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.]

12. Geranium

Dandelion's cheerful voice provided ample accompaniment for their ride into town, the plucking of his lute filling the dusky breeze as they took their time on the road to Beauclair. The evening air blew cool on their faces as they loped past fields of bright sunflowers, the farmers and knights-errant they passed on the road offering them a wide berth and a pleasant nod before heading again on their own way. Pegasus blustered as Dandelion shifted in his saddle, turning to look over at Geralt as he rode, his blue eyes bright as he held up his instrument, fingers splayed across the strings as he hummed a snippet of a newly-formed tune.

"Tell me how you like this one—" Dandelion said after a moment, causing Geralt to look up again, listening as the bard cleared his throat to sing. "Red hair like the rowan, a bud on the vine—healed all but his heart, for he had none to heal; but years gave him sight, and they chanced reunite—and he found, suddenly, he had something to feel."

Geralt frowned at the rhyme, reaching out to pat Roach's neck as she blustered under him. "You think I had no heart?" he asked, a bit taken aback.

Dandelion shrugged, sliding the lute under his arm again, adjusting the strap so it rested snugly against his back. "She was seventeen, Geralt," he answered, raising his brows. "You want me to say 'he had no conscience, because he only thought with his dick'?"

Geralt shook his head quickly, looking down again. "No," he said, shortly. "This way's okay. Maybe take out the part about the red hair, though."

"But that's the best part!" Dandelion scoffed, holding out an exasperated hand. Pegasus snorted as his saddle shifted at the gesture, and Dandelion quickly straightened again, taking hold of his horse's reigns. "That's your problem, you know," he added, turning to look over at Geralt again. "You don't know good poetry when you hear it."

"Not very good at reciting it either," Geralt admitted, smirking. "'Least, according to Yen."

Dandelion hummed at the news, his mouth curling in an impish grin, before he reached up a hand to check the feathers in his cap. "Well, Yennefer is always right," he returned. "Except when she's not."

"Hm," Geralt answered, gruffly. "Don't let her hear you say that."

The ride into town felt shorter than usual, though Geralt knew their pace had been leisurely; in truth, it had taken much longer than normal for them to reach Beauclair, evidenced by the purplish hues of dusk setting over them as they pulled their horses to a stop outside the tavern. Dismounting from Roach, Geralt pulled her across to the tying-post, securing her reigns to the wooden bar, before looking up to observe the tavern as he waited for Dandelion to do the same with Pegasus. It was a lively establishment Dandelion had chosen, a bit crowded and upbeat for the witcher's taste, but he knew he could not complain when he was being treated to the night on the bard's good coin. He enjoyed spending time with Dandelion regardless, even if the minstrel was much more energetic and outgoing than he was, and if this was what made his friend's night enjoyable, then he figured he could tough it out for one evening.

Roach's blustering from behind him caused Geralt to turn quickly around again, watching as the mare bobbed her head in distress, but he clicked his tongue, patting her jaw to calm her, and she quickly settled down again, pressing her soft pink nose into his chest with a snort. "Good girl," he told her, softly. "Won't be long. Be back in a bit."

"She seems more skittish than usual," Dandelion observed, looping Pegasus' reigns across the post beside her.

"Just tired, probably," Geralt answered, petting Roach's soft nose and frowning a bit at the thought. "Was with me riding up to Vizima and back. Probably still sore, even after a few days' rest."

"I heard," Dandelion said, tightening Pegasus' reigns to the post. "Shani said you nearly died getting home. Did you really miss your warm soft bed that much?"

"Bed? No," Geralt answered, holding back a grin as he ran a hand down Roach's neck again. "Yen's soft breasts… missed those a lot more. Soft breasts, soft thighs, warm—"

"Okay, we get it," Dandelion laughed, holding up his hands to stop him.

"Hands, Dandelion," Geralt finished with a smirk. "Was gonna say hands. Don't be gross."

Dandelion laughed again, before turning to head towards the tavern, indicating with a jerk of his head for Geralt to follow behind, chattering merrily as he made his way for the door with the witcher nodding absentmindedly behind him. Geralt could only hear about half of what Dandelion was saying, finding himself too distracted by the faces in the tavern yard, searching each one with half-hearted interest, though he was unsure exactly what he was looking for. Perhaps there would be one that stuck out in some way, he thought; something that might justify his sense of paranoia and unease – but it seemed none of them were particularly interested in him or the bard, as he received nothing but a few strange looks in return for his trouble.

As he continued to follow Dandelion towards the bar, Geralt found himself stopped suddenly short, and he took a step back, blinking in surprise as he found something jutting out to block his path. It took him another moment to realize that the thing stopping his progress was a wooden bowl, held up by a dirty-faced beggar sitting at the foot of the tavern stairs. He had nearly collided with the man in his haste, having not even noticed him in his distraction, and he frowned as the beggar gave the bowl a hopeful shake, causing his spoon to rattle pleadingly around its empty crevices. "Spare a coin for a lost soul, sir?" the beggar implored, holding his bowl up towards the witcher again.

Geralt stared down into the empty bowl, wondering when the last time was that the man actually had soup to eat from it; he hated the thought of letting anyone go hungry, having known the feeling far too often during his own travels, and he reached into the pouch at his hip, taking out a few coins and dropping them into the bowl. "Yeah," he said, offering the man a nod. "Here. Get something to eat. Something nice."

"And a drink, too," Dandelion added, reaching across Geralt to toss a few more coins in. "From me. A man's supper isn't complete without a nice drink." Then, smiling agreeably up at Geralt again, he clapped his hand against the witcher's back, before steering him past the beggar and up the stairs towards the tavern door.

The cacophony of the tavern hit them full force as they entered, and Geralt faltered at the rush of sensation, having nearly forgotten how noisy these places could be at full capacity. Dandelion did not even seem to notice the noise, only winding his way gleefully through the occupied tables, before finally finding an empty one and dropping down into one of the seats to claim it. Waving for Geralt to join him, he pointed eagerly to the seat across from him, before folding his hands on the tabletop as his friend settled in, looking around to check for every exit.

"Don't look so jumpy," Dandelion chuckled, causing Geralt to look up in surprise at the scolding. "There's nothing for you to worry about here. I know these people. They love me here."

"Thought you were banned from Beauclair," Geralt observed, raising a curious brow. "Something about a rescinded death sentence. Sleeping around with another duchess."

"Come on now, Geralt," Dandelion scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "That's old news. Anna Henrietta has long forgiven me. In fact, I might pay her a visit while I'm here – for old times' sake."

"Hm," Geralt answered, folding his arms on the table. "Thought you had a girlfriend. Priscilla."

"Oh, I'm still with Priscilla," Dandelion agreed, nodding so the feathers on his cap gave a spritely bounce. "We're engaged, in fact. To be married, believe it or not. I couldn't believe she asked me!"

"Congrats," Geralt told him, grinning at the news. "Thought Priscilla was smarter than that. Guess I was wrong about her."

Dandelion's smile dropped a bit at the biting comment, and he blinked a few times, staring across at his friend. "You sure are grouchy when you're sober," he finally said, wagging a playful finger at the witcher. "Let's get a few drinks in you, see if we can loosen you up. Then I want to hear all about you and Shani."

"Two drinks, Dandelion," Geralt reminded him, firmly. "Just got home a couple days ago. Barely had any time with Yen yet. Don't want the first thing I do to be coming home sauced." It was mostly the truth, after all, as he saw little reason to trouble Dandelion with his other concerns – the itching sensation that something was not quite right, and that letting his guard down just now could prove disastrous. He shrugged at the thought, offering a small, forced grin, trying to ignore the look of bitter disappointment on Dandelion's face. "Another time," he assured the bard. "Unless you plan on getting banned from Beauclair again."

"I never plan on getting banned from anywhere," Dandelion answered, pressing a prideful hand to his cravat. "I'm simply too charming for some people to handle. It's not my fault they lack good taste." Geralt snorted at the statement, before looking up again, watching as a young barmaid approached their table, causing Dandelion to instantly light up at the sight of her, beaming at her as he vied for her attention. "Two vodkas, please," he told the young lady, holding up two fingers. "Actually— three, if you would. One for me, and two for the witcher."

"I told you, Dandelion—" Geralt started to say, but Dandelion quickly raised a hand to stop him.

"Please, Geralt," Dandelion pressed, sounding affronted that the witcher had tried to deny his hospitality. "I'm just trying to get the ball rolling. Relax some of that tension you're obviously carrying." Geralt frowned at the assurance, but settled back into his seat regardless, letting out a curt sigh as he watched the barmaid walk away with their order. Dandelion watched her leave as well, his gaze resting unsubtly on her retreating backside, before he turned his gaze to Geralt again, folding his hands on the table as he grinned across at his friend. "So," he said, settling eagerly into his seat. "Let's start from the beginning, shall we? How did you and Shani meet up again, and what led to your nuit de passion? And remember—spare me no gory details. I want to hear the whole story."

Geralt frowned at the regional dialect, wondering if two drinks would truly be enough for this conversation. "First, let me ask you something," he began, taking a deep breath. "What do you know about… ghosts?"

---

"Smashed his brother's head in with a candlestick," Geralt said, picking up his beer to take another swig. "Drove it straight through the back of his throat. Severed his spine in one blow."

"Jeez," Dandelion breathed, his blue eyes wide, gripping his cravat in captivation. "So what happened next? Did he give you the deed to the house?"

Geralt shook his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. "No deed," he answered. "Only a little… house-shaped box." He opened his hands to show the size, wavering a bit as he sat up in his seat; he could feel the room spinning, his cheeks flushing with heat, and he quickly settled down again, gripping his flagon to ground himself. "'House' contained their father's will," he explained, indicating towards Dandelion with the mug, before taking another drink, feeling the liquid growing low as he neared the bottom. "Bastard tried to cheat me. Wanted to give me just the box. Wasn't what we agreed to, though. Tried to attack me, so I cut off his head. Left him to rot in the vault with his brother."

"Should've known better than to try and cheat a witcher," Dandelion answered, waving a hand to flag down the barmaid again. The young woman arrived quickly with another mug of beer, and Dandelion gladly took it from her, offering her a nod and a charming smile before turning to face Geralt again. Sliding the tankard across the table, he settled it just under the witcher's nose, before giving him another cheeky grin and sitting back to enjoy more of his captivating story.

Geralt paused as he watched the exchange, glancing down at the newly-filled mug, before letting out a snort at the bard's bold antics, looking across the table at Dandelion again. "You trying to get me drunk, Dandelion?" he teased, knowing well his friend never made any attempt to disguise that fact. He had used this ploy frequently during their years together, usually in his attempts to get Geralt to go along with one of his harebrained schemes, and though the witcher was generally reluctant to join in at first, he almost always ended up doing whatever was asked of him by the end. Of course, it was never actually the liquor which convinced him – more the satisfaction that came with helping his oldest and dearest friend – but he would never let on to Dandelion that he was so soft and easily persuaded, especially when the potential for free alcohol was involved.

"Yes, I am," Dandelion answered, folding his hands on the table. "I had something I wanted to ask you, and I find you're much more honest when you're drunk."

"More fun when I'm drunk, too," Geralt returned, offering a lopsided smirk. "'Least, that's what they tell me. Never remember enough to know if they're telling the truth." Taking a drink from his newly-filled tankard, he sat back, feeling the familiar warmth spreading to his extremities, before looking up at Dandelion again, extending a hand in indication for him to speak. "Ask away," he prompted, wondering for a moment if his speech was slurring as much as it sounded to him; Shani had warned him about drinking so soon after recovery, and he had taken her warning to heart, switching from vodka to beer earlier in the evening in an attempt to keep from losing his head. He had promptly lost track of the number of beers he had allowed Dandelion to buy him after that, of course, but he still felt he was well-equipped enough to answer whatever the bard asked of him.

Dandelion leaned in across the table, locking his blue eyes with Geralt's golden ones. "Shani's baby," he said, making no effort at subtlety. "If you had your pick, would you want a boy, or a girl?"

Geralt faltered at the question, narrowing his eyes, looking past Dandelion towards the far wall of the tavern – it was an interesting question, though a far more difficult one to answer than he might have anticipated. Most people, himself included, would have expected him to leap blindly at the thought of having a son, and in all fairness, he knew the Geralt of twenty years ago would have accepted no other option. The Geralt of back then would have wanted a son to carry on his legacy as a witcher: fighting monsters, breaking curses, and eventually, working to bring back the former glory of Kaer Morhen. But that had been before he met Ciri; before the death of Vesemir and the subsequent fall of the Wolf School; before everything that had shaped him into the man he was now – and now, try as he might, he found he had no voice to answer.

Shaking his head, Geralt looked up at Dandelion again, drumming his fingers against his tankard in thought. "Dunno," he finally answered. "Seems pointless to hope for something you can't control. Long as it's healthy, that's all I care about." Pausing then, he considered, before looking down pensively into his flagon again. "Yen thinks it's gonna be a boy, though," he added. "And Yen's always right. So… I guess a boy. Might as well want what I'm gonna have. No problem with it being a boy."

Dandelion sat back at the surprising answer, giving a soft, bewildered huff of a laugh. "Come now, Geralt!" he said, holding out a hand. "Isn't having a boy a good thing? A strapping lad who looks just like his father, and can follow in his footsteps as a witcher?"

Geralt shook his head again. "All that was lost a long time ago," he said. "No way to make more witchers now. Even if we wanted to."

"In the usual way, yes," Dandelion agreed, folding his hands in front of him. "But what if he's born with the mutations already? Couldn't you just teach him the rest?"

Geralt's brow furrowed at the question. "Wouldn't want to," he answered, solemnly. "Doesn't matter what mutations he's born with. Wouldn't want that life for him. Want him to be able to choose his own path."

Dandelion sighed, realizing he was getting nowhere, before finally extending his hands in surrender. "Alright," he said, seeing he had plainly touched a nerve. "But he's bound to ask questions, Geralt. Especially if he's born with mutations. And you know as well as I do that he may very well be. He is your son, after all."

"Yeah," Geralt answered, sighing as he looked down into his flagon again. "Worry about that, too. Wish there was some way to know, or… reverse them. Make sure they don't develop." Letting out a short grunt, he stared down into his mug, gritting his teeth as his mouth twisted into a frustrated line at the thought; it was getting easier to see where Moreau had been coming from, though he hated to compare himself to the man in any way. Even now, he could not help wondering if his own desire to take away his son's mutations made him just as desperate and controlling as the doctor, though it took barely another moment for him to realize that the comparison held little weight. Moreau's son had been a fully-fledged witcher, content in his fate and resentful of his father for trying to change it, while Geralt's son was not even fully formed just yet, and he knew how easily the child could be hurt or killed if the wrong mutation tried to take hold before his little body could handle it.

Letting out another dark, unsettled grunt, Geralt took a long drink, wetting his lips. "No idea how I could even do that," he admitted, looking up at Dandelion again. "Short of something drastic. Don't think I'd go that far, though."

"Drastic?" Dandelion asked, leaning forward a bit.

Geralt made a face, already regretting having brought it up. "Nothing," he said, shaking his head again. "Either way, the less the kid turns out like me, the better. For everyone. Especially him and Shani. Wouldn't want to put them through that."

Dandelion frowned at the bleak observation. "Jeez," he said, making a face at the news. "That seems a little harsh, don't you think? Not exactly the sentiment I'd expect from a jubilant father-to-be."

Geralt shrugged, swirling his drink in his mug. "How I feel," he said. "You asked."

"Still, it seems pretty dire," Dandelion answered, tilting his feathered head. "Kinda sounds like you'd be happiest if the baby wasn't born at all. If you really feel that way, maybe you should tell Shani. Have her open her clinic somewhere else, spare her the hurt."

"That's… not what I meant," Geralt frowned, screwing up his face at the observation.

"So you do want the baby, then?" Dandelion asked, folding his hands on the table again.

Geralt sighed at the prying questions, wishing he had never agreed to this outing – he always seemed to get into things much deeper than intended whenever he went taverning with Dandelion, and try as he might to keep his secrets intact, the bard always found ways of drawing his most intimate feelings out of him. "'Course I do," he answered, holding a frustrated hand out across the table. "Just… scared for the kid, that's all. Worry how he's gonna turn out, if he's anything like me." Picking up his beer again, he took a deep swig, before setting it down again, letting out a long, low sigh. "No precedent for something like this," he said, shaking his head again with a frown. "Never been a witcher-blooded child before. Anything could happen to him because of me. Because of my fucked-up genes."

"And you're absolutely certain he's yours?" Dandelion asked, his brows furrowing in a solemn expression.

Geralt nodded firmly. "Has to be," he answered. "Shani said so. Know better than to question Shani." Taking another swig of beer, he felt himself waver a bit in his seat, and he pressed his free hand to the table, offering a counterweight to keep himself balanced. Then, setting set the flagon down again, he shook his head to clear it, before taking in another deep breath, resting his elbow on the table and staring pensively into the depths of his stein. "She knows when she started seeing… signs, I guess," he said, pushing a loose swath of hair from his face. "I'm the only one she was with in that time. Not the type to lie, Dandelion. Always been honest with me."

"I believe you, no need to get defensive," Dandelion returned, holding his hands up in apology. "I meant no harm, believe me. I'm just as baffled by this whole thing as anyone would be." Laying his hands on the table again, he pursed his lips, considering Geralt for a moment, seeming to realize that his friend was having a bit more difficulty staying upright than before. "Now… Shani," he continued after a moment, causing Geralt to look up again, wary of the topic. "I have to know, and I feel like now is the time to ask. How do you feel about her being the one to have your kid? What with your… interesting history, there have to be at least a few feelings on the topic."

Geralt frowned, narrowing his eyes at the question. "Why're you always asking about Shani?" he insisted. "Years back, in Vizima, you tried to get me to talk about her, too. Don't you have a fiancée to worry about?"

"I do have a fiancée," Dandelion answered, seeming unconcerned at having his question turned against him. "This is just friendly curiosity. Nothing more. Shani was my friend before she was yours, remember." He shrugged, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, seeming to be bursting at the seams to add more to his prying questions. "I'm just amazed you managed to find her again after all this time, that's all," he added, seeming unable to stop himself. "It has been years, Geralt. The last time you saw Shani was… what, seven years ago? Eight? Ciri was just a girl."

"So was Shani," Geralt returned, bleakly, looking down into his half-empty flagon again. "But she's a woman now – doctor, field medic, collegiate… you know how hard it is to get into Oxenfurt, Dandelion?"

"I do," Dandelion answered, nodding proudly with a smile. "I studied there for four years, as you know."

"Must've forgotten," Geralt returned, taking another swig of beer. "Amnesia. Y'know. Still can't place a few things."

"Convenient," Dandelion sniffed, unclear if he was truly offended or not. "Well in that case, yes. I studied at Oxenfurt. Technically I'm still qualified to lecture there."

"Professor Dandelion," Geralt smirked, giving a gruff chuckle at the name. "Thankfully the girls there are too smart to fall for your tricks. They're college-educated, you know." Bringing his tankard to his lips again, he knocked back a few more hearty gulps, before setting the mug down in front of him again and wiping at his beard with his sleeve. Then, pausing a moment, he frowned, lost in thought, before looking up at Dandelion again, drumming his fingers against the curve of his mug as he considered what to say next. "Shani is so smart," he commented after a while, seeming half-wistful, half oddly concerned as the observation left his lips. "But me… I was a pig back then. I took and took, and only thought about myself. I was… awful, Dandelion. Hurt good people. All because the only thing I could think about was… getting my dick wet one more time."

"Oh, come on, Geralt," Dandelion answered, his tone surprisingly soft in return. "You were different back then. We all were. That's the point of life, to learn and grow."

"Hm," Geralt grunted, his expression twisting in a scowl. "I'm a hundred years old, Dandelion. Only so much learning and growing to do. Know what they say about… old dogs."

"So you're an old dog," Dandelion returned, waving a dismissive hand at the thought. "So what? You had no perspective back then. All you'd ever known was survival. It took learning from the people who care about you to make you into the man you are today." Pausing then, he tilted his head, considering Geralt for another moment. "And besides, you… didn't have a beard back then," he added, trying to lighten the mood. "You weren't the same person at all without your beard. Even you can attest to that."

Geralt grunted, nodding slowly, before reaching up a half-aware hand to run his fingers across his beard; he loved the sound it made, like kindling on a winter fire, a sound which usually meant Yennefer was running her fingers through it, or it was brushing up against the inside of her eager, wet thighs. "That's true," he said after a while, as if this argument made perfect sense. "Fucking ugly back then. Thankfully witchers age like fine wine."

"Which explains why so many of you turn to vinegar after a while," Dandelion answered, chuckling at his own joke. "But, back to my question – and don't dodge it again! I want a real answer this time."

Geralt sighed, before reaching for his beer again, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the flagon before responding. "Shani's… a great friend," he said after a moment, sounding only half-sure, even as the words left his lips. "She's smart, funny… can't imagine life without her. Would still want her around even if she wasn't having my kid. Enough to get her pregnant again, if that was the only way to do it. Or… pregnant for the first time… again. Or… want to. Does that… make any sense?" He paused, his silver brow furrowing, a flicker of concern and confusion crossing his face as he tried to process what he had just said. "…Wait," he said, holding up a hand. "That's… wrong. Not what I meant at all. Hold on."

Letting out a long sigh, Geralt ran a hand back through his hair, before picking up his flagon and bringing it to his lips for another swig. Then, setting the empty tankard down, he looked up, sliding it across the table towards Dandelion. "Out," he announced, pointing to the empty mug. "Buy me another so I can figure out what I'm trying to say."

"Are you sure more alcohol is the answer for that?" Dandelion asked, making a face as he accepted the mug. "You're pretty incoherent as it is, Geralt. A few more drinks and I won't be getting any answers tonight."

"Said you wanted honesty," Geralt answered, stifling a soft hiccup. "Never known a drunken man to lie better than a sober one. Even a drunken witcher."

"Fair enough," Dandelion conceded, picking up the empty flagon and holding it in the air, giving it a wave as he waited for the barmaid to come over and attend to them again. His countenance quickly lifted as he spotted the young lady coming over to their table this time; she was a curvy lass, with round apple cheeks and an hourglass figure, her ample bosom bubbling over the lip of her dress like froth on a heady beer. The bard smiled charmingly at the young barmaid, his gaze moving to subtly glance down the gape of her cleavage as she set down their fresh mug, and Geralt arched a brow at the bard's shamelessness, before nodding politely to the woman, picking up his drink and taking a swig as she sashayed away, feeling he had all but earned it.

Dandelion faltered as the barmaid walked away, seeming to have only now noticed the refill she brought over, before he pointed a reproachful finger across the table at Geralt, giving it a playful shake. "After this one you're buying your own refills," he told him, trying to keep a bewildered smirk from his face. "I've never known a man who could put back so many drinks and still come out standing. You witchers are something else."

"It's the training," Geralt answered, simply, swirling his drink in his mug. "Witcher potions… full of toxins. Wouldn't be much of a witcher if I died from alcohol poisoning after that." Taking another draught then, he let out a long breath, before setting his flagon on the table again, furrowing his brow as he tried to finally put what he felt into words. "Shani is… wonderful," he said after a moment, sounding much more confident in the statement as he spoke this time. "If I'd known she was pregnant before proposing to Yen… might've tried to do the right thing by her. Dunno. Would've depended on her, how she felt about it. Said herself we're better as friends, so… probably would've said no anyway." He frowned at the thought, his gaze lowering slowly after a moment to stare down at the table instead.

"Just… wish I could've known before I proposed to Yen," he said, his voice softer this time, regretful. "Before asking her to leave everything behind. Move out here with me. Not fair to ask her to abandon everything, then… drop this on her like this. If she left me because of it… wouldn't blame her. Put this on myself entirely. But…" He paused, taking in another breath, before turning his eyes to Dandelion again, his expression growing weary and sombre as the weight of his circumstances began to settle on him at last. "Don't think I could make it if she left me," he admitted, shaking his head slowly at the thought. "Feel like… my whole life's been leading up to this. Me and Yen, settled down, enjoying our life together. If she left me…"

Geralt trailed off again, his golden eyes straying, before he let out a sharp huff, his lips pursing in a discouraged frown. "Says she's worried we have nothing in common anymore," he said, his voice almost too low for Dandelion to hear. "Said that before she left last time, too. Said the only thing we had then was Ciri. Don't think that's true, but… dunno how to tell her otherwise. Dunno…" He faltered again, his expression twisting, his frown deepening at his lack of solutions. "Said… she was worried it'd happen again," he added. "That… once Shani left, we'd fall apart again. Don't want that for us, Dandelion. Don't think I could take it. Just… wish I could prove to Yen I care about her."

Dandelion hummed, his brow furrowing in thought, causing Geralt to look up at him again, unsure what to expect. "Well, that's a start," Dandelion offered, leaning his elbows on the table. "What have you tried so far to prove to Yennefer you care about her?"

Geralt faltered, seeming surprised by the question. "Sex," he answered after a moment. "Lots… of sex."

Dandelion smiled, straining through an expression that looked as if he had been made to eat glass. "Sex is… good," he said after a moment, speaking slowly. "But what have you tried to be romantic for her?"

Geralt frowned, seeming confused. "Thought sex was romantic," he admitted, honestly.

Dandelion sighed, pinching his weary forehead. "When you proposed to her, what did you do then?" he asked, trying hard not to sound as frustrated as he felt. "What grand gesture did you do then that made her say yes?" He looked up again, expectantly, only to quickly hold up a hand again as he saw the look on Geralt's face. "Nevermind," he countered, shaking his head before the witcher could answer. "Listen, Geralt. You have to do something romantic for her from time to time. She's your wife, for Melitele's sake. Don't you know what makes her happy?"

"Thought I did," Geralt answered, picking up his flagon again with a frown. "Thought having a baby around to get ready for would do it. But… think it just made her more upset."

"You thought having a woman you impregnated around your infertile wife would make her happy?" Dandelion asked, incredulous.

Geralt faltered, before taking another drink to fill the uncomfortable pause. "Don't have to say it like that," he argued after a moment, setting his mug back down again.

"How else am I supposed to say it?" Dandelion returned, folding his hands in front of him again. "Please, enlighten me."

"Don't have to say it at all," Geralt answered, annoyed. "Know I fucked up. Don't have to rub it in." Letting out a long sigh, he rested his arm on the table, shaking his head as he ran his thumb along the side of his flagon. "Don't want her to leave me," he said after a moment. "Don't think I could take it if she did. Just wish I knew how to tell her that. Wish…" He paused, his lips thinning in thought, his free hand curling pensively against the tabletop; speech had never been his strongest suit, but now that he was drunk enough to try, the words refused to come.

"Spent so many years without her," Geralt finally said, his voice growing quieter as he continued. "After I lost my memory. Spent so long… looking for something. Thought… maybe I could fool myself, if I slept with enough other women. Maybe make myself stop missing whatever… piece, my heart kept looking for." He stopped again, his frown deepening at the thought, unsure if his rambling was making any sense, but Dandelion seemed to be paying attention to him, so he figured at least something in what he was saying was worth listening to. "Even when I couldn't remember her face, or her name, there was this… emptiness," he continued after a moment. "Then she came back, and suddenly… my heart was full again. Yen's my everything, and… I've been treating her so badly."

He paused again, letting out another breath, before his second hand moved to join the first around his flagon. "If she left me now… wouldn't blame her," he admitted. "Wouldn't want her to, but… wouldn't fault her for it. Go after her, of course, at first… see if I could win her back again. If not… probably just give up on marriage. Throw myself into my work. Anything to distract myself. Maybe become a town drunk. Already own a vineyard, wouldn't be too hard from there." Letting himself lapse once more into silence, he lowered his gaze, feeling his heart ache at the thought of a life without Yennefer, before he lay his left hand out on the table in front of him, staring down at the wedding-band glinting around his finger.

"She's my other half, Dandelion," he said, his voice soft but sure. "My better half. Meant to be together, even before the wish. After we broke the spell… nothing changed. Was never what was keeping us together." Lifting his hand then, he twisted the band around on his finger, waiting until the symbol of the broken cross faced upward before letting out another soft sigh. The design of his and Yennefer's bands had been her idea, a reference meant only for the two of them: matching bands, emblazoned with a broken cross and pattern of nine stars, the symbol the mage Geoffrey Monck had once used to seal away powerful djinns. It had been the symbol on the seal that had held the djinn that led to his and Yennefer's first meeting, and the symbol on the seal that had conjured the djinn on Skellige that had ultimately broken the first's years-long spell.

"Don't believe in fate, or destiny," Geralt continued after a pause, letting his hand finally fall back to his flagon again. "But… know I love Yen. Do believe that. Always have. Always will."

For a long time, Dandelion said nothing, only staring at his friend across the table. Then, "Can I tell you something?" he asked, breaking the silence. "No offense, Geralt, but… why don't you just tell her all that?"

Geralt scoffed at the suggestion, shaking his head. "Can't tell her that," he answered. "She'd think I'd gone crazy. Not exactly the emotional type, Dandelion."

"Whether you're the 'emotional type' or not makes no difference," Dandelion returned, exasperated. "You're saying your wife is unhappy, yet you won't even let yourself be vulnerable to make her stay. That sounds crazier to me than letting Yen see you have a heart, gods forbid." Letting out a futile sigh then, he held up his hands again, frustrated, before letting them fall back to the table again, realizing it was not worth arguing about. "I gave you my advice," he told the witcher. "That's all I can do. Now I want to ask something else, because I'm curious. If you could have kids with Yen, would you want that?"

"Of course," Geralt answered, sitting up straighter, not giving the question a moment's thought. "Do anything to have kids with Yen. If I could give her kids, we'd be fucking day and night until it happened." He paused, considering, before a wry grin began to slither across his face at the thought. "Well," he added, giving a gruff laugh. "More than we already do, at least. Which is definitely more than most. No kids still, but… not for lack of trying."

Dandelion snorted, pulling his own drink in and taking a swig before commenting. "A man bragging about having sex with his wife?" he asked. "That's not one you hear every day."

"Most men's wives aren't Yen," Geralt answered, bringing his flagon to his lips for another drink. He could feel his chest filling with warmth as he spoke, though whether it was from the conversation or the alcohol was growing increasingly harder to tell, and he allowed a moment for his draught to settle before he set his mug down again, ready to go on. "I'd want two," he announced, his usually colourless face lighting up as he continued. "Twins. Boy and a girl. One for me, and one for her." Picking up his flagon again, he hesitated, his brow furrowing for a moment in thought, his drink hovering just below his lips, as if unsure whether he wanted to say something or take another drink first. "Two for her, probably," he decided after a moment, before allowing himself to take another hearty swig.

He drank deeply from the flagon this time, not bothering to notice as a bit of beer escaped its depths, skating down his beard and into the open collar of his shirt to collect on the chain of his medallion. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, he stifled an unexpected burp, before letting out a hefty, satisfied sigh and staring down into his mug again, still caught up in the conversation about Yennefer and their twins. "Everyone likes her better," he admitted after a moment, seeming far more amused than annoyed or jealous. "Can't blame them. Kids, dogs… cats. Ever see a cat when a witcher come around?" Letting out a raspy chuckle at the thought, he peered into his flagon again, tilting it on its edge, watching as the last lees of beer trickled sadly across the bottom of the mug.

"Sure our kids would adore her and tolerate me," Geralt added, his voice growing softer as he continued, more wistful. "With my luck, we'd have two black-haired terrors who clung to their mother's side like ducklings. That'd be…" He stopped, trailing off, his last thoughts fading out as he stared into his stein, the lines of his smile starting to slowly disappear as the weight of his reality began to sink in. "…Wonderful," he finished at last, quietly. "But… shouldn't waste time thinking about it. Know it'll never happen. Yen can't have kids. I… we both… know that."

Dandelion frowned at the soft tone, his lips pursing faintly in thought. "You've thought about this a lot," he said after a moment, sounding almost sad at the observation.

"Hm," Geralt grunted, pushing his hair from his face again, seeming unsure what to do with his restless energy. "Love Yen. Want her to be happy. Never really liked kids before Ciri, but…" He stopped, taking in another deep breath, before his brow furrowed over his golden eyes, and he stared at a spot on the table, as if trying to read something beyond the polished wood. "That sense of… pride," he said after a moment, looking up at Dandelion again, as if hoping he could relate. "Of… joy, seeing that little face beaming up at you. Nothing like it, Dandelion. And I guess, seeing how happy Ciri made Yen, I just…" He faltered, going quiet again, before folding his hands around his flagon as he dropped his gaze to the table once more.

"That changed something, too," he admitted, his voice almost a quiet sigh. "Want her to be happy like that again. Wish… I knew how to make it happen for her." He paused at the thought, pondering it for a moment, before his hands clenched tighter around his flagon as he prepared to go on. "Which… I guess makes no sense," he added, tilting his head at the thought. "Because… if Yen and I had kids, they'd run the same risk. Magic and witcher blood… sure to turn out bad. But that never crosses my mind when I think about them. Only ever good things." His face twisted at the reality, seeming almost pained to consider it, as if confronting the truth about his daydreams made him physically uncomfortable.

"All I can think about with Shani's kid," he admitted after another moment, shaking his head again with a huff. "Love her kid. Excited for it to come. Just… dunno why the thought of it always fills me with such… dread."

"Because it's real," Dandelion suggested, making Geralt look up again quickly at the answer. "Yennefer's children are hypothetical. There's a big difference between imagining kids and actually having to care for one."

Geralt grunted, still unsure, before dropping his head into his hand, letting out another weary breath. "Didn't mean to drag Shani into all this," he mumbled, shaking his head at the thought. "Just a moment of weakness. Nostalgia, for both of us. Comfort, for comfort's sake." He huffed again, letting his hand fall back to the table, staring down at his flagon again as he thinned his lips. "Both of us missing something we couldn't have," he added. "Had no idea I'd get her pregnant. How could I? And even if I'd known…" He stopped, his expression solemn, his gaze distant as he stared down at his flagon. "…Would've wanted it," he admitted after a moment, quieter this time. "Would've wanted a kid with her. Even if she wouldn't let me help raise it. Up to her, of course. Hope I can, but if not…"

He paused again, falling silent once more, staring at his flagon, as if hoping to find the answers written there. Then, setting his hand over the mouth of the mug, he tilted it thoughtfully onto its edge, feeling the weight of the liquid pooling pensively against the side. Life was so unpredictable, he thought, yet one truth always seemed to hold: every action had a consequence, and nothing in life could be counted on to turn out the way he hoped. "Shani… deserves better than me," he admitted after a moment. "So does her kid. But… I love them, Dandelion. Wanna be part of her child's life. Hope she says yes, but if not…" He faltered again, thinking it over, his gaze growing solemn as he stared at the flagon, seeming to be seeing something beyond it as he took another deep breath, preparing to go on.

"…Be willing to let them both go," he decided, quietly. "'Cause… that's what they deserve. The life Shani chooses, for her and our kid. And even if she does leave, 'least I'd know… somewhere out there, my kid is loved. That's all I really want for him, whether it includes me or not."

Dandelion listened as Geralt finished, his expression soft as he watched his friend speak. "Wow," he finally said after a moment, causing the witcher to look up again, unsure what to expect. "Did you hear yourself just then, Geralt? Everything you said, about Shani and the baby?"

"Yeah," Geralt answered, moving his hand from his flagon again. "I'm selfish, Dandelion. Always been selfish."

"No," Dandelion countered, holding up his hands and shaking his head. "You're not. You've really grown. The Geralt I knew ten years ago? He would never have said any of the things you just did. He would've been completely lost in a situation like this. You know that as well as I do." Geralt paused at the thought, his gaze straying again, his expression growing pensive as he considered if Dandelion might be right. "That Geralt would probably have tried to run as far away as possible from something like this," Dandelion continued, drawing Geralt's attention back again. "Used his work as an excuse, then disappeared completely from the life of a woman he accidentally impregnated during a one-night-stand."

"You mean like you?" Geralt asked, a knowing smirk curling the corners of his lips.

Dandelion paused, before giving a short, uncomfortable laugh, dropping his cheek sheepishly into his hand at the reminder. "Ah," he said. "Well, I was young then, you know. And if it hadn't been for you, that woman's brothers would have skinned me alive. But! I've seen the errors of my ways the last few years, and I've made up for all of that now, to… some extent." Sitting up in his chair again, he puffed out his chest, pleased with his personal growth. "I've reached a different point in my life, Geralt," he informed the witcher, proudly. "I'm not the same man I was when we first met. Took me a bit of time to man up, of course, but… I'm actively working to fix things going forward. I am almost forty, after all, and—"

"Almost?" Geralt asked, his incredulous smirk widening.

Dandelion huffed, leaning in across the table. "Alright, I am forty," he hissed. "Keep your voice down, would you? I have a reputation to uphold."

Geralt grinned wider, before finishing his drink, sliding his empty mug across the table to the bard again. "Buy me another and I'll take it to my grave," he said.

Dandelion scoffed, but picked up the flagon regardless, holding it in the air for the barmaid to refill. "You're a terrible friend," he informed the witcher. "But! Either way, I realized it was time for me to grow up. I send the child's mother money every month now to help pay his expenses. He's turning into quite the little musician himself, from what I've read in her letters."

"And how is Priscilla taking the news?" Geralt asked, watching as the barmaid approached again, taking the empty mug from the bard and replacing it with a new, fresh flagon of beer.

"Surprisingly well, actually," Dandelion answered, pausing momentarily to admire the barmaid's retreating backside. "Except, it's not that surprising at all. Priscilla is wonderful, Geralt. When she found out I had a son, she had me invite him and his mother to spend a few nights at our place." Turning to face the witcher again, he slid the new drink across to him, before folding his hands and taking a deep breath, his smile softening at the thought of Priscilla. "She's so supportive," he added, lifting his head contentedly at the thought. "She really wants me to get to know the boy. Says bonding with him will be good practice for when we start to have children of our own."

"Hm," Geralt answered, taking a sip of beer. "Never took you for the accountable type, Dandelion. Like this new, responsible side of you. Guess Priscilla was right about you after all."

Dandelion laughed at the compliment, a faint blush tinting his boyish cheeks. "Yes, well," he said. "We can all change, after all. Even you, Geralt. Ciri really changed you. You're different now, but in a good way."

Geralt grunted at the vote of confidence. "Dunno how much I believe that," he answered, picking up his flagon for another swig. "Kinda feels like—" But before he could finish, he felt his medallion give a sharp tremor against his chest, and he sat up straight, setting down his tankard and looking around the tavern, on high alert. He swore at himself for letting his guard down, for allowing himself to get comfortable – comfort was not meant for witchers, he knew, and especially not for him, and he shook his head, trying his hardest to clear it, before a sudden flash of emerald green caught his eye. It lingered for a moment in his line of sight, just long enough for him to know he had not imagined it, before it disappeared again into the tavern crowd, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.

Geralt felt his heart race as he looked around the bar, trying in vain to find some other trace of the familiar coat – until he suddenly saw the tavern door swing partially open, letting out something too small to be a regular patron before closing again, just as quickly. "Fuck," he hissed, feeling his blood run cold at the thought that he had allowed himself to lose focus. Then, reaching across the table to Dandelion, he grabbed his arm, causing the bard to look up in surprise. "Have to go," he announced, all but hissing the command. "Something's not right. Have to get out of here, now."

"But—Geralt," Dandelion answered, seeming a bit frightened by the change of tone. "What's going on? You have to tell me. I don't like it when you do this, you scare the life out of me."

"Can't talk here," Geralt insisted, glancing again towards the tavern door. "Just trust me. Think I know what's going on, but need to see something first." Letting go of Dandelion then, he pushed himself up from his chair, only to stumble as his legs buckled uselessly beneath him, unable to support him as he tried to get to his feet. He swore at the setback, managing to catch himself on the edge of the table before he fell, and he heaved himself tremulously upward again, gripping the back of the chair this time to hold himself steady. "Fuck," he breathed, reaching out a hand for the bard again. "Help—help me up, Dandelion. We have to go."

"You know, you could just say you don't enjoy my company," Dandelion teased, trying his hardest to make light of what was quickly becoming a nervewracking situation. Pulling a handful of gold from his pocket, he tossed it onto the table, before getting to his feet and making his way around to Geralt, grabbing the witcher's arm and sliding it across the back of his neck. "You know," he puffed, heaving his friend's weight onto his shoulders. "It never occurred to me how heavy you are. Guess you're eating well up there at Corvo Bianco after all, huh?"

"Don't you call me fat, too," Geralt grunted, leaning heavily on the bard. "Get enough of that from everyone else."

Dandelion said nothing, only hoisting Geralt to his feet again, before starting to head with him for the door of the bar, doing his best to avoid bumping into other patrons along the way. As soon as they reached the door, Geralt pulled his arm away from Dandelion's shoulders, before stumbling forward and pushing it open, allowing himself out into the cool night air. The road and stars swam together as a single darkened blur as Geralt staggered his way across the tavern courtyard, finally catching his balance on a nearby fence as he looked up and down the street, trying to decide which way the girl had gone.

There was no one around at this time of night except the beggar still sitting by the tavern entrance, Geralt realized, and he gritted his teeth, cursing himself for being too slow to catch the girl on her way out the door. "Hey!" he barked, turning back to the beggar, causing the man to look up in surprise at being addressed. Dandelion, too, had by now made his way out to the street, and he also looked up, seeming a bit mortified by his friend's loud, slurring tone. "Did you see a little girl go by here?" Geralt insisted, pointing first to the tavern door, and then to the road leading into town. "Would've been about—six years old. Came out of the tavern, would've run right past here."

"Not unless you mean the one in the little green hood, sir," the beggar answered, seeming eager to help. "Quick little thing, she was. Didn't even have time to stop and talk."

"That's her," Geralt confirmed, nodding over to Dandelion, before waving a hand, indicating for him to follow. "Come on, Dandelion! We gotta go after her!"

"Geralt, stop!" Dandelion insisted, reaching out to grab the witcher's arm, and Geralt staggered as he was pulled back again, reaching once more for the fence to steady his feet. "You're running after a little girl? Do you know how insane you sound?"

"She knows something, Dandelion!" Geralt pressed, pointing after the girl and swaying. "I know she does! Always comes around right before something bad happens— every time!"

"What in the world are you talking about?" Dandelion hissed, his voice pitching up in disbelief. "She's probably just somebody's messenger! You already scared her off, just leave her alone!"

"No," Geralt insisted, shaking his head. "Not just a messenger. Too much c—coincidence. Brought me all those weird contracts that led back to the Man of Glass—"

"The who?" Dandelion asked, making a face.

"Man of Glass," Geralt repeated, lowering his voice to a grim slur. "Gaunter O'Dimm. Found him again. Or— he found me. He found me, Dandelion. Ciri got a tip, led me straight to him. But… he wanted me to find him. Set me up so I couldn't say no, to… to finding him." Dandelion frowned, looking the world like he was trying to understand, and Geralt shook his head again, squeezing his eyes shut, huffing a breath as he tried to clear his mind enough to elaborate. "He—makes… deals," he tried again. "Like… a demon. Makes things happen. Tried to make a deal with me, but I turned him down. So he put a curse on me and Shani. Told me he'd use his powers, to…" He stopped again, letting out a heavy sigh, pressing the heel of his palm into his temple as he stumbled over the words to explain.

"Used his powers to… grant magic-users the ability to have children," he said, picking his words carefully. "But only if someone killed Shani's baby first. Before it's born. While it's still inside her."

"Good gods, Geralt," Dandelion swore, sucking in a startled breath and checking over his shoulder to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation. "Why didn't you mention this before? It seems like an important detail to leave out, don't you think? Hey, Dandelion, thanks for coming to visit – some demon is trying to kill our pregnant friend!" He huffed, exasperated, tucking his arms against his chest as he tried in vain to think of what to do. "It sure didn't seem like Yennefer and Shani had any idea about it either," he added.

"They don't," Geralt answered, letting his hand fall back to his side again. "Tried to tell them, but… didn't wanna listen. Felt like I was going crazy, might've dreamed the whole thing up. But if the girl is real…"

"Well, I don't know anything about this girl," Dandelion said, his frown deepening at the situation. "But if this… eugh, demon, is real, are you sure you understood him correctly? Are you certain he wasn't just bluffing, trying to put you off your guard?"

"O'Dimm doesn't bluff," Geralt insisted, opening his eyes again, his expression deathly solemn. "Haven't seen any mages around Corvo Bianco yet, but that doesn't mean they don't already know. Shani's in danger. All because I refused to make a deal with the devil."

Dandelion paused, his brow furrowing in thought. "Wait," he said, holding up a hand. "You refused? How can he do anything if you refused?"

Geralt blinked, taken aback by the question, having not considered it before. "…Dunno," he answered after a moment, shaking his head at the thought. "Didn't think about it, but… you're right, Dandelion. Shouldn't've been able to. Shouldn't have any power unless I agreed to it."

"And did you agree to it?" Dandelion asked.

Geralt shook his head again. "'Course not," he spat. "Wouldn't make a deal with him. Not after what I've seen him do. Said I wouldn't walk away in exchange for a reward, so instead he cast this curse, and…" He stopped, trailing off, and Dandelion leaned in closer, waiting anxiously for him to continue. "…Agreed to his terms to prevent it," Geralt said, his brow furrowing deeper as he remembered. "But that… can't be right. Knew I wouldn't let him put Shani in danger. Agreed to do three tasks to undo his curse, but…"

"So you did agree to something," Dandelion pointed out, raising a finger. "Is it possible you unknowingly agreed to his curse by agreeing to take steps to undo it?"

"I…" Geralt faltered again, his mouth twisting into a troubled frown. "Don't… know. Drew up a contract, but he didn't…" He fell silent, struggling to think, staring intently at the cobbled path as he gripped the cool wood of the fence against his calloused palms. "Didn't mark me," he said after a moment, still seeming to have trouble justifying his memory. "Didn't… break the spoon. Used my blood to sign something, but… that can't be right. Can't be two ways to do it. …Can there?"

Dandelion shrugged, propping his hands on his hips. "I don't know about right," he answered, thoughtfully. "But it's not fair contract etiquette, definitely. He can't expect you to follow rules of contract he doesn't adhere to, himself." Pursing his lips then, he lifted a hand, shaking a ringed finger at the witcher. "You should bring it up to him next time," he told him. "Challenge him on it. See if he can defend himself!"

Geralt scoffed at the suggestion. "He doesn't care about contract etiquette," he spat. "Besides, wouldn't know where to find him. Always found me, last time I dealt with him."

"Well, where can you look, then?" Dandelion contended, folding his arms at the question. "Think back, Geralt. There has to be some clue as to where he'd turn up."

Geralt paused at the thought, considering, before looking up quickly, as if expecting to see the demon standing in front of him. "…He's here," he answered, feeling his stomach clench at the realization.

"What?" Dandelion insisted. "Here? Now? How do you know?"

"Just know," Geralt answered, shortly. "Told me, Dandelion. Said he can make himself unrecognizable. Last time, he was always there, wherever I was, blending into the crowd somehow." He lifted his head at the thought, feeling his heart start to beat faster at the idea of O'Dimm watching them. "Gotta be here now," he insisted, clenching his teeth at the feeling of sinister eyes in the dark. "Can feel him, Dandelion. He's here, somewhere. Just… don't know where."

"Geralt," Dandelion sighed, pressing a weary hand to his hat. "You've had quite a lot to drink tonight. Which is partly my fault, I admit, but—"

"He's here," Geralt insisted, turning his golden eyes sternly to the bard. "And now he knows I told you about the curse on Shani."

Dandelion frowned, making a face at the news. "And?" he asked. "What difference does that make? You tell me everything. Or at least, you used to."

"Means now you know," Geralt answered, curtly. "So I've put you in danger, too. If he thinks you'll try to get in the way of things…" He stopped, staring intently at the ground, before finally pushing himself away from the fence, wavering a moment as he tried to catch his balance, before starting to head towards the horses still tied outside the tavern. "We gotta go," he insisted, stumbling over his boots once before quickly righting himself again. "Gotta get home. Make sure Shani and Yen are okay. Should never have left them—they have no idea what's coming."

"Geralt wait!" Dandelion called, nearly tripping over himself as he followed anxiously behind the witcher. "Are you sure you're okay to ride? Roach is a smart horse, but there's only so much she can control." He frowned as he tugged on Pegasus' reigns, fumbling as he started trying to untie him from the post. "She can't keep her rider steady all by herself," he added, worriedly. "If you fall off, you could hurt yourself, or both of you. I'm not sure this is a good idea."

Geralt huffed at the bard's concern, gripping Roach's saddle and squinting as he tried to get her stirrup into focus. "Act like I've never ridden drunk before," he slurred, holding the saddle as he gave another waver on his feet. Roach blustered as she felt her saddle tug, tossing her mane and glancing back towards her rider, but Geralt only petted a heavy hand across her neck, causing her to lay her ears flat, well-trained but annoyed.

"Have you?" Dandelion challenged, looking between the horse and her sloppy rider. "This drunk? Geralt, you can barely stand. You'll be lucky if you don't pitch off the minute Roach starts moving." Letting out another worried huff, he turned back to Pegasus again, tightening the horse's saddle to prepare for the harrowing ride back to Corvo Bianco. "I don't know everything you've done, of course," he added, more to himself than the witcher, trying to use the sound of his own voice to soothe his frazzled nerves. "For all I know, this could be normal for you. I try to keep apprised, but you keep doing new things. Even in retirement! All I know is, I once knew a man who tried to ride after a long night's bender, and he went over like a sack of potatoes, horse and all, down the side of a c—"

He stopped, his story halfway finished, and Geralt quickly looked up, wondering where the rest had gone. "Down the side of what?" he asked, peering over Roach's saddle towards the bard. Dandelion said nothing, only standing with his back to the witcher, and it took Geralt a moment to realize he was not being ignored – in fact, it seemed as if Dandelion had become magically frozen in time somehow, his eyes fixed open, floral tunic stiff with a total absence of breath. Looking up at Pegasus, Geralt realized that he, too had become completely stationary, his sleepy eyes half-lidded, mane and tail still in the pull of the nighttime breeze. "…Shit," Geralt breathed, staggering back a few steps, holding out a hand to steady himself against Roach's shoulder – only to realize that Roach did not move as he touched her either, her ears frozen flat to her mane, eyes unblinking, staring straight ahead.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he stumbled back again, looking desperately around for any other sign of life, before he found his gaze drawn to the beggar sitting outside the bar, and he frowned, realizing there was something very off about the man. Unlike Dandelion and the horses, the beggar seemed to have no trouble moving just now, and Geralt watched as the man stood from his seat, before starting to approach across the silent courtyard. The beggar's hood was drawn as he walked, still holding his bowl imploringly out in front of him, and Geralt frowned as he glanced down into the bowl again, only to feel his heart plummet at what he saw.

How he had managed to miss the wooden spoon the first time was beyond him to guess, but now he could see it plain as day, sitting alongside the coins he and Dandelion had thrown in earlier that night. Realizing he had been figured out, the beggar pushed his hood back, before offering Geralt the most sinister grin he had ever seen in his life – and as soon as he did, Geralt immediately recognized him, the countenance grinning out at him coming quickly into focus, and he felt his stomach turn, knowing he could never be drunk enough not to recognize that smile.

"Greetings, Geralt," O'Dimm chuckled, darkly. "Leaving so soon? The night's still yet so young."

The sound of the sickeningly familiar voice sent a spike of ice through Geralt's veins, and he froze, recoiling, closing his eyes, as if hoping he could shut the sound out somehow. The fact that he had not managed to recognize the voice when the beggar had spoken the first time was a mystery, but he figured he had subconsciously blocked it out, not wanting to acknowledge the awful truth. He knew, realistically, that trying to ignore O'Dimm only ever made things worse – but this was not a conscious reaction; this was instinctive, visceral, childish in a way, an irrational hope that the demon might simply lose interest and go away if he refused to look at him. It was foolish, of course, and a terrible weakness to display, but whatever clear thinking Geralt might have once had had long been left behind at the tavern door.

Clinging to the nearest street-sign, Geralt dug his fingers into the wood, counting his breaths as he tried to salvage what semblance of composure he could manage. O'Dimm chuckled coldly at the sorry sight, amused by his plaything's pain, the sound thin, serpent-like, slithering like poison through the witcher's blunted senses. "Have to get back to the wife, is that it?" O'Dimm pressed, now seeming more eager than ever to torment his foe. "The old ball and chain? Or were you merely trying to leave quickly so you wouldn't have to say goodbye to an old friend?"

"We are not friends," Geralt growled, glaring up at the demon with bloodshot eyes.

O'Dimm hummed, clicking his tongue, giving a faint, mocking shake of his head as he took another few steps closer. "Pity," he cooed, venom dripping from the word. "Words do hurt, you know."

"So do swords," Geralt shot back, snarling. Gripping the sign harder, he drew himself upright, digging his fingers in as he tried to keep from wavering. "You tricked me, O'Dimm," he hissed, doing his best to keep his unsteady legs beneath him. "Deceived me into agreeing to something I'd already turned down. You broke—" A sharp hiccup cut his argument short, the sound causing O'Dimm's brows to shoot up in surprise, his already repulsively smug Cheshire cat grin stretching wider at the show of insobriety from the witcher. Geralt faltered at the interruption, blinking a few times as he tried to regain his composure, before he gave his head a sharp shake, returning to the last place he remembered. "Broke the rules," he repeated, starting over again. "So the pact is void. Curse on Shani's life is f… forfeit."

O'Dimm chuckled at the valiant effort, amused by Geralt's drunken attempts to undermine his contract. "I did no such thing," he returned, matter-of-factly, opening his palms in a gesture of innocence. "I merely proposed an alternative arrangement, to which you readily agreed. Whether you fully considered the consequences of that arrangement is not my fault." Folding his hands again, he paused, seeming to be considering something, before he leaned in closer, tilting his head to get a better look into Geralt's reddened face. Realizing what O'Dimm was looking at, Geralt turned his head sharply, avoiding the demon's gaze, but O'Dimm only leaned in closer, the sickening smirk on his thin lips curling wider as he did so.

"Do you always drink this much before confronting your problems?" O'Dimm drawled, the nauseatingly self-satisfied lilt in his voice making Geralt's stomach turn. "That can't be healthy, even for you, witcher. I'd invite you to walk and talk, but… I'm afraid you can barely stand."

Geralt flushed, looking down again, sliding his arm more securely around the sign. O'Dimm was right, of course – he had thought about walking away, but without Dandelion to help him, he doubted he would make it even a few steps before losing his footing and falling in the street. He cursed the bard for his dogged hospitality, as well as his own foolish eagerness to forget his worries, dulling a dilemma he did not want to face with drink after impulsive drink. He was hardly self-conscious about his drinking in general – alcohol was just another toxin in the witcher repertoire, as far as he was concerned – but the thought of O'Dimm having the upper hand and knowing it made him want to vomit, something not even vodka had inspired him to do before.

"Pact with you is void," Geralt growled, pushing past O'Dimm's insults. "Didn't understand the terms. Can't… uphold a contract, with only… one party… fully informed."

O'Dimm's wicked grin widened as he listened to Geralt fumble through his argument, each stumble and slurred word only seeming to entertain him more. "That's not how this works," he finally tutted, seeming satisfied the witcher had finished saying his piece. "You agreed to my terms, whether you meant to or not. That part is of little importance to me." Rubbing his half-gloved hands together, he took another step forward, cornering Geralt against the sign, his sickly smile now so wide on his face it threatened to tear his cheeks ear to ear. "Back out now," he added, menacingly, "and you immediately forfeit. Are you prepared to deal with that?"

Geralt faltered at the argument, his silver brow furrowing, feeling a sick heat bubbling up from his chest – his ears and cheeks burned, his stomach turning at the thought of a contract he could have avoided, should have avoided, but his head was swimming too strongly with liquor to allow any helpful thoughts to form on that front. This was wrong, he knew; unjust and unethical, against all rules of contract or play, but the path between his mouth and his brain was too jumbled to express any of that at the moment. Every thought was coming through only in garbled, confused slurs, churning out things that, even in his drunken state, he knew should not be said out loud.

"Can't do this right now," he finally decided, shaking his head. "Need time to think this over."

"Of course you do," O'Dimm returned, seeming perversely pleased with the answer.

Geralt looked up again, thinning his lips, doing his best to focus his swimming vision on the devil; he had suspected O'Dimm would not concede to contract etiquette, but that still did not take the sting out of being shot down at every desperate turn. Even so, Geralt realized there was no point in dwelling on things he had no way to change – he had no power right now, but with that realization came a sudden, desperate thought: perhaps, if he played his cards right, he might be able to use his shortcomings to his advantage. A game played with only one functional participant was hardly a game at all, after all, and if there was one thing O'Dimm enjoyed more than anything, it was playing games.

"Just wanna leave," Geralt pressed, wearily, allowing his speech to slur freely this time. "Let me go home. Sleep this off. No use to anyone like this."

O'Dimm gave a soft hum, folding his hands together, resting both index fingers against his chin as he considered the sorry sight. "I could undo my magic," he agreed, giving a slow, methodical bob of his head. Pausing then, he sucked his lips, his gaze unwavering in his unremarkable face, his eyes unblinking as he stared at the witcher, cold and black as winter coal. "Or…" he added, still speaking slowly, making no effort to hide the amused inflection in his voice. "I could keep the world like this, frozen, until you're ready to have our conversation. That might give you a chance to sober up a little… but I think you're rather more fun this way. Or at least, that's what they tell you… though you never quite remember enough to know if they're telling the truth."

Geralt's face burned at his words being turned against him, all thought of playing the pitied fool quickly leaving him, and he brushed his free hand back against his scabbards, wondering if he would have time to draw before O'Dimm could react. As piss-drunk as he was, he knew he could always manage to swing his sword with competence – he had been trained by Vesemir, after all, who had insisted he treat his weapon as an extension of his psyche, a sixth sense that never faltered or second-guessed, no matter what strain he was under. Rain, sleet, toxic shock, blood loss, blindness, drunkenness and sobriety, he had practiced them all in the courtyards of Kaer Morhen, and he felt his amulet weigh heavy against his heart as he stared O'Dimm down, daring him to make a move.

"What do you want with me?" Geralt snapped, his voice now dark, feeling his lip start to curl. "You using me? What do these tasks do for you?"

"For me?" O'Dimm asked, raising his brows in surprise. "They do nothing for me. You should really consider whose advice you take to heart, witcher. Jacques De Aldersberg has been dead for years. He might not be… the most reliable source." He tilted his head, smirking at the pun, watching as Geralt's expression twitched at the entendre. "Perhaps you should seek other opinions," he added. "Apart from those who once tried to kill you."

"Like you?" Geralt growled, wavering again against the sign-post.

O'Dimm shrugged, unfolding his hands to hold them out at his sides, nonchalant. "I've never tried to kill you personally," he answered, sounding now almost bored with the conversation. "And that's not why I came tonight, either. I simply came to let you know that your time is still running… just in case you somehow forgot. Or in case you thought time for some reason did not apply to you. While you wile away, carousing merriment with your old friend, Shani is all alone at Corvo Bianco, with only your house-cook and majordomo to protect her from whatever happens to come… lurking about."

Geralt frowned at the news, narrowing his eyes as he tried to remember who had been at the house when he had left with Dandelion. "Where is Yen?" he asked, looking up again, knowing well he had left Shani in the sorceress' care. "Yen would never leave Shani alone. Knows how dangerous it is for her to be there by herself."

"She used to," O'Dimm agreed, his malicious smirk widening. "Until you convinced her that the doctor needed her space. Do you not remember your last conversation before heading into town for Shani's bassinet?" He waited a moment, giving Geralt time to remember, before clearing his throat, resting a hand thoughtfully against his chest. "Shani's an adult, Yen," he repeated, mocking the sentiment back in Geralt's exact voice. "Probably be relieved to have some time to herself."

Geralt felt his nerves run cold at the sound of his own voice coming from the demon's mouth, the hair on the back of his neck prickling, shocking his brain into a slightly more sober state than moments before. He had no idea why this facet of O'Dimm's multitude of powers unnerved him so much – he had heard creatures imitate his voice, even fought a few dopplers who had copied his entire form – but he supposed he had not been expecting it this time, and that was what had caught him so off-guard. He had never heard O'Dimm imitate voices before, and while he supposed it was not so far-fetched considering his other powers, it still made him wonder what other voices he may have heard over time that did not belong to those he had thought them to.

"So what're you saying?" Geralt insisted, nearly spitting the question. "Yen just… went off, and left Shani alone?"

"Perhaps," O'Dimm answered, folding his hands again, looking unsettlingly pleased with himself. "Or perhaps Yennefer got called away. Urgent sorceress business, with… unfortunate timing." He chuckled again, lifting his head, his face growing awash in pale moonlight, but his dark eyes remained untouched as always, no less unsettling than ever before. "She would have no choice but to respond," he added, sounding entirely pleased with this fact. "She is still part of the Lodge, after all. And you wouldn't believe how busy their order is these days. So many things for them to do in their regrouping efforts… it's a miracle they find time for it all."

Geralt faltered, wondering for a moment if he was being lied to, and if so, by whom; he was inclined to believe his wife, but he found he could not shake the sense that O'Dimm was telling the truth. Yennefer had told him she was still part of the Lodge, but had framed her involvement as fringe, at most, giving no indication that she might still respond to their summons to confer over new developments. To him, she had only ever mentioned trading letters with Triss on the whereabouts of other members, so the thought that she was still involved in more intimate facets of the Lodge's interests was unsettling, at best. Still, if that were true, it did give insight into a few other matters of late – such as her lack of shared consciousness and mind-reading between them in the last few months, not wanting to risk him reaching back across their connection to see what she had been hiding.

Looking up at O'Dimm again, Geralt let out a dark huff, thinning his lips. "It was you," he insisted, in no mood to play games. "You caused whatever made them call Yen away. Lured her out of the house. Set Shani up to be vulnerable."

"Was it me?" O'Dimm asked, indicating himself with a smirk. "I thought I was here the whole time." He chuckled at the grim joke, passing a hand across his beggar's robes, which instantly shifted back into his normal attire, passing from one to the other like a chalkboard being wiped clean. "How I wish that were true, witcher," he added after a moment, holding up his spoon so the moonlight glinted off its curved head. "But alas, not this time. I've done nothing besides plant a seed of knowledge in the magic community vis-à-vis Shani's… situation. Everything else that befalls you, or her, after that is beyond my control."

"So you did tell them," Geralt snapped, clenching his teeth at the admission. "Then why has no one come around yet? You wait for me to get home to do it? Make sure I was there to see it? Never known you to play fair before." He paused at the thought, his brow furrowing deeper, his bleary eyes searching the cobbled street as he turned the situation over in his head. "No," he added, more to himself than O'Dimm. "Didn't wait for me. Just knew they'd never get to Shani through Yen. But now I'm home, Yen thinks it's okay to leave. Knows I'd be back soon to protect Shani in her absence."

"You did promise only two drinks," O'Dimm agreed, his wicked grin widening at the clearly broken word. "And Yennefer still thinks she can trust you. Poor Yennefer. Unfortunately, I've never known a drunken man to fight better than a sober one… even a drunken witcher." Tucking his spoon thoughtfully into his belt, he folded his hands again, resting his index fingers against his chin, taking another agonizingly deep breath as he scrutinized the witcher, considering how much more to tell him. "I do find your predicament… pitiable," he admitted after another moment. "So I'll give you a bit of help. Just don't expect it every time you slip up and stray from your given path."

"Don't want your help," Geralt growled, his lip twitching in a snarl. "Help from you is nothing but trouble. Nearly got me killed last time."

"The fact of my help does not hinge on your approval," O'Dimm answered, curtly, seeming unconcerned with Geralt's assessment. There was a strange stiffness to his answer this time, a slight shift that Geralt could not help but pick up on, though he could not imagine what it was that had caused the subtle change in the demon's demeanour. "Helping people is what I do," O'Dimm continued. "Argue that all you like, but it won't change the truth. People grow desperate, and seek quick solutions, and I am there to offer them exactly what they ask for." Opening his hands in front of him again, the devil spread them at his sides in a gesture of sincerity.

"I help people, Geralt… albeit not in the way you might expect," he explained. "I help them to achieve what they truly desire – or barring that, what they truly deserve."

"And what did Shani do to deserve this?" Geralt hissed, feeling his face burn at the malicious rhetoric.

"Shani? Oh, Shani did nothing," O'Dimm answered, frankly. "To think that this is still about her just shows you've no idea what's going on. Which I suppose is to be expected, as you've shown little initiative to look beyond your cosy walls for answers to anything else." Chuckling at the revelation, he steepled his hands, his demeanour quickly returning to the wry Cheshire grin of before. "Perhaps you should ask your friend Triss Merigold where tonight's disturbance came from," he suggested after another moment, causing Geralt to look up in surprise, having not expected Triss to come up in the conversation. "She might be able to tell you more. But that's all the help I can offer for now. Don't want to give too much away, after all. Godspeed, Geralt… and good luck."

A cold, nauseous shiver sent a prickle down Geralt's spine at these words, but he had no time to react before the demon was gone again, vanished from their plane as quickly as he had done before in the forest of Marchen. Geralt froze, staring at the spot in the street where mere seconds earlier a man had stood, before a sudden soft breeze brushed his hair across his neck, and an instant later Dandelion's voice picked up again, right where it had left off. "—A cliff heading home," Dandelion said, speaking as if he had never been interrupted. "Right onto the rocks. They didn't find him for a week, and only then because the vultures had gathered so heavily in the area. I suppose it was lucky it wasn't ghouls, but I don't know how adept they are at climbing—"

"Dandelion shut up," Geralt snapped, causing the bard to stop short, taken aback by the hostile tone. "What's—what's the recipe for Wives' Tears? D'you remember? Is it rebis, aether, quebrith, and White Gull?"

Dandelion blinked, seeming a bit hurt by the interruption, but even more confused by the strange question. "Wives' Tears, the potion?" he asked after a moment, steadying Pegasus' reigns as the gelding gave a toss of his head. "Are you breaking out your alchemy kit in the middle of the street now? I guess that's what people have to get used to, living with a witcher in their midst, but—"

"Dandelion," Geralt pressed, gritting his teeth.

"Alright, fine!" Dandelion exclaimed, holding up his hands. "Yes, that's the damn recipe. You're the witcher here, Geralt, you're supposed to remember these things." He scoffed, propping his hands irately on his hips, before turning away from his friend again, anxiously checking Pegasus' saddle-bags to make sure they were secure for a bumpy ride. "There has to be a better solution," he mused, shaking his head at the thought. "If you're right, and Shani's in trouble, then I don't think we have the time—" He stopped short as a new sound began to reach his ears, turning around in time to watch as Geralt shoved the ingredients directly into the carafe of White Gull, stoppering the flask with his thumb and starting to shake it, readying the mixture to drink. Dandelion yelped at the sight, rushing forward to grab at Geralt's arm to stop him, but Geralt only shook him off, bringing the flask stubbornly to his lips to drink.

"Wait—!" Dandelion exclaimed, gripping his arm in a desperate attempt to pull it away again. "Geralt, what—! You can't just—you have to brew that for at least an hour! It won't work if the Gull isn't a neutralized solvent!" He groaned, clutching his feathered hat, stamping his feet like a child desperate for a privy. "Geralt stop!" he pled, his tone frantic. "Those components are unrefined, you have to— boil them in a neutralized base to defuse them down to a safe toxicity—! Quebreth is basically just—powdered sulphur—! Aether has toxic psychotropic mushrooms in it— rebis is made from—mistletoe, it's poisonous—! Unprocessed White Gull is a hallucinogenic— GERALT!" Grabbing at Geralt's arm again, he made another attempt to stop him, but the witcher only shook him off again, continuing to down the bastardized potion.

"Geralt, please!" Dandelion begged him. "Listen to me! You have to brew it properly or it won't properly work!"

"We don't have time for that!" Geralt snapped, pulling the flask from his lips to catch his breath. "Used to do it this way all the time, Dandelion. It's fine. I know what I'm doing."

"You—" Dandelion huffed, his face growing steadily pinker with exasperation. "You used to eat raw monster mutagens, not whole potion recipes, Geralt—damnit! There's a big difference between—eating gross raw monster parts and—ingesting literal poison, don't you think?!"

"It's the same damn concept!" Geralt shot back, angrily. "You're just a bard, what do you know about potions?!"

"J—just a bard?!" Dandelion exclaimed, his voice cracking in indignation. "I studied your alchemy too, you dolt! Yennefer is always telling us we should learn the basics—probably in case you do something stupid like this! I know that's a wild concept for you, but—GERALT DON'T DRINK THAT, for Melitele's sake!"

Geralt gagged as he finished the potion, coughing as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, before he shoved the empty bottle back in his bag, turning to grab for Roach's saddle. Pulling himself unsteadily into the stirrups, he stopped as he settled atop his horse, swaying a moment as his body readjusted, before a sudden, sickening growl began to furl up from the pit of his stomach. He grimaced at the sensation, gritting his teeth and clutching a hand to his side, but before he could stop it, he gagged, and then heaved, feeling as a dribble of thick fluid bubbled over his lips and into his cupped hand. He made a face at the coppery taste, looking down at his palm to see what he had thrown up, only to realize it was not the potion his body had rejected, but black-red blood, dripping between his fingers into his horse's fur.

Geralt coughed at the sight, shaking his head to clear it, before wiping some of the blood from his ragged beard onto his sleeve, turning to look over at Dandelion again and jerking his head in the direction of Corvo Bianco. "Let's go!" he rasped, tasting as another pool of blood began to collect around the base of his tongue. He could feel it seeping between his teeth, and he spat, making an effort not to stare at the black spot in the road. Then, shaking his head again, he pulled on Roach's reigns, ignoring the look of horror on Dandelion's face at the gore dripping down his friend's scruffy chin.

"Come on!" Geralt pressed, pulling Roach around, before driving his heels into her flanks to spur her, feeling as the wind whipped icy across his face, streaking blood from his beard down his neck and across his shirt.

"Geralt wait!" Dandelion shouted, scrambling onto Pegasus and pulling the sleepy gelding around. Pegasus gave a sharp squeal as he felt the bard's heels digging into his sides, and he bucked a bit, before finally starting to run, fighting hard not to lose the witcher on the road back home.