaving him up once more from the tub. Sitting him on the edge of the basin, she began to help him into a pair of soft underwear, before looking up as Shani finally arrived back, ready to help bring the witcher to bed. It took great effort to get him to the master bedroom, and he let out a deep sigh as he finally sank into bed, fighting to keep his eyes open as he felt Shani press a spoon of chicken soup to his numb lips, prompting him to eat. She left him no room to speak between bites of broth, even if he had had the state of mind to try to warn her again, and she smiled sadly down at him as he finished, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead before standing again to leave.
Geralt let out a soft grunt as he watched her go, before settling back against the pillows again as Yennefer came to sit beside him on the bed. "Yen…" he told her, gritting his teeth as another breath in burned needles in his side. He coughed, feeling her slender hand brush worriedly against his face, her dainty fingers cool against his warm, sickly skin. "Shani is… in danger. Mages… curse…"
"Not now," Yennefer said, shaking her head, tracing her finger over a cut on his lip. "You're delirious, Geralt. Get some rest. Shani will be here when you wake, I promise."
"But…" Geralt groaned, letting out a sharp breath, feeling a faint nausea start to ache in his gut, threatening to empty it of the chicken soup and water he had managed to keep down thus far. "I swear, he took… contract," he breathed, forcing his eyes to stay open. "The Man—"
"Stop it," Yennefer hissed, causing Geralt to look up at the sound, closing his mouth. He had heard Yennefer take this tone before, but usually only with those who antagonized her for being a sorceress. She rarely took this tone with him – this tone of ice, the tone of Tissaia de Vries – and he held his breath, sealing his lips as he waited for her to continue speaking. "Listen," she told him, the frost in her voice slowly fading, her obvious concern for him returning. "Shani is already under enough duress without you pulling something like this and adding to it. Something clearly happened with Ciri's contract, Geralt, but now is not the time to talk about it. Once you've had some rest and calmed down a bit, then we can speak on it. Not before."
"Can't wait for that—" Geralt started to say, but Yennefer quickly shushed him again, pressing a slender finger to his lips.
"Hush," she told him, firmly. "I can make you fall asleep with magic, but I'd much rather you went to sleep on your own. You'll get better rest if you fall asleep naturally. Now stop talking." Moving her finger away from his lips, she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to them instead, and Geralt grunted, still unsettled, but unable to argue the reassuring feeling of her lips on his. "There's nothing more to discuss for now," Yennefer told him, brushing his hair away from his face again, tracing her finger along his cheek as his heavy lids fluttered, fighting desperately not to close. "We'll talk more once you're better. A few days of rest and proper nutrition and you'll be back on your feet in no time."
"It's not fair… Yen," Geralt mumbled, his numb hand searching clumsily for hers along his chest. Yennefer frowned, taking his hand in hers and bringing his calloused knuckles up to her lips for a worried kiss.
"What's not fair?" she asked him, gently.
Geralt sighed, finally giving up and allowing his eyes to close. "You deserve kids more than anyone," he told her, his breathing shallowing as he began to drift off to sleep. "Should've… just said yes. It's not fair… you have to suffer… for my stubbornness."
Yennefer paused, concerned for a moment, unsure if there was something more to her husband's words than just the ramblings of a delirious man in desperate need of sleep. Then, leaning down again, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, brushing her hand back through his snowy hair as she rested her head against his shoulder. "I'd suffer your stubbornness any day, if it meant being with you," she told him quietly, unsure if he could even still hear her through the veil of sleep. "I love you, Geralt. There's no one else whose stubbornness I'd rather suffer through."
Sleep came fitfully for the witcher, rife with bad dreams; he dreamed of darkened forests, of clearings echoing with the melody of O'Dimm's flute. The ground in his dream was treacherous beneath his boots, making it difficult to find solid purchase, and when he looked down, he saw with a wrench in his gut that he was standing on thousands of mismatched spoons. The forest floor reminded him of Marlene's old cellar, so littered in hoarded silverware it was impossible to see the floor, and as he took a step forward, he felt the hair on his arms stand on end as the spoons beneath his feet gave a chilling rattle.
The sound reminded him strongly of the wind clattering through bones of the wartime dead, of abandoned bodies hung from the trees, left so long that carrion had stripped them down to nothing but skeletons. Looking up into the canopy, Geralt turned, scanning the wilted branches for any sign of the wicked Man of Glass in his dream; O'Dimm could manipulate dreams, he knew – he had tormented Professor Shakeslock in that way, twisting the blind scholar's dreams with visions of a fabricated daughter's death until the man had gone mad with imagined grief. Geralt himself did not like the thought of being caught in a dream of the demon's making, but he knew there was little he could do about it so long as he still had a contract to fulfil.
The trees had been stripped down to their autumn colours, just as he remembered from the last time he was here – but as he took another step forward towards the treeline, he began to feel something change in the air around him. Looking up into the trees again, he started to watch as the leaves began to curl and whiten, crackling with ice and withering into nearly nothing as the first frost of winter peeled at their brittle edges. Letting out a shaky breath, Geralt watched as it gathered in front of his face in an icy mist, and when he took a step back, he stopped suddenly short as he felt the familiar crunch of powdered snow beneath his feet. Looking down, he realized with a start that the carpet of spoons had become obscured with blinding powder, and when he turned his startled gaze up again, he noticed that the branches of the trees had become laden with snow as well.
The wind leapt up from the forest floor with a howl, slashing at the witcher's exposed face and throat and biting at his legs, its icy claws burrowing under his armour to freeze his skin as the temperature continued to drop around him. Geralt gritted his teeth at the sudden gale, shielding his eyes as a flurry of white began to fill the air, and as he stood in the darkened wood, he began to hear something approaching through the trees, something with the sound of heavy boots crunching their way across the carpet of snow-laden spoons. Despite his limited vision, Geralt knew there was nothing out here but the trees – trees and darkness in every direction, with no civilization at its end to offer respite. There was nowhere for anything to move out here, no space between the trees for even the witcher to squeeze, and as he squinted into the squall through lashes crystallized with ice, he began to watch as something emerged from the forest's claustrophobic depths; something large, rigidly gaited, smelling strongly of blood and steel.
It had been years since Geralt had last set eyes on the face of the figure from the woods, but the memory of his encounter still hung hauntingly fresh in his mind; Jacques De Aldersberg looked as though he had been preserved in ice, left to lie in the snowy wasteland where the witcher had slain him, pierced through the heart with a silver sword like the monster he had become. His skin was taut and withered, his lips blue, nearly black from frostbite, but the most disturbing part of him were his hollow eyes, his piercing blue sclera boring out from blackened holes in his emaciated, corpse-like face. Geralt suppressed a shiver as he watched the Grandmaster approach, his hand itching at his side for his sword, though he knew it would be pointless to slay the spectre in his dream. This was a trick, he knew – it had to be, a tactic to put him off his guard – but he had no idea what O'Dimm could seek to achieve by making him face off with a man he had not thought about in so long.
"What do you want?" Geralt snapped. The question was short, perhaps a bit unkind, but he had no patience for playing games. "Don't regret killing you, if that's why you're here."
"I didn't expect you to regret it," De Aldersberg answered, his voice making his skin crackle as he spoke, as if a layer of ice were breaking away as he moved. "I would be a fool to expect human emotions from someone who has none."
"Dunno why you're here then," Geralt spat, unable to help wondering if his reactions were some instinctual rise to the defensive. "Been dead too long to be relevant now. Salamandra's disbanded. Fringe elements turned to dealing fisstech. Everything your people stole is gone." He stopped, watching De Aldersberg as the Grandmaster continued to stare back at him, his frosty eyes unblinking, punctured chest not moving with the presence of breath. Each snowflake in his beard and brows was perfectly set, a macabre vision frozen in time, and Geralt felt himself shiver at the sight, though whether it was from the cold or the corpse was difficult to tell.
"All your dreams of ubermen came to nothing," Geralt continued, filling the uncomfortable silence. "Soon there'll be no more witchers, either. Everyone lost, because of you."
De Aldersberg said nothing for a moment, before he finally shook his head. "Not everyone," he returned, calmly.
Geralt frowned at the answer. "What's that supposed to mean?" he insisted.
De Aldersberg's frozen lips thinned, his body giving another unnerving crackle as he shifted in place. "Not everyone lost," he repeated, more firmly. "One man won. Because of you. You did exactly what he wanted."
Geralt felt his stomach twist at the answer, unsure what it meant, but dreading asking further. "Who?" he demanded, knowing he was playing into a trap, but too stubborn to let it go. "The King of the Hunt? Didn't do what he wanted. Eredin wanted me to hand you over. Wanted to use your Elder Blood to make navigators, like he tried to use Ciri's." He could feel his heart racing as he spoke, wanting desperately to believe his own words, but he could feel doubt mounting with every claim, and he swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to beg for clarity. "I denied him," he insisted. "Refused to give you over. Killed you myself so he wouldn't be able to use you to his end."
De Aldersberg gave a bitter grunt at these words, his icy lips twisting in a look of amused disdain. "Eredin was never there, witcher," he returned, almost spitting the last word, shaking his head as another cold chuckle rolled up from his frozen chest. "You know as well as I that he was flesh and blood, not spectre. It's no great secret that your greatest fear, your greatest hatred was for the Hunt, even back then. You made it so easy for that to be used against you that you played right into his hands."
Geralt faltered at this, taking a stunned step back. "I don't understand," he admitted.
"Of course you don't," De Aldersberg answered, coldly. "You only see what you wish to see. That's why he finds it so easy to manipulate you." He paused as he said this, lifting his noble chin to expose a blackened strip of missing flesh, a frostbitten hole where his windpipe had been, torn out by scavenging necrophages. "Have you not noticed that every threat to his power is sooner or later eliminated?" he asked. "Every being who might have the capability to interfere with his plans, wiped from the Continent, or their lives made hell?" He sneered at the thought, his black lip curling over bleached teeth in rotting, frozen gums. "Every inconvenience, no matter how small, has been summarily handled," he continued. "Many by you, witcher. I was not even the first. There were many before me. Vilgefortz was one."
"Vilgefortz?" Geralt repeated, narrowing his eyes at the unwelcome name. "Vilgefortz killed my friend Regis. He tortured Yen, tried to kill Ciri so he could use her blood to gain her powers. I killed Vilgefortz because he deserved it."
"And because he was instrumental in eliminating O'Dimm's pawn from the most powerful seat in the Continent," De Aldersberg added, making Geralt's brow furrow deeper. "Vilgefortz helped dethrone Nilfgaard's Usurper. In return, you did away with Vilgefortz. He was too powerful to be allowed to live, if his goals did not align with O'Dimm's."
"But…" Geralt frowned, turning the information over in his head; De Aldersberg was making sense, he knew, but he would not allow himself to become consumed with conspiracy theories when he still had no idea who was pulling the strings of this dream. "I killed Vilgefortz to protect Ciri," Geralt argued. "Nothing else. I made that choice."
"O'Dimm led you believe that, I'm sure," De Aldersberg returned, nodding in agreement, the ice of his desiccated neck crackling loudly, making Geralt's stomach turn. "Made you believe it was your idea. Just as he did when you killed me." Turning his face away, he stared into the darkened forest, the winter wind wailing as snowflakes swirled around his unblinking expression, and it took Geralt another moment to realize he had no eyelids with which to blink. He held back a grimace at the Grandmaster's state of decay, wondering if he had truly been left out by his followers to rot like this, or if this was simply the gruesome visual O'Dimm had decided would be most effective to torment him with.
"I was always destined to die by your hand," De Aldersberg continued, pulling Geralt back in again, retrieving his thoughts from where he had nearly lost himself in memories of foes left unburied. Wicked men deserved to rot where they fell, he thought, with no one to bury or mourn them, but he could not help wondering if that was how he would die one day – left out to decompose in the sun, picked apart by carrion and ravaged by necrophages, until there was nothing left of him for Yennefer to inter. "My usefulness to him had run its course, so he brought in his new pawn to dispose of me," De Aldersberg went on. "I was used, Geralt— just as you were used— but my plans were ill-fated. I failed to produce. And I was too powerful on my own to be allowed to continue living in my failure."
He paused at the thought, before grimacing, tilting his head to stare pensively between the trees, the ice in his neck crackling like the sound of grinding glass as he moved. "I had proven as a child my capability to travel through time," he said, his voice oddly distant, as if speaking more to himself than to Geralt. "And as an adult I retained that skill, along with the ability to navigate through space and between worlds. I was too much of a threat to be allowed to exist, if I were not working for him directly. So he turned on me… abandoned me. Then used your worst fear to convince you to slaughter me."
He sneered as he finished, turning his pale eyes down to the snow-covered spoons, and Geralt faltered, realizing how much of what the Grandmaster was saying made sense. It was twisted and unsettling, realizing how much of what he had once thought of as circumstance had been planned from the start, but with what he knew of O'Dimm's powers, he supposed he had been foolish not to suspect his influence all along. "He gave you the choice of doing it yourself, or allowing him to take my soul," De Aldersberg continued after another moment. "You chose to be my executioner. Because you're a callous freak. An emotionless golem. All you know how to do is kill. It's your basic nature."
Geralt's frown deepened at the string of insults, but he pushed it aside, realizing that was not the important part of De Aldersberg's argument. "I killed you because you were too dangerous to let live," he answered, nearly spitting the retort through gritted teeth. "You conspired to overthrow Foltest. Waged war with the Scoia'tael. Released mutated soldiers into the streets, terrorizing innocents. You needed to be stopped."
"By whose determination, witcher?" De Aldersberg snapped, turning his icy eyes up again. "Who made you judge, jury, and executioner? What moral code drove you to decide you should be the one to end my life?" As he spoke, he took a step forward, causing Geralt to take an unconscious step back, keeping a wary distance between himself and the frozen corpse. "Foltest stood in the way of progress," De Aldersberg spat, baring his teeth in disdain. "O'Dimm's progress. He had to be eliminated. I failed to produce on that front, but Emhyr succeeded. He used Letho to eliminate Foltest, and gained favour from O'Dimm in that way—but then, when Letho became inconvenient, you were there to eliminate him as well."
A sharp crackle like the spiderwebbing of glass came from his frozen chest as he spoke, and when Geralt looked down, he saw that a dark line of sludge-like blood had begun to seep from where his sword had bisected the Grandmaster's heart. "It always comes back to you in the end," De Aldersberg hissed, drawing Geralt's eyes back to his sunken face again. "Disposing of those he no longer has a usefulness for. I don't know how you don't see that."
Geralt shook his head, feeling his heart start to beat faster, the chill of the winter wind whistling past his ears, making it hard to think. It was getting colder, he realized; he could feel his exposed skin starting to chafe, but he shook his head, clenching his hands at his sides as he tried to fight off the creep of frostbite. "But… what does this have to do with my tasks?" he insisted, hearing his voice waver as his teeth chattered. This was only a dream, he told himself; none of this was real, no matter how much it hurt. "How does… killing the Crone, or… making Ciri a witcher… help O'Dimm?"
"Open your eyes, Geralt," De Aldersberg told him, his voice growing strange and hollow over the howling of the wind. "The clues have been all around you from the start. You just refuse to connect them."
"What?" Geralt demanded, lifting a hand to shield his stinging eyes. "What clues? What does any of this have to do with you?"
De Aldersberg chuckled, the sound dark, bitter, sending a chill down Geralt's spine, before he watched as another sharp crackle sent a second globule of congealed blood sliding down the front of the Grandmaster's ruined chestplate. "You should've asked me that while I was still alive," De Aldersberg told him. Then, taking a step back into the snow, he began to fade once more into the trees, the blizzard swallowing him as a flurry of white lashed at Geralt's face, obscuring the Grandmaster from view.
Geralt shouted in pain as the snow raked his skin, feeling his fingers start to freeze in his gloves, but he lurched forward after De Aldersberg regardless, making his best effort to follow the corpse into the woods. "Wait—!" he shouted, but he could no longer hear himself over the howl of the storm. The gale had become too powerful, the snow too thick, the wind too cold to breathe, and he could feel his lungs starting to burn as he took a breath, ice crystals freezing on his tongue.
"De Aldersberg!" Geralt shouted, all sound drowned out by the raging flurry.
"Alvin… wait—!"
Geralt opened his eyes with a start, drawing in a sharp breath and finding the air blessedly warm. The forest of the nightmare had disappeared as soon as he opened his eyes, replaced instead by the walls of his bedroom, with the soft orange glow of candles taking the place of darkness and snow. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest still, the glowing eyes of De Aldersberg hanging fresh in his mind, but as he stared up at the ceiling, he began to feel the weight of the nightmare slowly start to melt away, the chill of winter leaving his frostbitten limbs as reality began to set in again.
It was only a dream, he told himself; an illusion, nothing that could harm him in the real world – a manifestation of his stress and anxiety, taking the form of something he had been thinking about recently. He had, barely a month ago, held back on telling Shani about Alvin's fate, and his feelings of guilt had likely turned into something subconscious, taking the first opportunity to warp into an idea more sinister than the sum of its parts. It was becoming difficult to remember what De Aldersberg had even said to him in the dream now; the contents of the nightmare had begun to fade as soon as he opened his eyes, and as he lay awake, it began to leave him more and more, until he could barely remember anything about it except the eerie collection of spoons.
He felt something shift in the bed beside him, and, looking over, he saw Yennefer sitting on the edge of the bed, her violet eyes soft as she watched him, running her fingers through his long white hair. As soon as she saw he was awake, she smiled down at him, her expression gentle, before laying down beside him, nestling her chin in the crook of her elbow as she rested her arm across his chest. "You're awake," she said, speaking softly, not wanting to overwhelm him so soon after waking.
"Mm," Geralt grunted, reaching up to rub at a bleary eye. "How long have I been out?"
"A few days," Yennefer answered, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face. "Shani had me wake you every so often so we could feed you and give you some of her nutrient blend, but… you were still a bit out of it the entire time. I doubt you remember." She paused, her gentle gaze fixed on his face, as if working to memorize every line and scar, before she seemed to remember something, turning away and instead searching for something on the bedside table. "Speaking of your mineral blend," she said, picking up a cup and bringing it around to him again. "Here. Drink up. It isn't pleasant, but it's been helping you regain your strength."
Geralt frowned at the cup, unsure what to expect, but he took it from his wife's hand anyway, bringing it to his lips and tipping it down, only to choke as the taste of it hit his tongue. It was bland, reminding him of times he had slept on the side of a dusty road, only to wake with the taste of silt in his mouth, and the texture reminded him of wet sand, another unfortunate experience from a life on the Path. He made a face as he rolled the mixture across the roof of his mouth, but he swallowed it down, handing the cup back to Yennefer with a sigh before resting his head against the pillow again. Yennefer seemed pleased that he had gotten the mixture down, and she set the cup aside on the nightstand again, returning her head to his chest and giving a soft sigh as she traced her finger over his collar-bone.
"You were talking in your sleep," she told him, quietly. "Something about… Jacques De Aldersberg? It must have been a terrible dream you were having. You haven't said anything about him in years."
Geralt grunted at the observation, wondering how much of his dream had been spoken aloud. "Just a nightmare," he said, reaching to take hold of her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. His arm ached as he moved it, but he huffed through the pain, pressing her hand against his scraggly cheek, realizing for the first time just how long his beard had gotten. "Haven't had them since the Hunt was after Ciri," he added, still trying to find his froggy voice. "Just… worried about things, I guess."
Yennefer frowned. "About Jacques De Aldersberg?" she asked.
Geralt shook his head, running his thumb along the side of her hand. "About some… choices," he said, letting out a sigh. "Wondering if I made mistakes."
Yennefer's lips thinned at the thought, her pretty brow furrowing as she nestled her head against his shoulder. "We all make mistakes," she told him, frankly. "It's how we react to our failures that shapes us."
Geralt faltered at her words, wondering for a moment if she would say the same if she knew what he knew – about Gaunter O'Dimm, about the curse on Shani, about how he had turned down an opportunity for Yennefer to regain her lost fertility. He had assumed at the time, as he always did, that he knew what was best for both of them, and that Yennefer would have had the same objection to O'Dimm's offer that he did. After all, he had seen the result of deals made with O'Dimm for the sake of happiness, the sake of love, and how badly doing so had turned out for Von Everec in the end. Olgierd had been willing to sacrifice everything to ensure his life with Iris, and in the end, he had wound up with no brother, no wife, no fortune, and ultimately, no heart with which to mourn them.
Geralt paused as he thought about Von Everec, remembering suddenly the blood price O'Dimm had demanded for the fulfilment of his wishes: the life of a loved one in exchange for a life together with Olgierd's love. By comparison, O'Dimm had only asked of Geralt that he walk away, with no other stipulations mentioned; it was unnervingly tame considering Von Everec's debt, especially with what O'Dimm had offered in return. At the time, the only thing Geralt could think was what havoc O'Dimm might wreak, if allowed to remain free – but now he realized he had granted the demon his freedom anyway, and in return had received nothing but a curse to break.
"Yen…" he started to say, speaking slowly, feeling as Yennefer shifted against his shoulder to look up at him. He paused, wondering how to word his question, feeling that no matter how he said it, it would come out wrong. "If… something happened to Shani's baby," he said, choosing his words as carefully as he could. "And… it didn't make it, but… you could have kids, then… y'know, your own kids… would you want that?"
Yennefer fell silent at the question, and Geralt felt his stomach clench, knowing he had struck a nerve. It had been a stupid thing to say from the start, he realized, but the fact that it was him asking just made it all the worse. Yennefer had never given any indication that she wished ill will on Shani's baby, and Geralt had been treading on eggshells this entire time in response, hoping the precarious balance might hold until the child was born. Now, he felt as if he had broken something unmentionable, reached into Yennefer's logic and snapped something holding together their house of cards, and he held his breath as he waited for her answer, wishing he could turn back time and take the question back.
"That's a horrible thing to ask," Yennefer finally said, her voice much softer than he had expected. She paused, and Geralt could feel her expression shift against his shoulder; it was hard to tell what she was thinking without being able to see her face, but her silence was enough to let him know his question had clearly upset her. After another moment, she pulled her hand away from his face, sitting up in bed and tucking her hands in her lap as she stared across at the far wall. "Why would you even think about that?" she asked, her voice more insistent this time. "I don't want to take the child away from her, Geralt. I just…" She stopped, turning her gaze to her lap, fidgeting anxiously with her hands as she tried to decide what to say.
"I'm not sure what I want," she admitted after a moment, still not looking back at him as she spoke. "I wish I could have had more time to prepare, rather than having it dropped on me so suddenly. I wish… we'd had a chance to talk about it, to decide if we wanted to pursue this as part of our lives. With enough time, and preparation, and thought, I might've even been in support of some sort of surrogate. But…" She paused again, staring down at her lap, her hands frozen mid-twist as she considered what she wanted to say. "I know Shani's just going to leave as soon as the baby is born," she said, her voice growing quiet again, the sound so soft it made Geralt's heart hurt to hear it. "I don't want to take the child away from her, Melitele forbid – not if she wants it – but…"
Yennefer stopped, letting out a long, quiet sigh, and Geralt frowned, wondering what could be coming next. "I'm not sure," she admitted, shaking her head, finally turning to look back at him again. "I'm not sure what I feel. I haven't… given it any thought, I suppose. I've been… trying, Geralt, so very hard, to be happy for her, and you, and your child. I thought… if I just told myself I was happy about it, then… perhaps I wouldn't have to feel otherwise."
"But you do," Geralt observed, his brow furrowing in a solemn line.
Yennefer nodded, her violet eyes straying, seeming lost for a moment in thought. "I do," she admitted, sounding half regretful at saying it out loud. "I'm not sure exactly what I feel, though. I'd… have to give it a bit more thought."
"Hm," Geralt grunted, looking down and allowing silence to take hold. It was the least he could do after asking such a question, short of telling her exactly why he had asked it, but she had taken it in a much safer direction than he had anticipated, and he was not eager to bring the topic up again so soon. He paused as he thought, taking a deep breath, before he suddenly looked up again, narrowing his eyes as he realized something. "Where's Shani?" he asked. "Still asleep? What time is it?"
"It's past midday," Yennefer answered, quickly, seeming just as eager to find another topic to change to. "Shani is downstairs. We had a visitor arrive, so I left them alone to give them time to talk. I wanted to see if you were awake, anyway—"
"A visitor?" Geralt asked, cutting her off before she could finish. He sat up quickly, hearing something pop loudly in his back in protest, ignoring Yennefer's scandalized look at the sound as he swung his still-sore legs out of bed. He wavered as he stood, pushing past the darkness at the edges of his vision as he gained his feet, before feeling his stomach growl angrily as he moved to the clothing-chest at the foot of the bed, throwing it open. "How long have they been down there?" he insisted, pulling his shirt on over his head. It was hot in here, unnaturally hot, and he felt himself growing out of breath, but he swallowed the feeling down, reaching next for his pants and starting to pull them on as well. "Did you leave them alone? Did they come to see Shani specifically? What did they say?"
"Well… yes," Yennefer said, clearly flustered by his reaction. "I mean—no, they didn't, but… Geralt, I don't—"
"Where are my swords?" Geralt insisted, looking around anxiously. "Had them on when I got home. Where'd you put them?"
"By the door, where you always leave them," Yennefer answered, standing from the bed to meet his level. She was still much shorter than he was, even wearing her boots, but her presence more than made up for her height. "Geralt, I don't understand. Why are you upset? You weren't awake yet, so I thought—"
"Need my swords," Geralt pressed, cutting her off again as he headed for the door, throwing it open and making his way out into the front hall. He could hear the sound of voices coming from the breakfast-nook, and he grabbed his swords from the rack by the door, slinging them over his shoulder as he went to intervene. He could hear Shani's laughter coming from the nook as he crept closer, and he felt his nerves prickle as it was joined a moment later by the voice of a man – he remembered distinctly what O'Dimm had said about the offer extending to mages and witchers as well, and he felt his gut twist at the thought of some mage charming Shani, only to turn on her once he had gained her trust.
Stopping at the edge of the alcove, Geralt drew his sword soundlessly from its sheathe, holding it at his side as he took a deep breath before stepping into the entryway, ready for whatever awaited him. Shani looked up as she saw the witcher enter, her pretty smile faltering as she noticed the sword at his side, before her worried gaze returned to his face, her expression falling to a frown at his lethal expression. "Geralt," she exclaimed, pushing herself quickly to her feet – or as quickly as she could, though she seemed to be having difficulty. Her companion was quick to assist her, rushing forward to support her elbow and waist, before looking up at Geralt as well, seeming less surprised than Shani by his shabby appearance.
"Geralt, you look awful," Dandelion informed him, his feathered brow furrowing at the sight of his friend. "Yennefer told me you hadn't been feeling well, but I thought she was exaggerating. I didn't realize she was exaggerating to make it sound better than it really was."
"Dandelion?" Geralt breathed, dumbfounded by the sight of the bard, and Dandelion gave a chuckle at the look of bewilderment on the witcher's face.
"Who did you think it was?" Dandelion asked, releasing Shani as she placed a hand on his shoulder, indicating for him to let go. "Emhyr Var Emreis? Good gods, Geralt. You look like you've seen a ghost." Making his way around the table towards Geralt, he threw his arms warmly around his friend, pulling him into a tight, fond hug as the witcher gave a soft huff, half joyed, half dazed. He could feel his head spinning at the bard's embrace, reminding him that he had not eaten a proper meal in quite some time; while his adrenaline had allowed him to forget about that long enough to come to Shani's aid, he now found the sensation returning, but he still could not put aside the feeling of relief at seeing his old friend again, and he dropped his sword to the floor with a clatter, pulling Dandelion into a warm, firm hug in return.
"Dandelion," Geralt repeated, still too stunned to think of anything else to say, holding onto him tightly and causing the bard to give a soft cough of a laugh at the closeness of the embrace. Geralt pulled away as he heard Dandelion protest, not wanting to overwhelm him so soon after his arrival, but he found he could not keep the foolish grin from his face as he looked his friend over, still not quite believing he was really there. It had been a long time since he had last seen Dandelion; he had spent a bit of time with the bard after the final fight with the Hunt, but his separation from Yennefer had taken up most of his focus after that. He had allowed himself to drift away from his friends as he sought to find himself in the sorceress' absence, but he realized now, with a pang of guilt, that he had never remembered to return to Novigrad once he was done.
"Good lord, Geralt," Dandelion frowned, cupping his hands to Geralt's waist. "You're as thin as a rail! With all these women around to look after you, you'd think you'd be fed to death! What happened?"
"Long trip to Vizima," Geralt answered, letting out a weary chuckle. He knew Dandelion would never accept such a vague explanation, but he could feel his legs starting to wane under him the longer he stood. Dandelion seemed to realize this, as he quickly stepped back, allowing Geralt to pass, before following behind him like an eager duckling as he sat down at the table to eat. Settling into a chair beside the witcher, Dandelion beamed as he watched his friend eat, every so often looking up to check on Shani before returning his attention to Geralt again. Geralt faltered as he met eyes with the bard, wondering if Dandelion was waiting for him to say something before he spoke again, and he cleared his throat, swallowing a large bite of dumpling before taking a breath to speak.
"What made you decide to visit?" Geralt asked, not bothering to cover his mouth. Yennefer was not there to scold him, after all, and he was far too hungry to care about his manners right now. Picking up the pitcher of apple juice, he poured himself a cupful, downing half of it in one eager draught, before grabbing the tray of mutton and scraping a third of it onto his plate. "Thought you were busy in Novigrad," he added, tearing off a strip of mutton with his fork. "Heard the Chameleon was doing well. Figured you'd be too busy to stop by."
"It is doing well," Dandelion confirmed, nodding at the observation. "But I'm never too busy to make time for old friends. And I'm here because Yennefer asked me to come. She sent me a letter saying you missed me something awful." He smirked as he said this, chuckling a bit, raising his puckish brows as Geralt looked up at him again. "Not that I blame you," he added, cheekily. "I know how much you enjoy listening to my ballads about our adventures together."
"Don't remember saying that," Geralt answered, tearing a soft roll in half with one bite.
"You've said it with your eyes, my friend, if never with your tongue," Dandelion returned, picking a grape from a bowl of fruit and popping it into his mouth. "But anyway, it isn't all about you. I also came to see Shani. Yennefer told me she was staying with you for a while, so I thought it would be a great opportunity to catch up." He paused as he said this, before looking over at Shani again, who offered him a small smile, a faint blush touching the tops of her cheeks. "As it turns out, there was a lot more to catch up on than I thought," he added, smiling back at her fondly. "It seems Yennefer wasn't… completely forthcoming about the specifics of Shani's stay in her letter."
"Julian had no idea I was pregnant," Shani explained, tickled.
Dandelion laughed at the memory, reaching out a hand to rest it eagerly on Geralt's arm. "You can imagine my shock, Geralt," he said, still chuckling. "When I saw her coming to greet me, my first instinct was to run for the hills! I knew it wasn't mine, of course – I haven't been with anyone but Priscilla lately – but still, to see your friend after so long, and suddenly she's halfway to motherhood—wow!"
"Julian felt it kicking," Shani added, turning her hazel gaze to Geralt again. He paused, his hand freezing on his cup, trying to decide if he had heard her correctly, and she smiled across at him, resting a hand on the curve of her stomach as she waited for a reaction. "It wasn't a very hard kick," she added, as if to ensure he had heard what she was telling him. "Just enough to remind me it's really still in there… just in case I forgot."
"It's kicking now?" Geralt asked, sitting up a bit straighter, as if hoping to see into her lap. Shani chuckled at the earnestness of his tone, running a thoughtful hand over her bump, before looking up with a smile as the soft sound of footsteps rounded the corner to join them in the nook. Geralt turned when he saw Shani look up, only to feel his face flush as he watched Yennefer walk in, remembering with a pang of guilt how wildly he had acted when she had come to collect him from the bedroom earlier. He was quick to turn his gaze down as Yennefer approached, before looking up again apologetically as she settled in beside him, bookending him between herself and Dandelion as the sorceress turned her gaze up to him, her expression stern.
"I see you've found our guest," Yennefer observed, her voice perfectly even. "And with blessedly little bloodshed, I might add." She smiled as she said it, but Geralt could sense her disapproval through the politeness of her tone, and he turned his eyes down again, picking up his fork and returning to his food. He was already nearly full, having all but gorged himself at the first whiff of Marlene's cooking, but he felt there were still some empty corners he could stand to fill before he was done. Turning her gaze to Dandelion, Yennefer folded her hands in front of her on the table, smiling across at the bard as he looked curiously between the two, seeming to realize he had missed something.
"I hope you found the trip tolerable," Yennefer told him, causing him to lift his chin, grinning at her over Geralt's head. "I know it's a long ride from Novigrad. I appreciate you coming down on such short notice."
"When did you invite him?" Geralt asked, forgetting for a moment to cover his mouth.
"Finish chewing before you speak, please," Yennefer told him softly, before looking up at Dandelion again, her violet eyes narrowing as she thought back to the date of her letter. "I invited him down more than a month ago," she answered after a moment. "Right before you took that contract for the vampire. You sounded so sad when you spoke of how long it'd been since you'd last seen him, and… well, I thought another friendly face might help convince you to think twice before taking another contract which might be your last."
"Those were her exact words," Dandelion agreed, giving another chuckle. "I had to wrap up a few things before I left, but I came as fast as I could once those were done. I figured Yennefer wouldn't ask me to come down unless it was something important."
Geralt frowned, making sure to watch his manners as he ate, feeling Yennefer's eyes on him again. "Has anyone else come around?" he asked, looking up at Shani, who seemed surprised by the question. "Anyone other than Dandelion? Maybe while I was asleep?"
"I assume you mean Regis," Yennefer answered, causing Geralt to look over at her, her lips pursing at the thought. "But no. No other visitors apart from Dandelion. I assumed he would be enough."
"Is Regis coming?" Dandelion asked, looking up at Geralt again and raising his brows. "I'd love to catch up with him too while I'm here. I haven't seen the old man in ages."
"No," Geralt answered, shaking his head. "Sent a letter, but never heard back."
"Well, that's disconcerting," Dandelion returned, frowning a bit. "I hope he's alright. Were you expecting anyone else?"
Geralt paused, considering, before looking up at Shani again, only to find her eyes already on him, watching him as he thought. He wanted so badly to warn her about the curse, about O'Dimm, and the contract, and the tasks, but he found, as he stared at her across the table, he could not quite find the words to tell her any of those things. There was something strangely off about the whole situation, an uncanny feeling he could not quite shake, and when he thought about it, he realized that everything since his encounter in Marchen's forest had felt almost unnervingly… normal. It had taken him a little over a week to return home from Marchen, and a few days after that to rest and regain his strength, and in all that time, it seemed not one mage had come to call at O'Dimm's prompting; not one sorceress had stopped for a visit, or tried to harm Shani in any way.
He faltered as he thought, feeling unease starting to creep in, before he turned to look over at Yennefer again, who looked up as she felt his eyes on her, meeting his gaze. He had mentioned to Yennefer barely minutes ago the idea of having children of her own, and she had still seemed completely oblivious to the fact that it was possible, albeit through horrible means. If O'Dimm had begun spreading word about the curse, then the Lodge would undoubtedly be the first to hear about it, and the first to inform Yennefer about it, either for her own sake or for Shani's.
Geralt felt his hand clench subconsciously at the thought, remembering the blood debt O'Dimm had taken from his palm, and how the cut had been entirely healed by the time he arrived home, with not even a scar to prove it had ever happened. With no mark on his skin and no response from the world to show that something had been put into motion, there was little he could put his finger on to prove his encounter with O'Dimm had even been real. Perhaps it had all been a dream, he thought; his nightmare of Jacques De Aldersberg had felt frightfully real at the time, and it had taken place in the same forest clearing where he had supposedly encountered O'Dimm. Not only that, but the uncanny phrasing of Peter's last words still hung fresh in his memory, his warning a bit too specific to Geralt's own knowledge of O'Dimm's workings for it not to have been a product of his own consciousness.
"…No," Geralt finally said, shaking his head. "It's… nothing. Just… a bad dream, I guess."
"Well that's a relief," Dandelion returned, grinning back at him. "I was starting to worry I was intruding." Geralt looked up at the comment, wondering when the last time was that Dandelion cared if he was intruding on something, but he found his curiosity cut off as the bard reached forward, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "Bad dreams or not, I'm glad you're doing better," he said, giving his friend a sincere nod. "You're my bread and butter, after all! I'd hate to have to find a new muse this late in my career."
"Nobody else you can embarrass with your tripe?" Geralt smirked, watching as Dandelion's expression twitched at the descriptor. "Sure to be plenty of others who'd love to have you tell the world about them jerking off."
"That ballad is one of my finest, thank you," Dandelion sniffed, retrieving his hand to smooth his cravat. "It's a beautiful story about selfless love. The witcher was smitten with the princess, but asked nothing from her, for he knew she had eyes for another…"
"So he rubbed one out thinking about her," Geralt finished. "A romance for the ages."
"You know how to ruin everything, Geralt," Dandelion scoffed, affronted, but Geralt could still hear the laughter in his voice, as offended as he pretended to be. Turning to look at the ladies then, the bard grinned, pushing his chair from the table, before giving them a deferential nod, smoothing the front of his tunic in an impish bow. "If you ladies don't mind," he began, resting a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "I'll be stealing the witcher from you for a moment. I want to speak to him about… private matters, but I promise not to keep him away too long. I know he has a bad habit of disappearing if you lose sight of him for an instant!" Pinching eagerly at Geralt's sleeve, Dandelion tugged at the fabric, coaxing him out of his chair, before waving for the witcher to follow behind him as he made his way out of the breakfast-nook.
Rounding the corner into the hall outside, Dandelion paused, leaning on his toes to ensure neither woman was listening in, before he finally turned back to Geralt again, his bright eyes shining with curiosity. "So when were you going to tell me?" he hissed, his boyish face splitting in a conspiratorial smile.
Geralt frowned at the question. "Tell you what?" he asked, trying to match the bard's whispering tone. Whatever Dandelion wanted to talk about, it was clearly pressing to keep it hidden from the women, though Geralt could not figure out what he could be hinting at that they did not already know.
Dandelion scoffed, giving his chestnut hair a toss. "That Shani is having a baby, of course!" he said, his face bright with enthusiasm. "That's exciting, Geralt! Don't tell me you're not thrilled for her. Do you know who the father is, or has she kept it under wraps?"
"Not a secret," Geralt answered, shaking his head. "We know who the father is."
"Well, don't get cagey on me," Dandelion baulked, propping his hands on his hips. "Out with it, Geralt! Tell me!"
"Me," Geralt answered, looking up, bluntly. "Kid's mine, Dandelion."
Dandelion hesitated, his mouth opening to a bewildered gap, his coiffed brow sinking slowly lower as he puzzled over the answer. "…You?" he finally asked, sounding more lost than disbelieving. "But… Geralt, you're—"
"A witcher," Geralt answered. "I know."
Dandelion raised his brows. "I was going to say impotent," he offered. "But… same general principle."
"Not the same at all," Geralt returned, frowning.
"Right," Dandelion said, pointing at Geralt in agreement. "You're sterile, not incapable—up, but not out. There's a joke to be made here about witchers and projectiles, but… I'll save that for later material." Geralt frowned at the comment, considering telling Dandelion that some other smartass had already beaten him to the punch, but he decided against it, not wanting his friend to think he had been spending time with other minstrels in his absence. "But enough of that," Dandelion pressed, waving a hand to dismiss the topic. "You must tell me all about how this happened, Geralt. How my best friend became the father of my dear friend's baby."
"Rather not," Geralt answered, gruffly, twisting his mouth in a scowl. "Don't want this ending up in your next song. Already in enough trouble as it is."
"Oh, come on, Geralt," Dandelion pleaded, clasping his hands, his voice keening upward in a way Geralt could never stand. The bard knew this, and he knew how to utilize it, and Geralt gritted his teeth, knowing he would undoubtedly fold before too long. "I came all the way out here to see you! You can't truly deny me this one small tale." Having said this, he paused, before unclasping his hands and adding, "Perhaps a mug of vodka might help to loosen your tongue on the matter?"
At this, Geralt looked up, intrigued. "Two mugs," he negotiated. "Might talk then."
Dandelion sighed, crossing his brightly-coloured arms. "You witchers and your vodka," he said. "Fine. Two mugs it is— but not a flagon more! There's only so much a man can tell about getting a woman pregnant."
"But I'm a witcher," Geralt pointed out, smirking at the detail. "Supposed to be sterile. Isn't that more interesting?"
Dandelion sucked in a sharp breath, holding it, puffing out his cheeks in an indignant pause. "Damn you, it is," he finally said, letting it all out in an exasperated huff. "Will your picking of my pockets never cease?"
"Never," Geralt answered, his grin widening.
Dandelion pursed his lips, still clearly in good spirits, before reaching out a hand to clap it against the witcher's sturdy back. "Ladies!" he announced, moving back to the nook entryway, his cheerful voice making both women look up from their conversation. "Geralt and I are heading into town. I'm taking him out taverning. We've got a lot of catching up to do, so don't expect us back anytime soon."
"Geralt really shouldn't be drinking," Shani pointed out, her brow furrowing faintly at the thought. "He just finished recovering from a long journey home, and—"
"Don't worry, Shani," Dandelion assured her, waving a playful hand. "He'll be fine, I promise. I'll look out for him. And besides, he says he's not drinking that much tonight anyway."
"I mean it, Dandelion," Geralt reminded him, speaking in a low voice as the bard began to turn him towards the front door. "Just two drinks tonight. That's all I want."
"Yes, yes, Geralt," Dandelion sighed, waving him off with a dismissive titter. "Just two drinks— or perhaps one more. I'll keep a close eye on you, don't you worry." Geralt grunted at the reassurance, finding little in the bard's tone to inspire confidence, but Dandelion only laughed, clapping him cheerfully on the back. "Loosen up, my friend!" he told the witcher, gripping his shoulder and giving it a heartening shake. "Don't look so dour. You're with your old friend Dandelion now! What could possibly go wrong?"