Act I — Skellige (Immediately after "The Last Wish")

If Geralt completes 'Cave of Dreams' before reaffirming his love for Yennefer during 'The Last Wish'

In a warm bed inside the private rooms of the inn at the harbor in Kaer Trolde, Geralt dozed in the arms of his beloved sorceress. Stretched out on his back, he tucked one arm under his neck and settled deeper into the bed. Yennefer lay sprawled across his chest. Strands of dark hair tangled in the trimmed, coarse hair of his beard. Her breath, slow and rhythmic, brushed over his skin. His free arm wound around her body, his calloused fingers absently stroking the flawless skin of her back.

As he wavered between the realms of sleep and wake, fresh visions of the wild hunt appeared.

A chilling frost descended, coating the world around him in ice. Hounds circled, calling to the sky in excitement for their prey had been trapped. Armored warriors of the Hunt riding massive armored horses joined the circle, blocking any chance of retreat.

Yennefer stood beside him, her arms outstretched as she conjured a protective shield, keeping the Hunt at bay. She trembled from the strain. He stood with his back to hers, sword drawn and ready for a fight, one he was sure to lose but would fight nonetheless.

Succumbing to exhaustion, the sorceress collapsed. He pivoted quickly, catching her in her fall, but he had little time to tend to her. As he lowered her to the ground, the hounds howled, overjoyed that they could once again seize her for their prize. Wind, bitter with damp cold, swirled, choking the air from his lungs.

With stance ready, he stood over his sorceress, awaiting the attack. The cold intensified, freezing his core. Fatigue settled in, and his sight blurred.

The enemy did not draw closer, except for one rider. Armed with a great dark steel broadsword, the rider neared wearing fitted armor of bone and a helmet resembling a skull with a crown. It was similar to Eradin's helm, though smaller. In fact, the rider was smaller as well.

With his eyes focused on the rider, Geralt reached down to touch the magician. He called to her, pleaded with her to wake, but she did not.

The rider leaned forward in the saddle reaching towards Yennefer. "Come, Yennefer."

Geralt's hold on the sorceress tightened, and he snarled. "Back off."

"Come," the wraith beckoned, the voice a hushed coax.

Yennefer stirred, and Geralt eased to the side, giving her room to stand, yet his gaze remained fixed upon their foe.

The circle of enemies tightened, and the chill intensified. The hounds pressed closer. As Yennefer staggered to her feet, Geralt maneuvered to protect her back, his free hand reaching behind him towards her hip to keep her steady.

The wraith repeated, "Come, Mother."

Geralt spun at that, alarmed. The mounted wraith, finally unmasked, was Ciri. And Yennefer was no longer behind him, but instead tied to a great pyre, ablaze while a rabid crowd of peasants watched gleefully; her body bound, she was unable to cast. Yennefer refused to cry out as the flames of the Eternal Fire engulfed her; his sorceress would never give them the joy of seeing such a reaction even as she succumbed to the flames. And Ciri watched it all, dispassionately, surrounded by the Wild Hunt.

Geralt startled awake, his muscles tightening. Unlike the nightmare he just escaped, the room was peaceful, warm, and faintly lit by the smoldering coals from the hearth. The fragrance of lilacs and gooseberries lingered on his bedmate, and Geralt buried his face in the mass of Yennefer's raven curls, gathering the comforting scent into his lungs. She was safe, warm, and unharmed in his arms.

His heart rate slowed, and the gasping pressure in his chest eased as his breathing calmed. The dream of Ciri with the wild hunt was a new nightmare, one that did not start haunting him until after he entered the Cave of Dreams with Blueboy Lugos. It was uncertainty that fueled that vision, one that could be eased simply by finding her.

The danger to Yennefer, however, was far more certain; Dijkstra confirmed it, though of course it was to manipulate Geralt into action. Despite that intent, the ex-spy chief was not wrong. Radovid and the Eternal Fire posed a constant threat to not only Yennefer, but to Triss, Keira and any other mage or herbalist as well. And after they finished with the mages, witchers and non-humans would not be far behind. Ciri included.

Geralt could still hear the sounds of the witch hunters torturing Triss while he spoke to Menge, and he remembered the simmering and trembling rage on her face when she drew the life from her tormentor's body, and the fear that lingered in her well after he died. What if she had been caught off guard, bound in dimeritium chains so that she could not cast spells? What else would they do to Triss Merigold under those conditions? What would they do to Yennefer of Vengerberg?

He feared that he knew the answer to that question.

The sorceress shifted against him, stretching languidly. She sighed, softly, her voice raspy from sleep. "Your heart races." Turning her head, she abandoned her hold of him to rake her hair aside so she could peer up at him.

"Nightmare," he grunted in reply.

Yennefer searched his gaze for a long moment. There was not much that a witcher feared, after all. "It is just that and no more," she soothed him, her thumb brushing along his lower lip.

It was then that he knew she saw the fleeting memories of his dreams. He pursed his lips, kissing the pad of her thumb. Yennefer cupped his jaw and kissed his mouth. After the lingering embrace, she pillowed her head on his scarred chest again, and sighed. Tightening her hold around him, she rested.

Geralt calmed. Unable to sleep and knowing that the sorceress was awake, the witcher turned his thoughts to more pleasant visions: a gurgling creek, a still forest, a majestic cave filled with stalactites. And finally, he thought of their reunion with Ciri, and how wonderful that moment would be.