Red Rowan

by Indiannahjones

With the Wild Hunt defeated and Empress Ciri on the throne, Geralt thought he and Yen would be free to retire to Toussaint and settle down... but it seems the ghosts of Geralt's past are intent on coming back to haunt him. Geralt/Yen, past Geralt/Shani. [Inspired by a letter found in Witcher 3 if Geralt took the alchemists' potion in Witcher 2.]

4. Zinnia

The vineyards of Corvo Bianco were a welcome sight for the weary travellers, and Geralt pulled gently on Roach's reigns to slow her as they approached the entry arch, wanting to savour his return back home to the place he loved after such a hard journey into town. Roach blustered as they made their way past the familiar flower-beds, the fields of white, pink, and red spreading out like a welcome-mat before them, flicking her ears as a soft spring breeze carried the faintest scent of White Wolf across the fields to greet them. Steering the mare to her stable, Geralt clicked his tongue gently, dismounting with a weary grunt, before leading her into her stall and closing the heavy gate behind him. Roach snorted as Geralt removed her reigns, folding them over the side of the wooden door, before pushing her velvet nose against his cuirass, causing Geralt to chuckle, patting his new armour.

"Sturdier," he assured the horse, rubbing her nose with an encouraging hand. "Alghoul won't get through this one. No monster's gonna take me out anytime soon. Don't worry." Grinning at the conversation, Geralt began to unbuckle Roach's saddle, lifting it off with a huff of breath and setting it aside on its designated stand. "Good girl," Geralt told her, running a hand along the horse's flank. "I'll tell Barnabas we're home. Then he'll get you something to eat." Roach blustered faintly at the mention of food, bobbing her head and tossing her mane, and Geralt patted her side, grinning at the understanding between horse and rider.

Letting himself out of the stable again, he began to make his way towards the main house, letting out a soft sigh as he ran a hand back through his hair, grateful to be home. It had taken a few days to rest and recover after the fight with the alghoul in the Orlémurs Cemetery – one of which had been spent entirely in bathing, scrubbing away until every sensation of rotten corpse had been washed from his skin. Vesemir had teased him once about his city-boy habits, his need for cleanliness after particularly disgusting fights, but he figured he had paid enough dues in filth to afford a bit of basic grooming every now and again. Yennefer liked him better when he smelled like soap than when he smelled like sewage, after all, and there was no arguing with whatever made Yennefer happy, especially with such a large new expense to explain.

Barnabas-Basil was already standing outside the manor door as Geralt approached, and the witcher folded his arms as he came to stand before the majordomo, waiting for whatever news there was to report from his time away. "You received a letter while you were in town," Barnabas-Basil informed him, drawing a folded parchment leaf from the inner pocket of his house-jacket and holding it out for the witcher to take. "Delivered by a man on horseback, bearing the symbol of the Great Sun."

"Nilfgaard?" Geralt asked, frowning a bit, taking the letter from the majordomo's hands. The parchment itself was surprisingly crisp, expensive and heavy from the feel of it, and the letter had been sealed shut with a gold wax stamp bearing the symbol of Nilfgaard's Great Sun.

"That would be my guess, sir," Barnabas-Basil agreed. "A rather long way to go for a letter. I paid him for his services from the box you designated for such expenses."

"Thanks, Barnabas," Geralt answered, nodding, before turning away and opening the letter to read. If the wax seal had not been indication enough that the letter had come from Nilfgaard, the parchment inside made it abundantly clear, emblazoned with gold leaf and bearing a gold leaf stamp of the Great Sun at the top. Even so, the handwriting that made up the text of the letter was unmistakeable: Ciri had no doubt been forced to sit down and study proper lettering etiquette when she had taken the mantle of Empress, as he could see an improvement in some of her written script, but the majority of the letter was still written in the same choppy, impatient handwriting he had come to recognize when corresponding with Ciri during her time at Kaer Morhen, when he had been forced to take outside contracts and had to be away from the keep and his surprise child for days to weeks at a time.

Dearest Geralt,

I hope this letter finds you and Yennefer well. I apologize for resorting to sending a letter rather than coming in person, but I have not been allowed to leave Nilfgaard since my arrival. Some nonsense about a settling-in period, and having too many things to attend to as newly-instated Empress. It all feels very much like Emhyr's handiwork, but there's little I can do about it, and much to be done otherwise. Regardless, I figured that if I could not come to you, then perhaps I could entreat you to come to me instead.

I have received some rather interesting news regarding an unusual sighting in a forest in Temeria. I would like to discuss the matter with you personally, as I believe you would have more knowledgeable insight into the matter than anyone else. As I also wish to see you again, I will not include any more information here than that, so you must come see me to receive the rest. I know you have just begun to settle into your new home, but I also know you could never pass up the chance at an interesting mystery. Once this is resolved I promise I will not bother you again, with interesting mysteries or otherwise, and you may return to your life of comfort with Yennefer in Toussaint.

I hope you have not grown too fat in my absence, as I would quite like to put my arms around you when I see you again, and will be quite cross if I am unable to do so. I doubt Yennefer would stand for that, however, so I suppose I will see when you arrive.

All my love,

Empress Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

Geralt snorted at the last paragraph, warmed by Ciri's familiar cheek, a trait not even royal life and ruthless etiquette training could strip from her, it seemed. Folding up the letter again, he tucked it fondly into a pouch at his belt, before looking to Barnabas-Basil again and taking in a deep breath of vineyard air. "Where's Yen?" he asked, deciding to forgo his usual search for his wife. He generally enjoyed the hunt, taking it as a small, domestic exercise to keep his faculties sharp while he was off the path, but he felt he had employed enough of his witcher senses over the past few days that he could afford a bit of plebeian laziness, now that he was home again.

"Lady Yennefer is in the library, sir," Barnabas-Basil answered, nodding in confirmation. "I believe she's writing more correspondence, though when I asked who it was for, she told me that it was for their eyes only, and none of my concern." He paused a moment, considering this, before letting out a low, tired sigh. "I believe she was upset I would not hand over your letter from Nilfgaard to her," he added. "Though she does seem to be rather on edge about a number of things of late."

"And Shani?" Geralt asked, moving quickly past the topic of Yennefer's discontent.

"She's in the day-room, sir," Barnabas-Basil returned, seeming no more eager to pursue the earlier subject than the witcher. "I believe she's trying to decide which of the spare rooms would work best for the clinic Lady Yennefer keeps referencing. There's been no word from the duchy about the practice just yet, but I believe the young doctor needed something to occupy her mind while Lady Yennefer was otherwise indisposed."

"Thanks," Geralt answered, reaching out to pat the majordomo on the shoulder. "Don't… tell Yen I'm home just yet. Got a few things to see to first."

"As you say, sir," Barnabas-Basil returned, dipping his head in acknowledgement.

Moving past Barnabas-Basil, Geralt let himself into the main house, unshouldering his swords on the fixture by the door before starting to make his way for the master bedroom. Taking Ciri's letter and Shani's candles from his belt-pouch, he set them both aside on the bedside table, before starting to change out of his new armour as quickly as possible, stuffing it into the trunk at the foot of their bed. He would have to face Yennefer's reaction to his unforeseen expenditures eventually, he realized, but that could wait for a time when she was not already feeling irritable in advance of his arrival. Fishing out a set of basic day-clothes instead, he pulled the soft shirt on over his head, flipping his amulet to the outside before stepping into the trousers and starting to lace them up.

It would be conspicuous, of course, to leave home in one outfit and come back in another, but he figured these clothes at least had the advantage of being comfortable, and therefore more easily explained away. It made sense, too, that he would not want to wear the same clothes at home that he had fought the alghoul in – and to his credit, he had at least remembered to bathe at the tavern, rather than taking that filth home with him. If nothing else, he thought, Yennefer would have to appreciate the fact that they would not be dumping runoff from alghoul guts and rotting corpses into their vineyard soil.

Finished pulling on his boots, Geralt stood to his feet again, making sure the clothing-chest at the foot of the bed was securely latched, before grabbing up the candles and the letter from Ciri and starting in the direction of the day-room. The day-room had been built on Yennefer's request when they had first begun expanding on the property, and it had been one of her favourite spaces when they had first moved in together, but, as with most things, she had eventually lost interest in it, preferring other parts of the house to spend her leisure time. It was an elegant space in its own right, Geralt thought: a well-sized room lined with bookshelves, some stocked with books for reading, others stocked only for show. Large, expensively-curtained windows panelled one full side of the room, allowing a stream of warm spring sunlight to reach even its furthest corners, and paintings of tranquil landscapes and structures half-forgotten to time hung along its walls, along with an unusual, yellowed image of Geralt fighting a giant centipede.

Shani stood in the middle of the day-room as Geralt entered, staring pensively out the windows at the château outside, but she turned as soon as she heard the witcher's footsteps, seeming a bit dazed at his arrival. Moving further into the room, Geralt glanced around, taking in the changes: four lounge-couches had been spaced out evenly across the floor, two of which he recognized as having been brought down from the room upstairs, and a suitcase of medical supplies sat open on a squat side-table next to one of the settees. A stack of tomes sat beside the suitcase, seeming haphazardly placed for later organization, and Geralt recognized a few of the titles as ones he had seen Shani arranging on her bookshelf the last time he had visited her in her room.

It seemed that, even without the court's approval to begin work on her clinic, Shani had begun to move her things in in the hope of good news to come; he supposed he could admire her optimism in that regard, though he could not honestly think of a reason the duchy might deny her request. With the war going on outside Toussaint's borders bringing in constant threats of death and disease, health was more valuable a resource than ever, and Shani in particular was well-known in her field for being one of the best.

"Brought your candles," Geralt told her, holding them out awkwardly for her to take. "Lavender. Hope they're okay."

Shani hesitated at the offered gift, before slowly crossing the room to the witcher, taking the candles from his hand and holding them up to her nose to smell. She let out a soft hum as she exhaled, a small smile crossing her lips at the gift, before looking up at Geralt again, pressing the candles to her chest. "These are perfect," she told him. "Thank you." Moving back to the lounge-chairs again, she set the candles down with the rest of her medical supplies, before letting out a soft sigh, staring down at them, as if something had just occurred to her.

"Something the matter?" Geralt asked, frowning a bit at the unusual reaction.

Shani paused, thinking a moment, before taking in a deep breath and holding it in, folding her arms over her stomach as her hazel gaze moved slowly to the floor. "Not really," she admitted after a beat. "Just… thinking, is all. About everything that's happening, with… the baby. You know." She stopped again, her pretty brow furrowing, seeming to be thinking how best to describe what was going on in her mind. "It's… strange, Geralt," she decided after a while. "It's all very strange. Not at all what I'd planned to be doing at this point in my life. But… life is full of unforeseen surprises, I suppose." Pausing again, she considered her words, before finally giving a weak, half-hearted shrug. "This one is not as terrible as most," she added, sounding less convinced than she might have hoped. "Just… inconveniently timed."

Geralt faltered at the commentary, unsure what she expected him to say. "Do you regret coming here?" he asked, concerned.

Shani shook her head, looking up at him again, now fully present in the conversation. "No," she admitted, honestly. "That's not it at all. I like it here. With you, with Yennefer… it's lovely here. I… just hadn't planned to settle down so soon in life. You know that." Chewing her lip, she paced a bit across the floor, before turning and sitting on one of the chaises instead, trying to calm her restless nerves with a place to settle her weary legs. "This doesn't change that much," she admitted, looking up at him again. "I still believe I can do my work, out in the world, like I want to… go where I'm needed, even with a child on my hip. But…"

"Yennefer wouldn't like that," Geralt concluded.

Shani sighed at the observation, looking to the floor again. "I know," she admitted. "And I'm trying to respect her wishes, even if I don't agree with them. I said I'd settle down here for a while, until my child is old enough to travel with me, then… who knows, Geralt. We'll decide when we get there."

"Yennefer won't want you to go," Geralt told her.

"I know that, too," Shani returned, nodding. "And I appreciate her concern, but… I don't know."

"I wouldn't want you to go, either," Geralt added, causing Shani to look up in surprise this time. She blinked a few times at the unexpected statement, her petal lips twitching as she tried to think of what to say.

"Well," she finally answered, shortly. "That's… a different story."

Geralt hummed at the answer, his brow furrowing in thought. "Shani…" he said after a moment, speaking slowly. "If you're right about this being my… my…"

"Baby," Shani finished, a bewildered smile starting to creep at the corners of her pretty mouth.

Geralt frowned, thinning his lips into a hard, nearly inverted line. "Right," he said, shortly. "If this is my… kid… then what does that, you know… mean?" Cursing himself at his awkwardness, he tried his best to keep his expression impassive, hoping Shani would simply take this as another of his witcherly eccentricities; it was not so much that the word itself was difficult to say – baby – it was more that the concept still seemed so alien that it felt strange and uncivilized on his tongue, as if simply saying the word out loud would cause his mouth to go numb in response.

Shani frowned at the question, smoothing her skirt absentmindedly between her hands as she thought. "I don't understand," she admitted after a moment. "It means you're the father, and the baby is yours."

"No, that's—not it," Geralt sighed, exasperated at his own failure to communicate. "Of course it's mine. You said it's mine. I meant… what happens to it. When it's born."

"I keep it, and love it," Shani replied, her tone half-dry with bewildered amusement, a small, knowing smirk curving her pretty lips as she tried to interpret his half-baked questions. Lacing her fingers around her knee, she stared up at the witcher, watching him squirm, allowing him to flounder another moment longer before she finally let out a small, fond chuckle, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Geralt," she told him, smiling, pressing a tickled hand to her chest. "I think I know what you're trying to ask. But the honest answer is, I don't know. There's no precedent for this sort of thing." Taking a deep breath, she paused, thoughtful, her hands folding pensively in her lap, before her expression began to fall, no longer able to hide behind a cheery smile.

"I did some reading, of course, from your library," she admitted, still trying to sound as confident as possible, but Geralt could tell it was getting more difficult to fake the longer she went on. "Monstrum, Or A Portrayal Of Witchers… not very flattering, but it's what I could find. I wanted to figure out what made witchers sterile in the first place, see if I could work backwards from there. There wasn't much available on the Trials themselves, but from what I did read…" She paused again, twisting her lips, her expression growing solemn as her brow began to furrow. "I don't know why, but… all this time, I thought your mutations were superficial," she confessed, seeming embarrassed to admit her mistake. "Cosmetic, I guess. Like glamour magic. I didn't realize they were actually engrained into your genetic code."

"Thought I told you," Geralt answered. "Reason they say we're not human anymore."

"Yes, but that's just it," Shani said, turning her entire body to face him this time. "That's what's making this baby. Those mutated genes. Who knows what kind of effect that will have? Who knows how it'll turn out?" Turning away again, she pressed a hand to her stomach, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. Then, letting it out again slowly, she rested her hands against her knees, staring intently across the room at the yellowed photograph of Geralt and the giant centipede. "Truth be told, that's the only reason I came here," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "When I found out I was pregnant, I was confused, but I knew I could handle it on my own. When I realized whose it was, though… that's when I got scared. I didn't know what to do. What it meant."

Geralt frowned as she spoke, feeling his stomach twist with guilt at the thought of the months between the wedding and her arrival, all those months when he had not even thought to check on her, to see if she was happy and safe. She had been travelling in those months, he knew, but she had told him where she would be going, and not even his whirlwind wedding to Yennefer had taken up so much of his time that he could not have written at least one letter. Instead, he had left Shani to callous silence, allowing her to fade to a perfect memory, as if he selfishly expected her entire existence to be put on hold until he was ready to acknowledge it again.

Shani faltered as she thought, wetting her lips, her expression anxious as her gaze began to fall, but she quickly picked it up again, staring determinedly at Geralt across the day-room. "I thought maybe you might have some answers I didn't," she admitted, sounding a bit sheepish now. "That maybe you could help explain what was happening to me. Why I was three months pregnant with a witcher's baby. At first I thought, maybe it's a fluke, maybe it'll sort itself out on its own. But when it didn't…" Sucking in another deep breath, she frowned, holding it in a moment, puffing out her pink cheeks before letting it all out in a long, tense exhale. "I panicked," she admitted. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't mean to intrude on your new life with Yennefer… I had no idea you were married, and nobody told me when I asked where you were living now. I guess…"

She stopped, her mouth hanging open, as if unsure where to go from there. "Well," she said, closing it again. "I guess nobody knew. It had only been three months. I don't know about witchers, but for humans, that's pretty fast."

"Pretty fast for witchers, too," Geralt agreed, nodding. "Twenty-plus years of history helped some."

"I guess it would, yes," Shani agreed, looking away again, sheepish once more. Letting out another sigh, she pushed her bangs back from her face, holding them thoughtfully against her head before finally letting them fall into place again. "I'm sorry," she told him, shaking her head. "You just got home from fighting some monster, and here I am, making you listen to all my ridiculous worries."

"Monster's dead," Geralt answered, shrugging. "Got plenty of time for worries." Shani looked up at him at the reassurance, smiling softly, and Geralt could feel a warm, soft glow begin to light in his chest at the sight, but he knew he did not have time to dwell on it just now. He had been home for several minutes now, and although this had been an important stop, he did not want Yennefer to think he was intentionally avoiding her, even if he was, in some part. "Should go tell Yen I'm home," he said, indicating over his shoulder to the hall outside. "Might start to worry otherwise." Then, with one last glance at Shani to make sure she was truly alright, he left the day-room, feeling both a bit more at ease and on edge than he had before going in.

Shani was a complicated person, he thought; she was hard on herself, had always been, wanting to be the best she could be, and it worried him to see that she was having such difficulty with that now. She wanted to be perfect, courageous and composed, unflappable in the face of circumstances beyond her control, but, unlike Geralt, she was only human, and right now that was simply unrealistic. Letting out a weary sigh, Geralt forced the thought from his mind, assuring himself that he would look into it later once his consultation with Yennefer was over. Despite his apprehensions about her uncertain mood, he was eager to find his wife after his days spent away from home – he missed her smell, her lips, her hair, every small, sentimental detail about her that made her the woman he loved, and even if she chose to give him hell for his armour, he figured it was worth it just to hear her voice again.

Just as Barnabas-Basil had informed him, Yennefer was hard at work as he entered the library, but that did not deter him as he made his way around her desk, brushing her raven hair away from her shoulder and leaning in to kiss her neck. Yennefer swatted at the witcher as he began to kiss his way up to her ear, wrinkling her nose a bit as his beard tickled against her skin. "Geralt, please," she scolded, softly. "Must now be the time for that?" Turning to glance back at her newly-returned husband, she took in his appearance with one quick sweep, pursing her lips as she flicked her quill in annoyance at his attire.

"Those are your house-clothes," Yennefer observed, causing Geralt to sigh inwardly at his failed attempt to avoid confrontation. He should have known that nothing got past Yennefer, particularly when it came to clothes she, herself had picked out. "I assume something has happened with your armour, then?" she continued, looking up at him again, her censorious violet eyes making it clear she knew he had tried to fool her. "There must be a reason you went to the trouble to change before seeing me. Usually you can't wait that long, and I'm tasked with the smell of sweat and horse on your arrival."

"Horse isn't such a bad smell," Geralt answered, grinning at the scolding. Cupping her face in his hand this time, he kissed her neck again, and then her jaw, making his way towards her waiting lips as she took in a shallow, captivated breath. But, despite his best efforts, Yennefer quickly waved her husband off again, shrugging him away with a jerk of her shoulder as she let out a sharp huff of ruffled breath.

"So was it a ghoul, then?" Yennefer asked, abruptly shifting to another topic.

Geralt blinked at the question, taken aback, unsure what she could be talking about. "What?" he asked, knowing he likely sounded as stupid as he looked.

"The contract," Yennefer clarified, looking up at him again, her expression forcibly casual. "The one you just took. You said before you left you suspected it would be a ghoul. Was it?"

"Alghoul," Geralt corrected, frowning a bit at the memory of the fight. Giving up on distracting his wife from her work, he instead moved around the desk again, taking a seat in the chair across from her and settling in as comfortably as he could manage. He considered whether or not to tell Yennefer about the difficulty he had had with the monster – he did not want to worry her, as she already had more than enough on her mind, but she was also the best authority he knew on things outside the realm of expectation. She had always been much more grounded than he had, after all, at dismissing coincidences and trivialities he might otherwise have read too far into, and at letting him know when things he might not have noticed were worth his more focused attention.

"Harder than I expected," Geralt admitted, rubbing his thumb pensively against his index finger. "Big thing. Real big. Really put up a fight."

"Well, that shouldn't have been too hard for you," Yennefer told him, starting to write again as she listened to him speak. "You've fought alghouls before, plenty of times. I'm sure you were just out of practice."

"Hm," Geralt answered, frowning at the thought. "That wasn't it. This fight was… different. Alghoul used… tactics. Things I've never seen a necrophage do before. Climbed a tree. Used improvised weapons." At this, Yennefer looked up, intrigued, before folding her hands thoughtfully on the desk in front of her, seeming to be listening a bit more intently at this new turn of events. "Thing tried to drown me, Yen," Geralt told her, making a face at the memory. "Hid in the mud. Tried to drag me under. Used strategy, even though it was strong enough to take me down on its own. Tried to decapitate it, but… couldn't. Wouldn't take. Something about the whole fight just seemed… off."

"It sounds like you met with an intelligent alghoul," Yennefer told him, raising her brows at the thought. "You've met remarkable specimens before, though, yes? Like that graveir you encountered in Vizima."

Geralt paused, thinking back to the creature she mentioned, trying to decide if he could justify any similarities between that beast and the one he had just encountered. "Vetala could speak," he finally agreed after a moment. "His intelligence made him civilized. Reasonable. Convinced him to leave rather than be killed. This alghoul had no interest in being reasoned with."

"Then it doesn't sound very intelligent to me," Yennefer returned, dipping her quill in her inkpot again. "It sounds as though you simply encountered a wily beast who found a clever way to survive. If he was as large as you say, then he probably just figured out a way to adapt to his environment." Looking down to her letter again, she began to write fervently once more, her pen nearly flying across the page, seeming only half-invested in the words she was putting down as opposed to simply filling the paper with text. Geralt glanced down as she worked, trying to glimpse what she was writing so zealously, managing to catch a few distinct phrases – licensed physician and loyal taxpayers most recognizable among them – before giving a soft snort, realizing immediately what the sorceress was doing with her letter.

It had not yet been long enough since her first correspondence for Yennefer to expect a letter back from Ana Henrietta, so the prospect of the duchess granting their request for a license to open a clinic out of their home was still entirely up in the air. Even so, it seemed Yennefer was not taking any chances in the case that she was ignored, and Geralt knew from experience that, if civil courtesy failed, Yennefer's next form of polite aggression would be to drown the duchy in paperwork, flooding Anna Henrietta's correspondence with letters of petition until the duchess folded and gave her whatever she wanted. Geralt smirked at the thought of the court's frustration, knowing full well how stubborn Yennefer could be when she so chose, grateful to have that kind of tireless fervour on his side, as intimidating as it could be.

"A creature like that can't very well hide out in plain sight," Yennefer went on after a moment, still speaking matter-of-factly, causing Geralt to look up again, having almost forgotten about the conversation they had been having. "It has to find a workaround. Climbing a tree is a brilliant way to go about it. Nobody would think to look in a tree for an alghoul." Picking up her letter again, she blew on the wet ink, drying it, before letting out a short huff of satisfaction and looking up across the desk at Geralt again. "With as many hangings as they've been doing since the war, there's plenty of meat to find up there," she told him, her tone slightly unsettling in its impassiveness, though he guessed that being married to a witcher came with its inherent familiarity to squeamish topics. "It probably just realized there was more food up there than down here, and climbed up to get it."

"Hm," Geralt answered, still unable to shake the sensation that something felt a bit off about the whole encounter. "And the drowning?"

"Placement association," Yennefer returned, simply, reaching for her wax seal. "Dead things go in the ground. Put something in the ground, and it becomes dead. Doesn't take a physician to understand these things."

"More like a child's logic," Geralt agreed, nodding along, feeling suddenly much better. "Guess I just wanted to think whatever was killing me at the time was smarter than the average ghoul." Sitting back in his chair, he stretched out his legs across the floor between them, folding his hands peacefully over his stomach as he watched his wife work, mesmerized by her productivity. She really was his better half, he thought – while he was busy killing monsters and making a few extra coins for the house, she was handling pretty much everything else, juggling with apparent ease things that would have taken him years to figure out, if he ever did manage to. It was Yennefer, truly, who had even made it possible for them to settle down the way they had, here in beautiful Toussaint; without her, he would have given up on the endeavour months ago, retreating with his tail between his legs to the taxless wilds.

"A monster doesn't have to be smart to kill you," Yennefer pointed out, looking up at Geralt again over her desk. "It just has to have the upper hand. Sometimes that's just about misdirection, or brute strength. You can't always depend on your smarts to save you." Touching the blunted end of her wax stick, she concentrated on it a moment, waiting for it to melt, before allowing a few drips of hot wax to fall onto the folded face of her letter. Blowing on the wax stick then, she set it aside, before picking up her stamp and sealing the letter with the emblem of their estate, blowing on the stamped wax to cool it before stashing the letter away in a side drawer of her desk.

"By the way, you received a letter while you were out," she suddenly spoke up again, causing Geralt to look up in surprise at the change of topic. "I told Barnabas-Basil I would take it and deliver it to you when you arrived, but he said the messenger insisted it be given to you, alone. I told him that whatever was meant for your eyes was meant for mine as well, but he was quite persistent."

"Just doing his job," Geralt answered, shrugging. "Can't blame him for it."

Yennefer huffed, but seemed otherwise unperturbed, crossing one booted leg over the other as she sat back in her chair at last, staring across the desk at her husband. "So who was the letter from, then?" she asked, glancing down, as if expecting to see it in his hand. "I assume Ciri, from the garb of the messenger. Though I suppose it could be from any other minor noble in one of the Nilfgaardian regions, or a very determined contract-giver."

"It was from Ciri," Geralt confirmed, pulling out the letter again and laying it on the desk for Yennefer to take. Pulling the message eagerly towards her, Yennefer smoothed the paper out, running her fingers curiously over the gold-leaf border as she absorbed the content of the note. Her pristine brow furrowed as she read, her lips pursing, but at the last paragraph her expression quickly lifted, and she let out a short, sharp laugh, before looking up at Geralt again, giving him a quick once-over, as if to deduce whether Ciri's suspicions about him were correct.

"Well, she certainly knows you," Yennefer told him, pushing the letter back across the desk. "You never could pass up a good mystery."

"Hm," Geralt answered, folding it up again, protective of what scarce reminders of Ciri he could get. "'Least I'm not fat." Apart from a painting of the young princess scowling in a party dress he had managed to barter off a merchant in Beauclair, Geralt had very few articles around Corvo Bianco that reminded him of his daughter, a fact which saddened him, though he could understand why it was so. Witchers had barely any possessions while they were on the path, and apart from the Cat School necklace Ciri had plundered from the witcher-killer Leo Bonhart, she had had very few items at their parting that she could have given Geralt to allow him his allotted sentimentality.

"Not yet, no," Yennefer returned, amused. "Though it has been only a few months. There's still time." Geralt looked up in surprise at this, but Yennefer only pulled another piece of parchment from her drawer, smoothing it out in front of her, intentionally not making eye contact to allow the teasing sentiment time to sink in. "Are you going to answer?" she finally asked, returning to the original conversation after a moment. "Tell her that you can't take the contract?"

Geralt frowned at the question, having not expected it. "Why wouldn't I take it?" he asked, confused. "If it's from Ciri, it has to be legitimate. Probably pays well, too. Don't think she'd tell me to come out to Nilfgaard for something not worth my while."

"Or perhaps she just wants to see you, and is using this contract as an excuse," Yennefer returned, a bit more sharply than Geralt had anticipated. "You don't know that it pays well. She made no mention of that in her note. What if it's something dangerous?" Dipping her quill in the inkpot again, she tapped it against the rim, shaking the excess ink from the nib as she prepared to write again. "You know as well as I do that Ciri is a magnet for those sorts of situations," she told him, looking up at him again as she hovered her pen above the page. "As are you. The two of you together is just begging for something horrific to happen."

Staring down at the blank parchment in front of her, Yennefer paused, seeming lost for the first time as to what to write next. It was as if the perfect note had been right on the tip of her tongue, but the thought of Ciri in danger had all but erased it. "As long as she's stuck in Nilfgaard, she can't investigate this lead, so she's safe," she added, setting down her quill, seeming resigned to giving up on her letter-writing for the time being. "Don't go putting yourself in danger just to make her happy, Geralt."

"Better reason than most to put myself in danger," Geralt returned, stiffly. In general, the witcher was more than happy to respect his wife's decisions on most things, but her resistance to following up on Ciri's note seemed strangely out of character, especially for her, and he found he could not help a bit of frustration at her inflexibility in that regard. Yennefer seemed to take note of his indignation, as she sat up a bit straighter in her chair as well, her violet eyes sharp as she rested a challenging arm across the desk in his direction.

"And what of me and Shani, then?" she asked, refusing to back down from his gaze. "We're supposed to be getting Corvo Bianco ready for the arrival of her child, and we still need to convert one of the rooms into a working clinic. Are Barnabas-Basil, Marlene and I meant to do that on our own, without your help?"

"It's just one contract, Yen," Geralt returned, holding up a hand, as if to indicate how unreasonable she was being. "Ciri wants me to do it. I can't let her down. You know I can't. Besides, it has to be something good, or she wouldn't ask." Letting out a heavy sigh then, he shook his head, putting up both hands in a gesture of conciliation. "Look," he said. "I… don't have to go just yet. Nothing in the letter said it was urgent. For all we know, could be nothing. Probably be gone before I even get to Nilfgaard to talk to her about it anyway." Dropping his hands to the armrests again, he leaned back, taking in a tired breath. He was getting too old for arguments like these, and if a bit of domestic help was all Yennefer really wanted, he found he could not resent such a reasonable request, especially right before he left to go on a journey that would leave the two women to fend for themselves until his return.

"I'll stay for a while," he conceded, nodding along, feeling the tension start to ease from the room, even as he said it. "Help set things up. Then when things are up and running, I'll see what Ciri has to say. If the contract's gone, I'll visit with her and come straight home. If it's still available and pays well, I'll take it. For Ciri." Folding his hands across his stomach again, he settled in more comfortably in his chair once more, keeping his gaze fixed on Yennefer's face, gauging her expression as he spoke. Her poise was impeccable, nearly impossible to read, but he had grown accustomed to the smallest details, the twitch in her lips that spoke volumes of annoyance, the slight flutter of her lashes that betrayed surprise. Now, however, she sat with brows furrowed, lips thinned, blinking only slowly, holding her composure until the end of his statement to see just how annoyed she would be with him once he was finished.

"When I'm done, I'll come back," Geralt continued, determined to say his piece. "Then I won't take another contract outside Toussaint again. Just this one, then that's it. Deal?"

Yennefer stayed silent for a while after he finished, watching him intently, as if expecting him to say something else. Then, letting out a long sigh, she slowly deflated, holding up her hands in a sign of exasperated defeat. "You know I'm not happy about this," she told him, frankly. "But I never could change your mind on anything."

"That makes two of us," Geralt answered, a small smirk curling his lips at the thought.

Yennefer sat back in her chair at the comment, not bothering to fight what they both knew to be true. "I suppose that explains why Ciri is the way she is, doesn't it?" she asked, unable to help a faint smile of her own at the thought of their foster daughter's stubbornness. "It's probably a good thing this coming child is Shani's. The poor thing wouldn't stand a chance with the two of us as parents."

"He'll be living in our house," Geralt pointed out, shrugging, his knowing smirk widening at the thought. "We still have a pretty good chance at corrupting him."

Yennefer smiled at the observation, the first truly happy, peaceful smile Geralt could remember seeing on her face since Shani's arrival at Corvo Bianco, and he realized that he once again had his chance, if he only acted quickly enough to obtain it. Getting up from his seat, he pushed the blank parchment aside off Yennefer's desk, before moving around to pull out her chair, lifting her up and out of it with an exclamation of surprise from his wife. "Geralt! What are you doing?" Yennefer laughed, putting her arms around his neck as he set her down on the desk again, but her curiosity was quickly cut short as he knelt in front of her, unlacing her boots, before pulling them off and next moving to unlace the front of her pants as well, pulling them and her panties down to her ankles and spreading her legs.

Yennefer gasped as Geralt went down on her, letting her head fall back with a moan of pleasure, running her hands through his wild hair as he squeezed her soft thighs between his greedy fingers. His hands were rough and calloused against her skin, and she whimpered as he dug his fingers into her porcelain flesh, grasping fistfuls of his hair as she wordlessly begged for more. "How much did you spend on your armour?" she panted, but her question was cut short as she suddenly let out a sharp squeak of surprise, her body giving a jolt as he teased a spot that sent a shock of pleasure up her spine. Yennefer shuddered at the thrilling sensation, leaning back into the warmth of his tongue, letting out a low moan of ecstasy as her legs began to shake underneath her. Biting down on her lip, she rolled her head back on her shoulders as Geralt worked his magic beneath her, every so often allowing a small whimper or moan to escape her as he explored her, pleasuring her with a tongue too talented for any normal lifespan to achieve.

"I should be upset with you," Yennefer told him, breathing heavily through her words.

Looking up from between her legs, Geralt grinned up at her, adjusting her thighs against his sturdy shoulders as his wet beard glinted in the library light. "You should be," he agreed, teasingly. "Maybe I should try harder."

"I like how you're trying now," Yennefer told him. "Perhaps try a bit more. Then we'll see how I feel about it."

Geralt chuckled, kissing the inside of each of her thighs in turn, before standing again to start unlacing her velvet and leather jacket. Her pale breasts bounded out in perky relief as he loosed the lacing of her skin-tight corseting, filling out the low cut of her soft white blouse as he set the jacket and feathered shrug aside in her abandoned desk-chair. Kissing her neck with eager lips, he began to fumble open her blouse as well, before pulling it up and over her head to join the rest of her clothes in the chair. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Yennefer pulled the witcher in close, kissing him deeply as he slid his hand between her thighs, giving her a taste of what was to come. The sorceress gasped at the shock of pleasure, her teeth dragging down on his lip as he kissed her, before a small smirk crossed her lips as she felt the bulge of his pants brush against her bare knee.

Pulling him in again, she kissed his cheek, holding him close as she leaned in to his ear, rocking her body against his hand as he pressed up inside her. "Your pants stay on," she breathed in his ear. "That's how this is going to work."

Geralt frowned at the instruction, disappointed, before he suddenly sucked in a sharp hiss through his teeth, feeling a vein in his neck start to pulse as Yennefer brushed her hand over the front of his trousers. Her dainty fingers teased a trail along the outline of his bulging cock, and he huffed as he felt a familiar sensation begin to burn anew in the pit of his stomach. "Dunno if I can hold it in," he panted, breathing hard as he buried his face in Yennefer's neck.

"Then I don't know if I can forgive you," Yennefer answered, grinning, before sliding her fingers around the length of his bulge, feeling as she crested the tip of his cock, where a small spot of precum had already begun to seep through. She could feel the heat pulsating wildly off his member as she moved her hand up and down its girth, and she smirked as he clenched his free hand against the desk, before moving it instead to hold onto her bare back for strength. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her back, and he grunted, shuddering, feeling a sharp shock pulse through his body as he held everything in, before he gritted his teeth, starting to desperately kiss his wife's neck to distract his agonized senses.

"Surely this isn't so hard," Yennefer teased, her supple body languid against his fingers as she rocked into his touch, biting her lip as she felt his rough fingers inside her again. "You've had dry spells before. You managed then. I'm sure you can manage now."

"Usually jerked off," Geralt answered, gruffly, his breath hot and laboured against her shoulder as he slid his hand across her back, pulling her in against his chest, before starting to kiss his way across her collar-bone, sliding his wet hand from between her legs as he began to make his way back down again. His scruffy beard tickled across her ivory torso as he kissed her chest, her breasts, teasing her erect nipple with a nip of his wolf-like teeth before pressing his lips hungrily against the perky flesh. His hands slid across her milky thighs, massaging them with eager palms as he kissed his way down her ribcage and across her stomach, trailing his mouth over her navel as she gasped, tracing her finger along the scar, before moving her hands to his hair again, playing with its silvery length.

"The White Wolf, masturbating?" Yennefer teased, letting her head loll back again, her raven hair falling in languid cascades behind her as she rolled her shoulders back to meet it. "Surely not. People would be so disappointed to hear the great Gwynbleidd is common like them."

"Pretty sure there's a ballad about it somewhere," Geralt returned, feeling another shock of white-hot urgency pulse through him as the scent of her hair hit him anew, the smell of lilac and gooseberries wafting over him, driving his senses wild. He huffed, biting hard on his lip, pressing his knees together in desperation as he gave a sharp hiccup of discomfort, and then a grunt, and Yennefer looked down at him at the sound, seeming amused with how difficult this was for him. "Fair princess, rescued in valour's grace; no payment asked, of coin nor throne—yet mem'ry stayed, and the Wolf, that eve, polished his sword until it shone."

Yennefer laughed out loud at the recitation, causing Geralt to grin as well in spite of himself, amused that his poorly-recited script had given such joy to his wife. It was good to hear her laugh like this; it had been far too long since he had heard that sort of delighted abandon from Yennefer. He kissed her hips, trailing his lips along her pretty thighs, before he suddenly felt her hands on his face again, drawing him back up towards her face and pulling him in for a kiss on the lips. Her slender arms slid around his neck as she drew him in, smiling as she kissed him, deeply and purely, for what felt like the first time in far too long. "You can take your pants off," she whispered, still chuckling, her soft lashes brushing against his face as she pressed her cheek to his. "You needed new armour anyway." Letting out another soft laugh then, she kissed him again, smiling as she did, and as Geralt kissed her back, feeling her slender fingers against the lacing of his trousers, he could not remember a time he was as happy as this.

If this was what destiny had in store, he thought, then perhaps destiny deserved another chance.

---

A familiar sensation startled Geralt awake from a deep and dreamless sleep, and he sat up quickly in bed beside Yennefer, grasping for the medallion around his neck. He could feel the wolf's head trembling in his grasp, vibrating fervently to warn of something near, and he turned to look quickly around the master bedroom to see if he could spot whatever had set it off. Nothing looked different from the way it had the evening before, when he and Yennefer had retired here for some much-needed time alone – the painting of the starry sky still hung on the wall as he had placed it, the golden trophies adorning the shelves standing undisturbed and glistening. The bookshelf in the corner of the room still stood unassumingly half-empty, the books exactly as they had fallen when he had lifted Yennefer up against it the night before, using it as leverage to hold her weight as he fucked her against the polished side.

The last few days since his return back home had been nothing but nonstop moments like these, spurred on, it seemed, by the arrival of Ciri's letter, and the spontaneity in the library that followed. Geralt supposed it had never really occurred to his wife that they could still be intimate with Shani under their roof, but once the seal on that realization had been broken, she seemed only too happy to be proven wrong. The bookcase had been an impulsive act, following what had been meant to be a normal dinner – but with how things had been going, the dinner had quickly devolved into glances, followed by Yennefer rubbing her leg against his under the table, until eventually half the meal had been forgotten as Geralt's hand found its way to the sorceress' lap. She had tried her hardest to keep her composure as he played with his fingers between her legs, but the hand holding her glass of wine had shaken too badly for her to even sip from it, and she had eventually been forced to give up and devote her attention to mounting him on the spot.

Barnabas-Basil and Marlene had long grown used to the activities of their unusual landholders, but even so Geralt had ultimately made the call that fucking at the dinner table should only last so long, and they had eventually retired to the bedroom instead, for propriety's sake, if nothing else. Now, Yennefer groaned as she felt the warmth of the blankets pulled suddenly off her bare shoulders, and she reached back to grasp at the covers, dragging them back over her naked form. "Too cold for that," she murmured, tiredly. "Lie back down. Too early to get up yet."

"Something set my medallion off," Geralt told her, turning to look down at his wife. "Some kind of magic. Don't know what." He paused, frowning as he ran his thumb along the smooth back of the silver emblem. "Keeps going off around you," he added. "Sure you didn't do anything?"

"Your medallion's wrong," Yennefer answered, yawning, reaching back to find her husband in the bed. Prying his hand away from his necklace, she pulled it instead around her form, tugging him down to the bed with an indication for him to lie back beside her again. "Come keep me warm," Yennefer insisted, nestling in closer to Geralt's larger form under the covers. "Forget magic. No magic today. Just your cold wife."

Geralt frowned at the rude awakening, unable to help feeling a bit on edge about it still, but he slowly did as he was told, nestling back into bed beside Yennefer. Draping his arm around her form, he pulled her in close against his skin, nestling his face into her perfumed neck as she entwined her legs with his. He could still feel the weight of the medallion against his chest as he settled in beside his wife, and he found the thought of whatever had set it off too troubling to allow him to return to sleep – but the familiar smell of lilac and gooseberries was comforting to his senses, and he pressed a kiss to Yennefer's neck, starting to slowly work his way up past her jaw and to her ear. Kissing her cheek, he moved a bit further across her, pushing himself up in the bed, allowing her to turn over onto her back so he could more easily kiss her lips.

"Someone's up early," Yennefer commented, still half-asleep, a smile spreading over her lips as Geralt felt her fingers brush against his already-erect member. "Maybe that's what your medallion was sensing. Your place of power activating." Her smile widened at her own joke, and she teased at his cock with her fingertips, before retrieving her hands to pull his face back down to kiss her lips again. She smiled sleepily through her kiss, her fingers trailing playfully through the silver scruff of his beard, before she suddenly laughed, softly, wrinkling her nose and turning her face away. "It tickles," she told him, quietly, as if afraid to wake others listening in.

"Shave it off, if you want," Geralt offered, speaking just as quietly.

Yennefer shook her head at the offer, biting softly on her lower lip. "No," she answered, running her hands across his beard, listening to the crackle of the scruff as she teased it. "I like it. Keep it. Makes you look dashing."

"Makes me look old," Geralt returned, grinning.

Yennefer paused, considering, before nodding in agreement, smiling up at him. "True," she said. "But, sophisticated old. An old man you'd still sleep with."

Geralt snorted at the answer, in love with her teasing, before leaning down to kiss her again, moving his leg across her form to straddle her in the bed. Yennefer moaned as he kissed her neck, her hands sliding across his muscular stomach to his scarred back, giving a soft gasp as he found his way inside again under the covers. Wrapping her legs around his thighs, she bit her lip, letting her head roll back against the pillow, chuckling faintly as he began to play with one of her breasts, pressing up inside her with a huff of effort. Her raven hair ebbed like a halo behind her as she rocked gently against the downy mattress, arching her back to compliment the motion of his thrusts, the rhythm lazy and slow as they took their time, loathe to wake up and face the day.

Just then, a sudden loud knocking on their bedroom door caused them both to give a start, and Geralt swore as he yanked the covers up, hiding their naked bodies underneath. "Master witcher," Barnabas-Basil's reedy voice was somewhat muffled through the heavy door, but they could still hear every word as clearly as if the man were standing in the room with them. "Sir, there's a visitor here, asking to see you. I believe it's someone you know."

"Can it wait?" Geralt called back, exasperated. "Stall them, Barnabas. You're good at that." Yennefer covered her mouth with her hands as he conversed with the majordomo, trying her hardest not to laugh out loud, and Geralt felt a grin of bewilderment start to creep across his face as well, despite himself. This had not been the worst interruption the two of them had ever experienced during moments of coitus, but it was still disconcerting to be caught in the middle of something so intimate, unable to finish.

"I can try, sir," Barnabas-Basil responded, letting out a soft sigh through the door. Then, as they listened, his footsteps began to recede across the floor, until only silence prevailed outside their bedroom door once again.

Letting out a deep breath, Geralt buried his face in Yennefer's neck, feeling her gentle hands across his back as he gave a low groan of discontent. "Let's move to the woods," he suggested, his voice muffled against her porcelain skin. "No visitors in the woods. Maybe people will finally leave us alone."

"No nice house in the woods, either," Yennefer reminded him, pushing her hands against his chest. "Come on now. Get dressed. Maybe it's just the distributor, come for another shipment of White Wolf."

Geralt grunted at the thought, allowing her to push him into a sitting position, before finally swinging his legs off the bed and getting to his feet, starting to collect his clothes from the floor. Yennefer was still in her underwear by the time he finished putting everything on, and he leaned down to kiss her as she sat on the bed, earning a small smile and a wrinkle of her nose as his scruffy beard tickled against her cheek. "I'll be dressed by the time you come back," she told him, giving his medallion a soft, playful tug. "Go see what your visitor wants." Geralt frowned at the reminder, wishing he could stay a few minutes longer to watch his wife dress, but realized it would be rude to keep his distributor waiting – and so, with one last glance over his shoulder at Yennefer, he let himself out of the master bedroom, shutting the door securely behind him before starting for the courtyard instead.

Allowing himself out the front door of the manor, Geralt took in a deep breath of château air, adjusting his eyes to the early-morning sun before looking around for the majordomo and whatever visitor had come to call. Barnabas-Basil was nowhere to be seen, likely having wandered off when he heard Geralt approaching, but the visitor was easy enough to find, and Geralt felt his heart sink as he recognized the familiar green coat and strawberry hair of a few days earlier. The little girl stood with her hands folded behind her, her bright eyes wide as she waited for the witcher, and Geralt let out a sigh as he approached her, hoping she had come for a different reason this time.

"Rosie," he commented, surprising himself with the fact that he remembered her name. He supposed she had made an impression the last time they had crossed paths by how singularly annoying she had been, but he pushed the thought from his mind, instead continuing with as impassive an expression as he could manage. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon," he admitted, trying his best to stay civil. "Thought for sure your uncle wouldn't let you go running so far out of town. Again."

Rosie shrugged at the comment, shaking her head, seeming unfazed by the observation. "My uncle doesn't control where I go," she answered, bluntly. "There's very few who can. They'd have to catch me first."

"Right," Geralt answered, quickly losing interest, before starting to turn for the house again.

"What took you so long to come out?" Rosie insisted, drawing the witcher back again, in spite of himself. "I've been standing here waiting for ages. I thought you'd never come."

Geralt frowned at the girl's persistence. "Sorry," he answered, his tone bone dry. "Weren't aware you were on a schedule."

"Of course I am," Rosie returned, frankly, seeming to completely miss the sarcasm in his voice. "We can't all simply sit around waiting for work to come to us like you do." Geralt faltered at the biting remark, wondering if the little girl realized just how viciously a statement like that cut – an innocent lack of youthful tact was one thing, and easily forgiven, but he could not help feeling a few of the girl's more pointed statements were entirely deliberate. "Speaking of which, I've brought you another contract from town," she added, pulling his attention back as she dug around in her coat pockets for the slip of paper. Just as last time, the parchment was half-crumpled by the time she retrieved it from the depths of her coat, but she held it out proudly towards the witcher regardless, standing on the toes of her shiny shoes as she waited for him to take it.

Geralt frowned at the slip of paper, wondering if it would even still be legible, before taking it gingerly from her little hand and smoothing it out against his chest, hoping to make it at least a bit more presentable before starting to try to read it. "Another corpse-eater," he commented, his gaze moving down the page. "In the sewers. No other details… hm. Probably a drowner."

"I wouldn't know," Rosie answered, dismissively, seeming bored with the thought of monsters in general, holding the hem of her velvet coat as she spun playfully over the cobbled walk. Noting a particularly large stone in the path, she hopped onto it, balancing on one foot, before jumping off again in the direction of the flower garden, her shoes giving a merry jingle as she landed. "I heard you got rid of the one I brought you last time," she said then, turning to look up at the witcher again. "Did you cut off its head? I've heard witchers take monster heads as trophies."

"We do," Geralt answered, folding the contract absentmindedly as he spoke. "Hook them to our saddles. Let people know we kill monsters." Under most circumstances, he would have been surprised to hear a child show such morbid curiosity in witcher habits, but Rosie had proven an unusual interest in witchers the last time she had come around Corvo Bianco, and he supposed there was only so much one could learn about his kind before it fell to inevitable gore. Tucking the contract into his pocket, he looked up thoughtfully towards the far gate, wondering if posting a monster head there might help scare off other creatures from lurking around the property. It was a good idea in theory, but the smell would likely attract necrophages, he realized, and he also knew Yennefer would undoubtedly put his own head on a pike beside it if he tried to sully the beauty of her vineyard with one of his gruesome trophies.

"So did you cut off its head?" Rosie asked, her eyes wide, stopping momentarily in her distracted spinning.

Geralt shook his head at the question, returning swiftly to the present. "Not this time," he told her.

Rosie frowned at the answer, seeming genuinely disappointed, a dour expression that might have caused Geralt to laugh, had he been in a better mood. "Why not?" she insisted, balling her little hands into fists in the hem of her coat. "Aren't you a witcher? Real witchers take trophies."

"Still a witcher," Geralt answered. "Just retired."

"Real witchers don't retire."

Geralt snorted at the girl's response, half-amazed by her brazen cheek; far from being afraid of him, this girl seemed determined, for whatever reason, to drag him across the stones. He wondered if it was his status as a retired witcher which gave her the boldness to do so, or perhaps his reputation as having raised and trained a daughter of his own, or if she was simply too stubborn to be afraid of things that would cause most grown men to soil their slacks. Regardless, he found it rather refreshing to not have to temper his words in front of this strange little girl – she gave as good as she got, sometimes better, a trait which reminded him strongly of Yennefer.

"Your uncle tell you that?" Geralt asked, causing Rosie to pout at the dismissive question. Letting go of her coat, she shook her head, crossing her arms stubbornly over her little chest as she stared up at him, refusing to back down.

"Next time, you should take the monster's head," she told him, boldly. "Let people know you're still in business as a witcher."

"Hm," Geralt grunted, feeling his lips start to twitch upward at the conversation. "I'll take that into consideration."

Rosie nodded, seeming satisfied that her advice had been taken into deliberation, before turning and skipping over to the flower plot a few feet away, easily distracted once more. Geralt followed her over, watching as she began to balance her way across the low wooden slat that marked the edge, keeping the soil from spilling out onto the cobbled walk. "Do you have any pets, master witcher?" Rosie asked, glancing up at him before returning her attention to the balancing beam.

"Got Roach," Geralt answered, indicating with a jerk of his head towards the horse's stable. "Not really a pet, though. Got a few chickens."

"I don't have any pets, either," Rosie returned, seeming to ignore his comment about the chickens. "I wish I did. I love dogs. And cats. Even the grouchy butcher's cat comes to be petted when I call him." Growing quickly bored with her balancing act, she jumped off the low beam again, her buckled shoes jingling as they hit the cobbled walk, before she turned her attention up to Geralt once more, tucking her hands into the pockets of her coat. "I think you would be much happier if you had a cat," she told him, matter-of-factly. "Though it's probably best that you don't. You'd probably give it a terrible name as well. Like… Toad."

"Need a ride back to Beauclair, Rosie?" Geralt asked, realizing all relevant conversation about the contract was likely long over. "Let me grab my gear and I'll take you back—"

"Aren't you going to invite me in for breakfast?" Rosie insisted, cutting over him before he had a chance to finish. Geralt blinked at the question, surprised by it, but Rosie only stared back at him expectantly, eyes wide. "You invited me in last time," she reminded him, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "And I did come all this way just to deliver a contract for you."

"Didn't ask for that," Geralt told her, frowning at the reminder.

"But I did it," Rosie answered, refusing to be deterred. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Geralt hesitated at the request, glancing once back towards the house, before turning to look down at Rosie again, who had not moved as she waited for his response. Her pink lips were pursed with expectation, her little hands stuffed in the pockets of her coat, and Geralt let out a long, tired sigh as he realized he would probably hear about it from Yennefer if he refused the girl breakfast after such a long walk from town. "Come on," he told her, waving a hand, indicating for her to follow him. Rosie beamed at the confirmation, bounding eagerly up to join him, and Geralt felt her little hands grasp tightly around his arm as she pulled it down to his side, earning a grunt of surprise from the witcher as he looked down to the girl, annoyed. He had specifically not offered that cordiality this time, not wanting her to mistake his begrudging civility for fondness of any kind, but Rosie only smiled back up at him at the gesture, holding tightly to his arm.

"Do you have any apple juice?" she asked, eagerly, her breathing staggered as she sought to keep pace with his much lengthier strides. "I'd love some apple juice. I've only had grape juice for so long."

"I bet we can find you some apple juice," Geralt answered, nodding agreeably. In truth, she was not such a terrible little girl, he thought; just a bit overwhelming at times. The attention she got from Yennefer and Marlene was likely the most she got from anyone, particularly at home, where they did not even seem to realize when their child went running off to talk to witchers and share in their food. It made sense, then, why she kept coming back here, with or without the excuse of delivering contracts from town, and Geralt felt a small, guilty smile touch his face at the idea that whoever this girl was, whatever her story, she was here because she liked it here. If even a stranger's child could enjoy spending time with him and Yennefer at Corvo Bianco, then perhaps there was still a chance that Shani and her child could do the same.

"Think we've got some chicken, too," Geralt added, looking down at Rosie again. "You like chicken?"

Rosie considered the question, before wrinkling her button nose at the thought. "Aren't the chickens your pets?" she asked, looking up at him again with a small frown. Turning her attention back to the house, she shook her head, readjusting her grip on his arm.

"I've changed my mind, master witcher," she told him. "Please don't get a cat."

---

Just as Yennefer had told him, she was fully dressed by the time he returned to the bedroom to change for the journey ahead, and she looked on in curiosity as he began to pull the pieces of his armour from the clothing-chest, laying them out on the bed. "You're leaving again?" she asked, disappointed. "You've only just gotten home again. I thought you said you would stay for a while before you left to do anything else."

"Just a local contract," Geralt answered, stripping down quickly from his house-clothes, before buckling on his gambeson and pulling his sturdy vest and pauldrons over his head. "Shouldn't take long. Just another necrophage."

"There certainly are a lot of those lately," Yennefer commented, disapprovingly, sitting down on the bed beside his armour as she continued to watch her husband dress. "I thought moving out to Toussaint would mean less bodies in the streets. Perhaps if they tended to that problem a bit more, they wouldn't need to pay a witcher to clean up their messes so often."

Geralt grunted at the observation, drawing on his gloves and flexing his hands, still breaking in the stiffness of the new leather. "Not that many," he assured his wife, looking up at her again, trying to ignore the withering look she was giving him. "Probably won't be more for a while after this. When I get back, we can fix up the day-room. Turn it into a clinic, with or without Ana Henrietta's approval." Pulling on his pants, he laced them up, before reaching for his bracers, noting that Yennefer's expression had not changed at the offer. "Maybe start on a crib for Shani," he added, hoping to get a reaction.

At this addendum, Yennefer's expression lifted slightly, and she looked up at her husband, watching as he buckled his bracers over his gloves before reaching next for his equipment belts. "We'd have to pick it out, first," she told him, making him stifle a smile at the note of excitement she was trying hard to disguise. "Shani would have to approve of it. But she's been so resistant to anything having to do with preparation for the baby lately… I'm not sure why that is." Looking down again, she paused a bit, her pristine brow furrowing in a thoughtful line, before she let out a soft huff, looking up at her husband again for assistance.

"Perhaps you could ask her," she told him, surprising him, causing him to look up as a small flicker of panic rose in his chest at the thought of having to talk to Shani about something so personal. "See why that is. She won't tell me… I think she worries I may lack objectivity because of my investment in the situation. But she talks to you about everything. Perhaps you could get her to open up."

"Hm," Geralt answered, picking up his greaves. "Can try when I get back. Not very good at these things."

"You don't have to be good at anything for this, Geralt," Yennefer returned, standing up from the bed again to address her husband. "You just have to listen. Sometimes that's all women really want." She paused, considering these words of advice, before leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek, stroking her hand over his wintery beard and patting his chest with a soft, fond chuckle. "Go tell Shani you're heading out," she told him, tracing her finger across the scar on his cheek. "I'll be holding you to your word when you get back. And the crib offer as well. Don't think I'll forget. Or that you can make me forget. I know your tricks." Then, giving his medallion another playful tug, she smiled, before turning to head for the door, allowing him to finish donning his armour and readying his supplies for the contract ahead.

Geralt sighed as Yennefer left the room, tightening his greaves to ensure they would not slip off during combat. He was not looking forward to asking Shani what was bothering her about the baby; their last conversation had given him a pretty good idea, and he was unsure what he could do to change her mind on the matter, or at least put it at ease. Her distress was entirely because of him, and uncertainty of things to come, and he knew he had little to offer in that regard, as he was just as unsure of what the future held as she was. Leaving the bedroom, he grabbed his swords from beside the manor door, sliding the belt on over his head and tightening the strap before passing by Rosie to head up the staircase. The little girl looked up from her breakfast as he passed, watching as he began to mount the stairs, and he could not help feeling a strange, unnerving tension as he rounded the corner, out of her unusual sight.

Shani was sitting in front of the vanity as Geralt entered the guest-room, and he paused in silence at the top of the stairs, unsure if he might be intruding on something private. Unlike Yennefer, who enjoyed letting him watch her preen as much as he enjoyed watching her do it, he had never seen Shani take an interest in her reflection, and could not help wondering if she was aware he was there to see her do it now. From where he stood, he could only see what little was visible over her shoulder, but he could tell she was inspecting her face in the mirror, gingerly touching the apples of her cheeks, making a dour expression as she pressed her fingertips into the almost-imperceptibly-puffier lines of her jaw. Letting out a soft sigh at her changing features, Shani ran her slender fingers over her throat, trailing them down to her collar-bone and pulling the edges of her blouse aside to see her clavicle more clearly underneath.

Geralt frowned as he watched her, feeling a soft wrench of guilt in his gut at her discomfort with her changing body, continuing to look on as she pressed her hands to her stomach, moving them in thoughtful circles across her torso. She stared intently at her reflection as she took in the newness of her form, almost daze-like, and Geralt had to admit that he could not see anything that had actually changed; she was not that much noticeably bigger than she had been three months ago, he thought, though the fact that she still wore a corset likely had something to do with his skewed perspective. Of course, no one knew better than Shani herself how different things actually were for her now, but even so Geralt could not help feeling a bit curious, as he looked on, what three months truly meant, for a pregnancy.

He had no idea if three months was when a woman was supposed to start showing, or four months, or five; he had met women before at six and seven months, and had been able to tell by then, but he had no idea when that timeline changed over, or what to expect when it did.

His curious train of thought was cut abruptly short as Shani seemed to get a new idea, and the witcher raised his brows in sudden, surprised attention as she next moved her hands to her breasts, starting to gingerly push on either side of them as she stared down thoughtfully into her blouse. He knew exactly what she was looking at, and he found, with a bit of embarrassment, that he could not blame her for doing it – he had noticed, himself, in the days since her arrival, that her breasts had begun to fill out in the months since he had last seen her, rounding out to handfuls much more conspicuous than those he remembered from their night on the boat. He found himself wondering, fleetingly, if her breasts would continue to fill out as nicely the further she got into her pregnancy, and for one split second, before he could stop it, he felt a slight twinge of disappointment that he would not be the one allowed to judge such things.

Taking a deep breath, Geralt quickly cleared his throat, hoping to get Shani's attention with the sound. Cutting this short was as much for his own benefit as for hers, he knew; his first concern, of course, was sparing her the embarrassment of being watched in a moment of private reflection, but he could not deny the added advantage of stopping potential temptation before it had a chance to go any further. He was a married man now, and he owed it to Yennefer to keep those thoughts at bay – a dedication he found admittedly more difficult when he was faced with a beautiful woman fondling her breasts in front of him.

Shani turned quickly at the unexpected noise, dropping her hands immediately from her breasts into her lap, before standing from the vanity and taking a few steps away, embarrassed at having been caught. "Geralt," she said, her cheeks lighting up, flustered. "I-I'm so sorry. I thought you were with guests."

"Guest," Geralt corrected. "Left her with Marlene. She's in good hands."

"I see," Shani answered, nodding quickly. "So… I guess you're coming to tell me that you're heading out again."

Geralt frowned at the shortness of her statement, a bit taken aback by how quickly she had reached it. He supposed she could see he was already in his armour, making his intentions clear, but the eagerness with which she had jumped to the subject still felt a bit like an unceremonious send-off. "Another contract," he agreed after a pause. "Beauclair. Shouldn't be gone long." He stopped again, watching the doctor for another moment, before his brow began to furrow deeper, his hands searching for pockets at his sides before eventually falling awkwardly to rest instead against the sturdy material of his trousers. "Something wrong?" he asked, his voice quieter, hoping to offer a small sense of privacy. They were already alone in her room, he realized, but with a house full of people, it was often difficult to ever feel truly unobserved. "Don't have to go. Can stay if you need me."

Shani hesitated at the offer, staring at the witcher with wide, wary eyes, before finally shaking her head, seeming to return to the reality of where she was. "No," she answered, looking down. "No need to stay. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, I was just…" She paused, chewing her lower lip, her hands uncomfortable at her sides, pinching the material of her skirt as she stared at the floor, trying to decide what to say. Then, looking up to her bed again, she crossed to sit on its tidy cover, before looking up at Geralt and taking another deep breath. "I was just… worried," she admitted after a moment. "Thinking about our conversation from a few days ago. I know there's nothing to be done about it, but I just… can't stop thinking about it, for some reason."

Geralt frowned at the answer, before letting out a soft huff, trying to think of what he could do or say to help the situation. He had never been good with words, and worse with creative solutions, but Shani's distress was enough to push his weary brain into action, and he took a deep breath, hardening his lips into a pensive line as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "There are… books, in our library," he said after a moment, unsure what else there was to suggest. Shani hesitated at the offer, before turning to look at him again, intrigued by the promise of something else to read. "About witcher mutations. Got them from the lab of that… man, I told you about."

"The one who ran experiments on his son?" Shani asked, her brows lifting in surprise.

"Mm," Geralt grunted, affirmatively. "Had a few tomes. One about witchers, and one about… centipedes. Basis for mutagens used in the Trials, I think. Something like that." He paused, making a face, wrinkling his nose as he tried to remember, before finally shaking his head and looking down at the carpet between them again. "Dunno," he said. "Didn't read very much of it. Point is, if you wanted to take a look and see if there's anything there…"

Shani nodded quickly at the offer, sitting up a bit straighter on the bedspread, seeming to be in a better mood now than she had been only moments earlier. "Yeah, actually. I think I'd like that," she told him, causing Geralt to look up again at the sound of her enthusiasm. "If it gives me some better insight into this, I think it could be helpful. If I can figure out what that potion you took did, what it changed…" She stopped again, her gaze faltering, staring past the witcher as she considered the applications for the information tomes like the ones he was suggesting might provide. "I'm not sure," she admitted, shrugging, turning her optimistic gaze to rest on Geralt again. "But it can't hurt to know more. If anything, it can only help. At least I might be able to better understand what's growing inside of me if I know what helped to make it."

Geralt faltered at the strange wording, but said nothing, glad to see Shani back to her old enthusiasm again; this was the way she deserved to be, with her pink cheeks, her vibrant eyes, and her intelligent, impish smile that told the world she was three steps ahead of its plans. "Will you be okay while I'm in Beauclair?" he asked, absentmindedly adjusting the strap on his swords.

Shani leaned back at the question, resting her hands at her sides on the bed, before letting her legs stretch out in front of her, crossing them at the dainty ankles as she tilted her head at the witcher. "Why wouldn't I be?" she returned, seeming genuinely curious that he felt he had to keep asking. "I'm not an invalid, Geralt. I can take care of myself." Looking down to the floor again, she paused, staring at her boots a moment. "Besides," she added, "if I were you, I'd be more concerned about Yennefer." Geralt frowned at the mention of his wife, wondering if he might have missed something important that had not escaped Shani's more observant concern, but a soft smile tilting the corners of the doctor's lips let him know it was not anything so severe.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but she's started researching new subjects while you've been off filling contracts," Shani told him, lifting her hazel gaze to his face again with a puckish grin. "I wouldn't be surprised if you came back one day to find she'd crocheted you a new suit of armour."

Geralt snorted at the observation, unable to help a small smirk at the thought of Yennefer poring over a basket of yarn. "Yen would never crochet," he said, shaking his head. "Thinks it's for old crones."

"Perhaps not crocheting, then," Shani conceded, seeming much more at ease with the now-lighter conversation. "But I did see her looking into tomes on other things, like gardening and local wildlife. I hope you like pets."

"Don't dislike them," Geralt returned. "Aren't too fond of me, though."

Shani paused at the comment, before her brows suddenly lifted, her expression changing as she remembered something she had been told. "Oh, that's right," she said, sounding a bit more curious. "Animals don't like witchers. I wonder why that is?"

"Cats can sense magic," Geralt answered. "Absorb it. Hone it. Redirect it. See through invisibility. Don't like the energy witchers give off."

"And dogs?" Shani asked.

Geralt snorted at the question. "Dogs are just assholes," he answered, frankly.

Shani grinned at the answer, amused by the witcher's endearing gruffness. "Are there any animals you do like?" she asked. "I can't imagine all animals are averse to witchers."

"I like Roach," Geralt answered.

"That can't be it," Shani returned, shaking her head. "There have to be others. More than just Roach."

Geralt paused at the question, his brow furrowing as he tried to think of every animal of note he had ever encountered; most of the creatures he met in his travels were monsters, which explained why they would have an aversion to him and his kind, and it was not common for villagers to keep pets apart from the ones already mentioned, which made this difficult. It seemed odd to him that Shani would be suddenly so invested in his feelings towards animals, but he supposed an inherent softness towards helpless creatures held implications for the empathy he was capable of showing any other dependent being – such as a newborn baby. "Eskel had a goat," he answered after a moment. "Li'l Bleater, I think. Liked it well enough. Horse, too. Scorpion. Good, strong horse."

"Horses and goats, then," Shani returned, a small, incredulous smile crossing her lips. "Got it." Looking down at her hands on the quilt, she paused, considering something, before finally pushing herself up off the bed, instead crossing to the spot on the floor where the couch had once sat, but which now stood empty. Staring down at the space on the floor, she frowned, folding her arms thoughtfully across her chest, before tilting her head and taking in another deep breath, letting Geralt know she was about to say something.

"I think I met Eskel while I was in Kaedwen," she said, the topic surprising Geralt, though he was not sure why. "After I left Novigrad. He was traveling through the Kestrel Mountains on horseback, with his little goat following behind." The witcher frowned, taking a moment to think back to what Eskel might have been doing in that part of the world, or what might have occurred for him to have crossed paths with Shani during her line of work. Eskel and Shani were both only people, of course, and the world was not so large that it was impossible for people to meet entirely by coincidence, but for some reason he found it difficult to consider those two parts of his life meeting in such an uneventful way.

Shani did not seem to notice his apparent confusion, her own pretty mouth twisting thoughtfully to one side as she considered everything she had just said. "I think that was what made me notice him in the first place, really," she added, causing Geralt to look up at her again. "I thought it was so unusual for a man to be traveling with a goat. He seemed like a good man, though. If a little bit lonely."

"Sounds like Eskel," Geralt confirmed, his expression not lifting from his troubled frown. "Not sure what he'd be doing in Kaedwen, though."

Shani turned at the comment, looking back towards the witcher, her own expression lifting to one of surprise. "Isn't that where Kaer Morhen is?" she asked, as if that were the most obvious answer.

Geralt grunted at the observation. "Exactly," he said. "Said he'd never go back after the fight with the Hunt. No idea why he'd be hanging around Kaedwen unless it was to visit the old fortress."

"Maybe he changed his mind?" Shani suggested, but Geralt only shook his head.

"Don't think so," he answered. "Unless…" Trailing off, he thinned his lips, his golden eyes growing hard as he stared at a spot on the floor between their feet. The only other explanation for Eskel to be traveling through that part of the world was if he was on his way to Caingorn, though Geralt doubted even sentimental Eskel would dare to reopen a wound so precarious as that. It had been more than eight years since any member of the Wolf School had spoken to or about Deidre Ademeyn, but he supposed it was possible Eskel had decided, after the death of Vesemir, that life was too short to hold onto bad blood, and had set out to make amends with the girl who had once been his ill-fated child of surprise. The thought was quickly pushed from his mind by the memory of their last encounter, however, and he shook his head again, letting out a soft sigh as he turned his distracted gaze back to Shani once more.

"Doesn't matter," he said, firmly. "Point is, that sounds like Eskel." He paused a moment then, before adding, "Think you'd like him, actually. If you got to know him."

Shani faltered at the comment, seeming a bit surprised, before she began to slowly tilt her head again, her hazel eyes thinning as a small, knowing smirk began to work its way across her face. "Geralt," she scolded, playfully. "Are you trying to pawn me off on one of your witcher friends?"

Geralt hesitated at the question, taken aback, unsure whether or not she was joking. "No," he finally answered, deciding honesty was the best response. "Just saying Eskel's a good guy."

Shani chuckled at his awkward reply. "You're a pretty good guy yourself, Geralt of Rivia," she told him.

Geralt grunted at the comment, feeling a faint twist of guilt in his gut at how untrue he knew it to be. "Hm," he answered. "Dunno about that. But… thanks."

---

Rosie was nearly finished with her breakfast by the time Geralt returned from the upstairs bedroom, and he settled into the chair across from her with a long exhale, stretching his legs out to give them a rest before the long ride ahead of them into town. Turning to look across the table, he watched in interest as the little girl ate, working her way awkwardly through her poultry with her too-large fork and knife. He could hear her shoes jingling under the table as she sat, kicking her little legs as she enjoyed her meal, and he paused as he found himself staring at her emerald coat, lost for a moment in concentration. It was a nice coat, he thought, though it looked a bit worn – converted, perhaps, from something larger, recycled into a child's cloak to preserve what parts of it were still salvageable for use.

He looked up again as he felt the girl's eyes boring into him from across the table, only to realize that she had lifted her gaze from her plate and was now staring intently across at him, fixing him with a penetrating expression as she finished the last of a large bite of eggs. "I got this from my mother," she told him, seeming to realize what he was looking at. "I don't remember her… I was too young. But people say she was really nice."

"How old are you, Rosie?" Geralt asked, frowning a bit at the information.

Rosie paused, swallowing her next bite as she continued to kick her legs under the table. "I'm six!" she told him finally, smiling across at him. "I'm old enough to start witcher training."

"Hm," Geralt answered. "You sure like witchers."

"I love witchers," Rosie returned, nodding enthusiastically. "Nobody will talk to me about them, though. Except my uncle, but… he doesn't know much."

"So you live with your uncle?" Geralt asked, now a bit more curious.

Rosie shook her head, spearing a mouthful of potatoes onto the end of her fork. "No," she answered. "I live with my father. But he doesn't let me do anything. My uncle lets me do things, so I like spending time with him more." Shoving the potatoes into her mouth then, she began to chew happily, bouncing in her seat, and, glancing down at the girl's plate, Geralt frowned, wondering where so much food could have gone into such a tiny frame. It was true what they said, he supposed, that children were as voracious as witchers, if given the chance; he remembered how ravenous Ciri had been when she had been training at Kaer Morhen, going so far as to throw a fit in front of Triss when she was deprived of her usual fare, but she had been put through intensive exercises back then that this girl likely only dreamed about. Still, Rosie certainly had energy enough to burn off whatever she ate, so he supposed it made sense that she would need more fuel than he might have otherwise guessed for someone of her diminutive size.

"Your dad's probably just afraid to lose you," Geralt told her, honestly.

Rosie shrugged, setting down her utensils, before reaching out with both hands to pick up her cup of juice. "I don't know," she answered, frankly. "He won't tell me. He doesn't talk about much with me. Especially not witchers. That's why I like talking to you. You'll talk with me about them."

"Hm," Geralt returned, leaning on his elbows towards the girl. "Your dad can't like you delivering contracts for a witcher, if he hates them that much."

Rosie shook her head again, taking a deep drink of apple juice, before setting down the cup with a satisfied exhale. "I don't think he knows," she answered, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Geralt felt a muscle in his jaw twitch at the motion; Yennefer hated when he did that, himself, and the thought of her reaction to nice velvet stained by sticky juice was enough to make his skin prickle with anxiety. He wondered, faintly, how many other behaviours living with Yennefer had trained out of him, but realized it would take too long to count all his bad habits to determine which ones she had convinced him to stop. "He'd try to stop me if he did," Rosie added. "But he can't really stop me. I always find a way."

"Your dad's just trying to protect you," Geralt told her, a bit annoyed by her defiant attitude. Coming around to deliver contracts to protect her home was one thing, he thought, but coming around just to show up her father's concern was another, and he found himself feeling suddenly less inclined to take on anything she brought him. Even so, he had already agreed to investigate this current job, and he was not the type to go back on his word, even to this little girl, as maddening as she might be.

Finishing off her last bite of potatoes, Rosie crossed her utensils in her plate, before pushing her chair back from the table, causing it to scrape audibly across the rug. Geralt flinched faintly at the dragging sound, resisting the urge to check if she had damaged the carpet, but he did not have time to think about it before the little girl was at his elbow again, her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat as she rocked eagerly on her heels. "I'm ready to go to Beauclair now," she announced, licking the last trace of juice from her lips. "My uncle will be wondering where I am if I don't come back soon."

"You're gonna get me in trouble," Geralt grunted, getting up from his seat. Holding out his hand for Rosie to take, he resisted a small grin as she grasped his arm, taking to her position like a puppy trained to a treat. "Already in enough trouble here as it is," he added, starting to lead her out the door and towards the stables. "Don't need your dad and uncle mad at me, too. Witchers get a bad enough rep as it is. Don't need kidnapping added to my list."

"Don't worry about me, master witcher," Rosie told him, bounding ahead of him into Roach's stall. Turning around, she held up her arms, waiting for him to place her on the back of the saddle, before wrapping her arms around his waist as he settled into the seat in front of her. "My uncle says witchers aren't as scary as people say," she told him, pressing her legs securely to Roach's sides as Geralt pulled the horse around. Geralt lifted his head, surprised to hear that, but told himself to wait, knowing the other shoe was sure to drop. "He says they're really only a threat to monsters and pretty women," Rosie told him. "They have specialized weapons for both, but pretty women only need worry about close combat. I'm not worried about close combat. I can get away. I'm quite fast. My uncle says monsters are the only things where witchers' projectiles actually work."

"There it is," Geralt grumbled, letting out a heavy sigh at the insult. Pulling back on Roach's reigns, he clicked his tongue to the horse, leading her out of the stable and out onto the cobbled vineyard walk. "Don't think I want to meet your uncle," he told the girl, coaxing the horse into a steady trot. "Don't think we'd get along."

"Oh, I think you'd love him," Rosie told him, nodding enthusiastically against his back. "Everyone does. That's what he says."

"I'm sure he does," Geralt answered, dryly.