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.]

13. Tansy

The ride back to Corvo Bianco was like something out of a nightmare.

The night loomed heavy like a cloak, the moonlight muddying the path ahead with pools of silver, flickering and wavering in Geralt's line of sight as he pushed Roach on towards the end of the road. He could feel the pale glow beating down on him like a spotlight, marking him for the vile things that crawled from the darkness – shapes, elongated and infernal, dripping with shadow as they pulled themselves free of the night. They grasped for the witcher and his horse, reaching out with arms that seemed to stretch on forever, slithering under fenceposts and over pebbles in the road as they clutched hungrily for Roach's pounding hooves.

Geralt dug his boots deeper into Roach's sides, earning a sharp whinny as she lowered her head, driving ever faster through the gathering night with snorts and wheezes of fear and strain. She could not see what he could see, he knew – she had no idea what dangers lay just ahead in the path. She trusted his instincts because she had to, because she had no other choice but to believe him. He was the witcher, and she was just his horse; he was the one who kept the monsters at bay. He was the one, now, who snapped her reigns, who growled a sharp giddyap in her ear, who pushed her on until her frightened hooves sprayed gravel, keeping her safe from the clutching darkness.

"Geralt!" Dandelion called out desperately from behind him, but his voice sounded distant, distorted and faint, and the witcher shook his head at the sound, clearing his mind of all distraction. He could not afford to be interrupted, not when he knew what lay in store for them at Corvo Bianco. Dandelion was blind— like Roach, like all of them. He had no idea what diabolical dangers lurked just ahead in the dark. He could not see what putrid black shapes crested over the road, their long fingers reaching out to grasp at the riders like a canopy of darkened trees. He could not hear their sinister voices on the breeze, cackling and crackling like a fire of green twigs, the sap still so young in their woody veins it made the flames keen and pop with agony.

The field of sunflowers they had passed on their way into town gave a dry, husky hiss as Geralt rode back past it, the hideous sound reverberating in his ears like the rattle of a giant centipede. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, even as he glimpsed a black shape emerging from its stalks— a shadowy spectre of a worm-like torso, writhing as it loomed above the flowers like a vengeful god. "Look out!" Geralt shouted, yanking his silver sword from its sheath, swiping it through the air and causing Roach to shriek as the metal whistled past her ear. "Ride faster, Dandelion! Don't give it a chance to target you! We have to get back to the house!"

"Let what target me?!" Dandelion shouted back, pushing Pegasus ever harder to catch up with Roach's flying hooves. "There's nothing there, Geralt! Gods, you're hallucinating! Slow down—please, for Melitele's sake!"

Geralt gritted his teeth at the answer, holding his sword out fiercely at his side as he rode; he was ready to fight, ready to strike out at any shadows that dared try to stop him. He could feel Roach's heart hammering through her chest, reverberating up his legs to fill his entire form, her pulse beating in time with his in his feverish ears, echoing like the hooves of the Wild Hunt in his head. Another shadow slithered to the side of the road as they careened past, opening wide its shapeless maw to expose its sickly, lanternfish teeth, and Geralt gave a mighty swipe at its amorphous head, sending a milk-bucket perched on the fence flying back towards Dandelion and Pegasus with the impact.

Dandelion yelped as the bucket sailed past him, crouching low to his saddle and clutching his hat, as if hoping it might help protect him from losing his head to another flying obstacle. Geralt did not even seem to notice, holding his sword aloft as he shouted for Roach to press on, her eyes wild with fear as she tossed her head, nearly tripping over her hooves as she galloped on faster. She was frightened, as he knew she would be, but her fear was nothing compared to what lay ahead at Corvo Bianco, and he squeezed his heels to her sides again, urging her to get them home before whatever awaited them had a chance to do its worst.

Roach had barely had time to slow before Geralt dismounted at the manor gate, and she tossed her head with a bluster and whinny as she peeled off into the darkness towards the stables. She was a smart horse, he knew, and she knew where she was going – but he had no time to concern himself with it either way, wiping his bloody mouth with the back of his wrist before starting for the lights of the manor. Dandelion skidded to a halt within the gate a few moments later, pulling back on Pegasus' reigns to slow him, and he stumbled as he dismounted his flustered gelding, his expensive shoes pounding a noisy pursuit of the witcher up the cobbled path.

Geralt held his sword at his side as he walked, his breathing ragged as he searched the grounds for signs of danger, until he lifted his head with a feral jolt as he noticed a second shape moving up the path towards the house. It was a slender shape, in a large, dark cloak, carrying a woven basket at its side, and the witcher crouched low as he closed in on his unsuspecting target, shaking his head once to clear the gathering darkness from his mind. The night ran thick with shadows, curling in his vision like a desolate fog, the once-twinkling stars all but swallowed up by a thousand red eyes that had taken their place. Geralt's footfalls were deathly silent as he trailed the figure in the cloak, until his hand darted out like a snake strike, grasping hold of the figure's thin arm and ripping her around to face him.

The figure gave a shriek as she felt someone grab her arm, before her eyes grew wide at the monstrous visage leering out at her; black-red blood dribbled from Geralt's mouth into his beard, his bloodshot cat-eyes glowing a ghastly yellow in his vampiric face. The woman screamed, falling to her knees, before turning her face away as the witcher raised his sword— only to be stopped short as his arm was pulled back behind him, with someone attempting to drag him bodily away from the terrified woman.

"Geralt!" Dandelion shouted, using both hands to hold back the witcher's arm. Geralt yanked back sharply against the restraint, but found he could do little with the bard hanging on so tightly. "Geralt, stop!" Dandelion insisted. "Calm down, would you?! That's—look at her, Geralt! It's only your gardener! It's only Lucja—don't you recognize her?!"

Geralt bared his teeth at the question, showing blood-blackened bone in a wolfish snarl, before he turned his attention to the figure in the cloak again, causing the terrified woman to whine as she felt his hand squeeze around her arm. "Who's here?" he insisted, giving her a short shake, causing her to swallow the sound with a gasp as she looked up at him again. "When did Yen leave? Who came afterward? You had to have been here then – TALK!"

"I don't know!" the gardener answered, desperately, her voice cracking as another pair of frightened tears skated down her cheeks. "I swear, master witcher – I didn't catch her name! She only said she was here from the Lodge—"

"The Lodge?" Geralt hissed, gripping her arm tighter, causing the woman to give another sob of fright. "What did she look like? What was she wearing? Did she have dark hair, or red?"

"D-dark hair!" Lucja sobbed, turning her face away from the nightmarish vision. "I didn't ask questions—I just sent her up to the house to wait! I don't know nothing about the Lodge, sir, I swear—" But she did not have time to finish before Geralt's head whipped up towards the house again, and she winced as he let go of her arm, letting out another whimper as red-black blood sprayed in droplets across the front of her dress.

"She's still here, Dandelion," Geralt growled, pulling his arm free at last from the bard's grip. Then, taking another swing at the darkness with his sword, he started once more on the path towards the house, not bothering to check if Dandelion was following behind him as he made his way towards the manor lights.

The garden path swam thick with shadow, bubbling and hissing in miasmic pools, the clicking of creatures best left to the void filling his ears as he pushed past the countless eyes staring out at him from the dark. He could feel something touching him as he walked, the chilling brush of inhuman fingers against his skin, and he sliced at the shadowy sensation, clearing the path towards Shani and the house. Dandelion huffed at the sight of the witcher still hallucinating, before he quickly bent down to check on the terrified gardener, offering a hand to help her to her feet and dusting her off, returning her upturned basket. The woman was stunned, but she seemed unhurt, and he offered her a wan, apologetic smile for her distress, before he quickly turned to start off after his friend again, knowing Geralt was in no condition to confront anyone, let alone a sorceress.

"Geralt, STOP!" Dandelion shouted, cupping his hands to project his voice. "Surely you can see this is madness—please! You're not in your right mind!" But Geralt heard nothing, and Dandelion could only watch in horror as the witcher approached the manor door, kicking the sturdy slat open with such force that the wood splintered in the shape of his heavy boot.

The door smashed open with a bang, crushing the wooden rack he usually hung his swords on against the wall, but Geralt ignored the damage as he made his way inside, his sharp eyes keen as he took in the scene awaiting his arrival. There was a visitor here, just as the gardener had said – a woman, likely a sorceress from the look of her – though not any sorceress he had ever seen before, nor one he recognized from his own dealings with the Lodge. The sorceress had been sitting at the front-room table before he entered, but had risen to her feet as the door slammed open, and she stared at him now with wide, pale-blue eyes, her hands rigid at her sides as she took in the monstrosity in the doorway.

She was a slender woman, with long dark hair, plaited in a circular crown atop her head; she wore a surprisingly austere dress, though the long sleeves had slid down her arms as she stood, revealing her pale shoulders and the tops of her breasts. The bangles on her thin wrists gave a high-pitched rattle as she moved, the sound reminding Geralt strongly of prison chains, and he felt his medallion give a hum as he stared at her, the sensation setting his teeth on edge. He began to take a step forward towards the sorceress, when he heard a sudden voice call out to him from across the room—"Geralt?"—and he stopped, his concentration momentarily broken as looked up to see who had addressed him.

He had not even noticed Shani in the room at first, but now he could see her plain as day, staring intently at him from her place by the fire, her hazel eyes wide at his wild appearance. "Geralt… are you alright?" Shani asked, her voice soft, making his heart beat faster with determination; whoever could think to hurt so gentle a soul was not someone who deserved to share a world with her.

Ignoring her question, Geralt turned his attention to the sorceress again instead, moving across the floor to her and lifting his sword from his side, bringing it up under her chin in one fluid motion. The sorceress gasped as she felt the cold tip of the witcher's blade brush against her skin, and she froze, her hands stilling at her sides, staring at the witcher as she waited for him to decide her fate. "You're no member of the Lodge," Geralt hissed, his sword held steady at the woman's throat. "Who are you, really? And don't lie. Got no qualms about killing liars."

The sorceress whimpered, lifting her chin to avoid contact with his blade. "Thea," she breathed, her voice thin with terror. "Thea Versade! Please, witcher… I mean you no harm! I only came because I wanted to ask—"

"Know why you came," Geralt growled, cutting her off. "Heard about the curse. Bounty on Shani's head. Came to kill her unborn child." The sound of something clattering from behind them nearly caught his attention, but he kept his gaze fixed on the sorceress, barely glimpsing as Shani took a step back, so startled by his words that her teapot had dropped from her hands to the floor. Thea trembled, not looking up at the sound, held in place by the witcher's sword, before she slowly began to raise her hands, lifting them to her sides in a sign of surrender.

"I heard a rumour," Thea explained, softly. "There was talk among magic-users about a witcher. They said you'd learned how to reverse the effects of magic-induced sterility." She swallowed nervously, glancing down at his blade, before looking up into his terrifying face once more. "I only came to ask how you did it," she said, her voice shaking with fear. "I had no intention of hurting your wife. I know nothing about a curse, or a bounty—"

"Not my wife," Geralt snapped, his hand tightening around the blade. "My wife is Yennefer of Vengerberg. Know that if you actually came to talk to me." Keeping his sword trained at the sorceress' throat, he took a step back towards the table, reaching down to pick up Shani's teacup and watching as Thea's eyes grew wide at the motion. He lifted the cup to his nose, before pulling back, making a face at the smell, his yellow eyes flashing as he looked up furiously at the sorceress again. "Pennyroyal," he hissed. "You put pennyroyal in Shani's tea."

"What? N-no," Thea insisted, stammering. "It's only mint, I swear—!"

"Know what mint smells like," Geralt shot back, gritting his teeth. "That's not mint. Trying to force a miscarriage with toxic herbs." From the corner of his eye, he could see a flash of plum satin moving around the table towards Shani, before the bright shape entered his line of sight, materializing into Dandelion wrapping a protective arm around the doctor's waist. Turning his gaze to the sorceress again, Geralt shoved the cup of tea towards her over the polished edge of his sword, his expression hard as he stared her down, daring her face to betray her knowledge of what was in the cup.

"Drink it," he told her, his voice cold as ice.

"…What?" Thea asked, her brow shooting up in surprise.

Geralt nodded towards the cup, pushing it towards her face again. "Drink it," he insisted, darkly. "If it's just mint, drink it." The sorceress stared up at him, eyes wide, seeming to be wondering when this gruesome mania would pass, but Geralt only clenched his teeth, the hand on the cup as steady as the one on his blade. "Go on," he pressed, his voice guttural, lip curling, his bloodied teeth and eyes making him look more ghoul than man. "Just mint. Harmless. Said so yourself. Drink. The. Tea."

"Geralt," Shani spoke again, more firmly this time – Geralt nearly faltered, but he kept his gaze fixed on the sorceress, not letting her out of his sight. He could hear a low hiss from the fireplace as Shani spoke, the sound of Dandelion urging her to please stay quiet, but it seemed the medic would not be deterred, and she pursed her lips, becoming at once the medical professional she had trained to be. She had worked on the frontlines of Redania for nearly a third of her life, Geralt remembered; she had seen men driven to desperation in war, seen the lengths humanity would go to to survive. She was not afraid of conflict or death, though he knew she had every right to fear both in this moment, and she squared her slim shoulders, steeling her brow, commanding the witcher's attention.

"Geralt, stop," Shani insisted, causing Geralt to look up in surprise this time. "Put down the sword. I can see you're not well. This doesn't have to end in violence."

"Not the one who brought violence here," Geralt growled, pushing the tip of his blade into the sorceress' throat. Thea whimpered, reaching out to take the teacup at last, before pulling it back towards her with shaking hands, swallowing hard and feeling the lump in her throat press against the sword at her neck. Geralt felt his lip twitch as he watched her look down into the cup, before she lifted her frightened face to his again, her pale eyes wide as she looked up into the gruesome features staring back at her across the blade. "Bitch knows why she's here," Geralt snarled, his voice low, his gaze intense as he glared back at the sorceress over his sword. "Knew magic or violence'd be too easy to trace. Figured herbs'd look natural. Thought she could get away with it."

"Please," Thea begged, softly, shaking her head. "I did no such thing, witcher. I only came to speak to you—"

"Drink the tea," Geralt commanded, gritting his teeth. "Got one way out of this. Then we'll talk."

Thea's lip trembled, and she took a deep breath, staring up into the witcher's haunting yellow eyes, her fingers pinching fearfully around the edge of her cup as she held it tightly, preparing to make her choice. He could hear a soft bubbling from somewhere as she stared at him, a hissing, as if from something boiling gently over a fire, but he kept his gaze fixed on her face, unblinking, watching as she lifted the cup to her lips. The steam from the liquid curled around her face, rising from the cup in a hot, hazy coil, and Geralt faltered at the sight, realizing too late that the cup had been cold when he had handed it over only moments earlier.

Geralt started to raise his sword, but he was not fast enough to stop the sorceress, and she turned the cup, splashing hot tea in his face, causing him to howl as he reached up to clutch at his burning skin. Taking advantage of his distraction, Thea reached out, forcing the witcher's blade to his side, and Geralt grabbed blindly for his attacker, feeling his fist catch in the material of her dress as they grappled. He dragged her in closer, preparing to gut her—only to find himself thrown violently back with a burst of her magic, colliding with the front-room table and causing it to break half with the impact. Geralt flinched as a shower of glass and porcelain rained down on him, throwing up his hands to protect his eyes, before he lay back against the splintered wood, giving another pained cough, feeling his beard run blackish-red with blood.

The air sizzled like fire around him, the candles melting in their broken holders across the floor, and he looked up with effort at the sorceress again, watching as she turned on him with a wild expression in her ghostly eyes. "You should have stayed in town, witcher," she hissed, making no effort to hide her intentions anymore – the room swam and flickered with heat mirage, the paintings curling and dripping in ghastly distortions down the walls. "This could have been so easy. I was trying to be merciful. But now you and your pregnant sow have given me no other choice."

Geralt gritted his teeth at the insult to Shani, bracing his elbows against the broken glass, before he dragged himself painfully back to his feet, lifting his sword to face off with the sorceress again. Thea sneered at the sight, lifting a hand to send a tendril of light hissing towards the witcher like a whip, and he lifted his sword to block it – only to watch as the beam wrapped around the blade, causing the metal to glow bright red as it was infused with magical heat. Geralt shouted in pain as the sword burned his hands, yanking back on the beam and nearly taking the sorceress with him – but she managed to let go just in time, and she stumbled back, before lifting her hands to produce more magic.

Geralt made a quick Sign at his side, cooling his blade with a controlled cast of Aard, before he looked up towards the sorceress again, just in time to block her next spell with a quick cast of Quen. He could feel the Signs wearing him down, the rising temperature causing his stamina to wane; his head throbbed like it had been crushed by a rock troll, but he gritted his teeth, staggering back as he lifted his sword to swing at the sorceress again.

Thea pursed her lips at the show of bravado, getting ready to cast another spell, before she suddenly turned, looking back towards the fireplace, where a flicker of movement had caught her eye. Geralt looked over towards the fireplace as well, wanting to know what had caught her attention, and he felt his gut sink as he spotted Dandelion trying to rush Shani from the room in the commotion. Before Geralt could stop it, the sorceress' hand bolted out like a shot towards Dandelion, sending a flash of red light speeding his way and causing him to yelp as the spell collided with his back. Geralt flinched as he heard the sharp crack of the bard's skull making contact with the end of the bannister, but he had no time to check if his friend was okay before blocking another spell from the sorceress with a cast of Quen.

"Fool," Thea hissed, raising a hand to throw more magic the witcher's way. Geralt signed for Quen again, but it fizzled out quickly, and he looked up in time to watch the spell connect, hitting him full force like a battering ram and sending him flying across the room once again. This time, he collided with a suit of witcher armour on display, and he shouted in agony as the mannequin collapsed, the long screw holding it upright puncturing through his thigh as he fell on top of it. Thea sneered at his pain, her outline fiendish and distorted through the shimmer of heat mirage, before she lifted her hands to her sides again, causing a blistering wind to pick up at her feet.

"Look at you!" she exclaimed, her voice warping eerily in the whirlwind of magic around her; the gale churned angrily in her wake, billowing her dress and dark hair into ripples of blackish flame. "What kind of father would you even be? Look at yourself, witcher! You're a monster!" Geralt glared at the sorceress, baring his teeth, before spitting another tongueful of blackened blood at her feet, and she smirked at the sight, raising her hands even higher, causing the glowing winds to pick up more furiously around her. "A beast like you doesn't deserve children," she hissed, her voice digging like fishhooks under his skin. "You know as well as I do I'd be doing this child a favour by stopping it from coming into this world."

Geralt felt his heart clench at her words, but he could only watch as she turned away from him again, this time holding her hands out towards Shani and sending tendrils of light flying across the room towards the doctor. Shani gasped as the beams of light surrounded her, watching as they wound around her like a glowing constrictor, before she started to scream as the spell contracted, lifting her into the air in its blistering coils. The smell of burning fabric assaulted Geralt's senses, and he gritted his teeth, fighting to stand, only to fall back down again quickly as a shock of anguish shot through him from the wound at his thigh. He hissed at the pain, coughing again, his breathing growing ragged as his heart beat ever faster, making his skin pulse with toxicity as his pain was replaced with the rage of a wild animal.

He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, his bloody sclera turning black and sickly, his glowing irises boring out from them like the eyes of a possessed wolf. He could feel the sensation of freezing needles across his skin as his veins surged to the surface, coursing black and ghastly across his face and neck, his muscles vibrating with tension as he reached back, pulling the metal spike from his wound. He could feel his body already breaking down as he reached out an aching hand for his sword, the heat and poison making his skin run hot and cold as he picked the weapon up with effort from the floor beside him. His arms shook with pain as he gripped the sword, pulling it slowly towards himself across the floor, but he lifted it anyway, piercing it down into the wood and using the leverage to drag himself back to his feet.

Sliding his hand up the polished edge, Geralt pulled himself up with the sword's pommel, before yanking the blade free from the floor and starting to limp towards the sorceress again, dragging the weapon behind him. He felt nothing anymore – no pain, no fear. Not when he could hear Shani's screams reverberating in his skull. Not when he could smell the magic burning her skin, threatening her life and his child's. The sorceress did not even turn around as Geralt dragged his last steps behind her, watching as she pressed her hands closer together, grinning with malice as she watched the doctor writhe in her grasp. Thea was a sadist – the exact kind of person Geralt had expected to respond to O'Dimm's curse – and he dragged his sword upward, breathing heavily as his weary arms shook with the weight.

Lifting the blade over his shoulder, Geralt wound back, preparing for a blow he could not stand to miss. "That…" he panted, feeling his lungs burn with every breath. "That's… MY… CHILD!"

The scream caught the sorceress by surprise, and she turned, her eyes widening at the vision before her – but she had no chance to react before his blade came down across her neck, cleaving her head from her shoulders, sending it flying across the room to collide with the painting above the fireplace. The headless body stayed upright for a moment, frozen in gory stasis, before a fountain of blood began to spout from the severed neck, and she finally collapsed to her knees, toppling into a heap at the witcher's feet.

Geralt stared at the corpse for a long moment, watching as a pool of crimson began to seep from the bloody neck, leaking out onto the front-room rug and down into the grain of the floor. He sneered to himself at the sight, taking a step back as fingers of gore began to creep up his boots, watching as the leather turned ruby-black with the sorceress' blood as a dark silence filled the room. Shani gasped as the magic around her dissipated, giving a sharp yelp as she fell back to the hardwood floor, before shuddering in pain and disbelief as she sat up, starting to run her hands across her shoulders to check for burns. She looked utterly lost, dazed and hurt, but her expression changed when she spotted the sorceress' head on the floor beside her, and she quickly kicked it away with a terrified scream, before finally collapsing into traumatized tears.

She was bruised, burned, bloodied from the severed head, her loose clothing frayed and black with the scalds of heat magic, and Geralt looked up at the sound of her distress, wanting to help – until something from a corner of the fireplace wall caught his eye. It had been barely enough to notice, just the faintest hint of something not right, but with his senses still on high alert, even one small thing was enough to make him paranoid. He squinted at the wall, taking a slow step forward, causing Shani's brow to furrow as she watched him approach.

"Geralt?" she asked, her voice quiet, concerned, seeming wary to draw his attention. "Geralt, you look terrible. Let me take a look at you—"

"See that?" Geralt hissed, cutting her off. "Something up there. Dunno—" He stopped, staring at the wall, watching as a small drip of oily black liquid began to seep through the paint, narrowing his eyes as he watched it slide slowly all the way to the bottom. He clenched his jaw at the sight, not trusting whatever mystery fluid was leaking into his house, but he had no time to think before he saw another drip come through, and then another, and another. He took a step back, watching in horror as the entire wall soon began to run slick with black fluid, before the mystery liquid began to change before his eyes, growing thick and noxious, gaining momentum as it continued to roll down the wall like bubbling tar.

"Shani," Geralt hissed, waving a hand towards the doctor. "Move away from the wall! Need to get you out of here—it's in the house now…!"

"What—?" Shani glanced back at the wall behind her, before turning back again with a bewildered frown. "There's nothing there, Geralt," she assured him, worriedly. "What's going on? What did you do to yourself?"

Her voice was distorted in his head as she spoke, warped and faint, as if through a wall of water, and Geralt watched in horror as the simmering sludge behind her began to wind and writhe, the dark tendrils twisting around themselves into limb-like appendages. They slithered and grasped, their spider-like fingers stretching long and sinister in distorted arrays, and he lifted his sword, swinging at the dark shapes, causing them to hiss and gurgle as they snapped out of the way of his blade. "Don't touch her!" he shouted, barely faltering as he heard a faint scream that sounded almost like Shani – but it could not be Shani, he told himself. Shani had to know he was protecting her. He staggered back, cutting wildly through the air, feeling his heart racing, his pulse thundering in his ears, before he looked up again, watching as a forest of antler-like arms began to emerge from the stone wall, dripping and black.

The arms bent and stretched, cracking and popping with the sound of breaking bones as they grew ever longer, their whispering and hissing growing louder in his head as they snaked their ravenous way towards Shani. "They're here," Geralt breathed, feeling warm blood start to drip into his mouth as he spoke; his nose had begun to bleed profusely, but he had no time to bother with that right now. He could taste blood pooling at the base of his gums, dripping into his beard and across his shirt, but he did not bother to spit it out this time, only taking a step back, holding his sword out to brace against the gathering darkness. "It's here," he hissed, spraying blood as he spoke, the gore dripping from his teeth in a tendril of blackened saliva. "The shadows… the darkness… O'Dimm… he's here…! He's everywhere…! Shani, look out—!"

Shani lifted her head at the warning, her eyes growing wide with terror as she watched him approach; he stared at a spot just above her head, where an enormous, horned shadow creature had grown from the blackened sludge. Its eyes glowed white in its misshapen skull, its claws sharp as knives as it bent over the doctor, letting out a hiss like a rattlesnake as it opened its jaws around her unsuspecting head. It looked like everything and nothing – an abomination with the claws of a leshen and the maw of a crocodile, its antlered rack stretching like a pit of spikes as it encircled Shani, preparing to swallow her whole. Geralt gritted his teeth at the monster, lifting his blade to slice the creature in two, and Shani screamed, throwing her hands over her head—

But the blow never came. Instead, she only heard the sound of something hitting the floor with a thud, and when she looked up again, it was to see the witcher lying face-down on the rug, out cold. Behind him in the door stood Yennefer, who huffed affrontedly as she stared down at her unconscious husband, before she used her magic to gently set down the metal statuette she had used to knock him out.

"I always thought that fixture was hideous," Yennefer said, looking down at the nearly-nude statue. "Good to know it has its uses after all." Then, looking up at Shani again, she stepped over her husband, careful not to touch the headless sorceress as she made her way over to kneel beside the doctor on the floor.

Taking Shani into her arms, Yennefer held her gently against her shoulder, cooing to her quietly and stroking her hair as she felt the first tears of terror fall from the young woman's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Shani," she told her, pressing a reassuring kiss to the top of the doctor's head. Shani was barely older than Ciri, Yennefer remembered, a fact which had never felt more relevant than right now. "I had no idea something like this would happen," she said, feeling guilt pool in her stomach at the admission. "I'm so sorry. But it's over now. It's done. I won't be leaving you again."

"I'm sorry, Yennefer," Shani sobbed, holding the sorceress tightly with an arm around her back. "I had no idea… I just wanted to help people. I didn't think I was doing anything wrong—"

"You weren't," Yennefer assured her, petting her soft hair. "You've done nothing to be ashamed of. People are wicked, and they despise change. That's all. It has nothing to do with you."

Shani sniffled at the answer, wiping at her eyes with the end of her overlong sleeve; her shirt was frayed and blackened with burns, but she barely seemed to notice, turning her attention to Geralt on the floor instead. "We should get him to bed," she said, sniffling again, before looking up at Yennefer with an anxious expression. "He was hallucinating badly before you came," she told her. "Talking about… darkness, and shadows. In my eight years of practice I've never seen anyone act like that. I don't think it was a drug or a spell, but…" She paused, her voice trailing off again, and Yennefer could not help feeling concerned for the young medic; she was hiccupping for breath still, her eyes red with tears, but she sucked her lips determinedly, unwilling to let it get her down.

"If someone was trying to kill me, it's possible they tried to poison Geralt first," Shani suggested, thoughtfully. "It would certainly be much easier to get to me without having a witcher around to stop them. I don't really know the effect of poison on witchers, but… it's my best guess, for the time being." She frowned, her pretty brow creasing, before she turned to look over towards Dandelion, still crumpled against the foot of the stairs. "We should do something for Julian, too," she said, her voice tender with worry, though Yennefer doubted there was much reason for it – from the look of things, the bard had merely bumped his head, and would wake easily with only a headache, though she figured they could expect some whinging and woemongering as well, if Dandelion was to be counted on. "He tried to protect me from the mage as well. It was noble of him, if… somewhat rash."

"Foolish, you mean," Yennefer corrected, bluntly, having no patience to sugar-coat her thoughts. "He could've been killed, standing up to a sorceress like that. He's only human—" She stopped, realizing now was not the time, before taking a deep breath to collect herself, running a gentle hand through Shani's fiery hair as she tried to figure out a more sympathetic response. "Being human is more than enough," she said at last, her voice quieter, realizing it was the truth. "Dandelion will be fine. Don't worry about him. Some smelling-salts and warm mead and he'll be good as new."

Yennefer smiled at the doctor, giving her one last reassuring squeeze, before she pushed herself back to her feet again, turning next to offer her hands to Shani and helping the doctor stand as well. Shani let out a tired huff as she straightened, resting a hand to the small of her back, before she pulled up the edge of her oversized shirt, checking for burn-marks across her stomach. "Mostly superficial," she murmured, running a tender finger along a stripe of bright pink; the skin had bubbled and puckered with the heat magic, but the effect seemed no worse than a deep sunburn. "The baby should be fine," she determined, nodding. "I guess the only option now is to wait and see."

Looking up at Yennefer again, Shani paused, considering the sorceress for a moment, before she lifted her shirt a bit higher, indicating the banded skin with a sheepish gesture. "Did… you want to touch it?" she asked, softly, causing Yennefer to look up in surprise, her violet eyes wide. For as long as Shani had known her, Yennefer had always been the pinnacle of poise and composure, but now she seemed barely able to control her expression, her lips twitching as she pressed them into a crooked, awkward line. Her breathing was staggered as she stared at Shani, her hands stiff and uncomfortable at her sides, until she finally raised one, reaching out nervously to brush her fingertips against the exposed skin of the doctor's stomach.

Yennefer faltered as her fingers made contact, seeming wary to try for anything more, before she allowed her palm to rest gently against Shani's stomach, letting out a soft, bewildered breath at the feeling. "It's really in there," she said, the words tumbling awkwardly from her mouth before she could stop them. She had no idea why she said it that way; there had never been doubt in her mind that Shani was actually pregnant, of course, but feeling the warm bump beneath her palm just made it all the more real, somehow. She had always imagined how it might feel to run her hand across the growing swell of a child, but it had always seemed such an abstract concept for her that she was now completely unprepared for the experience.

She could feel herself smiling, the muscles of her face acting of their own accord, impossible to stop – until her smile suddenly dropped, and she took a step back, retrieving her hand with a startled expression. "I'm… sorry," she said, softly, seeming half embarrassed, half disturbed. "I… I didn't mean to, I just…" She trailed off, sucking her lip in worry, before she quickly shook her head, cutting the topic short. "It doesn't matter," she determined. "We should get you to bed soon. You need your rest more than anyone, after what happened tonight."

Shani frowned at the strange reaction, allowing her shirt to fall over her stomach again. "Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice soft with worry. "I hope I didn't offend you. I only thought… because Geralt did it—"

"I should get him to bed, too," Yennefer returned, shortly, cutting Shani off before she could finish. "You should put as little strain on yourself as possible. You're going to need your strength." She paused, looking down at Geralt again, her gaze distant, as if she were staring through the bloody rug and into the floor. "Don't worry about Geralt and Dandelion," she added. "Barnabas-Basil can help me with them. Goodnight, Shani."

Shani faltered, wavering in place, unsure what she had done to earn such a curt dismissal. She knew Yennefer had her own feelings about the pregnancy; it was impossible not to notice them, no matter how hard the sorceress tried. She was a good actress, but Shani was a medic, and she had seen enough women break down at the news of their own barrenness to recognize the look in her eyes, the faintest flicker of sadness and jealousy the sorceress tried so hard to stifle. Despite this, Yennefer had never shown anything but kindness to Shani thus far, so the thought that that might have changed simply because the baby was conscious and moving now seemed a bit strange.

"If I could give this baby to you, I would," Shani spoke after a moment, causing Yennefer's brow to furrow in surprise. She did not look back at Shani as she spoke, but her expression had intensified, letting the doctor know she was still listening. "You deserve children more than anyone," she added, speaking softer this time, making sure only Yennefer could hear. "It isn't fair to have something taken away just so you can be of more use to others. It wasn't fair for Geralt, and it isn't fair for you. I wish I could do something to help."

Yennefer paused at the offer, her violet gaze intense, before she gave a soft huff, her lips twisting in a bitter smirk. "You'd be the first then," she answered, quietly. "You should get some rest, Shani. …Goodnight."

---

The forest was darker than Geralt remembered, its gathering of overhanging branches knitting together to form a shadowy canopy, choking out what little dappled light had before trickled its way through to illuminate spots of ground beneath his feet. It was hotter than the first time he had been here, a wet heat of stagnant exhaled air, making it so muggy he could feel sweat trickling down his arms and the back of his shirt. The snow that had joined De Aldersberg had clearly melted, leaving the ground soggy and unstable, and it squelched unsettlingly beneath his boots as he took a step forward across the carpet of sinking spoons; there was an eerie silence to the forest, a mired mutedness that reminded him of stale pond water, and he reached up a hand, wiping away a trickle of sweat from his eyes with a frustrated hiss.

The forest smelled of bog rot and trampled leaves, the reek of death growing heavy in his senses, and Geralt grimaced at the foul stench, reaching back for his sword, unsure what awaited in the darkness, but wary to find out. "Witcher," a low voice greeted him at last, drawling out every pretentious syllable, and he turned at the familiar voice, taking only a moment to process who had joined him this time. These dreams were all the same, he was starting to realize – O'Dimm's best attempts to disarm him, to put him off his guard – but he refused to be unsettled, holding his expression even as his stomach turned at the sight of his newest companion.

Where before there had been nothing but himself in the clearing, there now sat a wide stump, and atop it, a tall, stately man, his expensive clothing stitched in affluent detail, his outline striking, even in the semi-darkness of the trees. He had wide shoulders, befitting one of his dignified stature, but between them there existed only a stump, a bloodied pulp of a neck, as if the lifeless body had been left propped up in the clearing by some sadistic puppeteer. How the headless man had managed to address him was baffling, but it took Geralt only a moment to realize where the voice had come from, and he stared down pointedly at the severed head sitting in the man's lap, perched precariously against one sharp knee as his other hand rested against the opposite thigh.

The dark eyes of the head moved up to meet his curious gaze, watching Geralt as intensively as he was watching it – the headless man's hands were long and slender, the hands of a practiced mage, but his face was that of a young man, strikingly handsome, with dark hair swept back in the style of one who took great pride in his grooming. Geralt felt a muscle twitch in his jaw as he took in the man's appearance, before he rounded on the mage, ignoring the sensation of spoons sinking into the dirt beneath his feet.

"Vilgefortz," he snarled, his lip curling to bare his wolfish teeth. "Can't say I'm much happier to see you than I was to see De Aldersberg."

"Were I alive, I might be offended," Vilgefortz answered, his tone sounding almost bored. "Regardless, I bear no ill will towards you, Geralt. You were only doing what you felt you had to do." Geralt felt his lip twitch at the snide remark, but he said nothing, only watching as Vilgefortz took a deep breath, his disembodied chest moving eerily in time with his severed head. "I gave you the opportunity to join me, but you had other ambitions," Vilgefortz continued after another moment. "I can't fault you for that. Nor can I fault you for protecting your woman. It's only natural that a man should wish to protect what's his."

"Don't think we share the same feelings on that," Geralt returned, the answer low and vicious in his chest. "Saw how you treated Lydia before she died. Can't say I was impressed with your views on women."

Vilgefortz sneered at the reminder, the edge of his handsome nose flattening as his lip curled in disdain. "Lydia wasn't a woman, witcher," he said, almost spitting the name as he repeated it. "She was barely a person. An apprentice, talented in her craft, but hardly worth worrying over the pitiful fate of." Geralt felt a simmer of bile rise in his gut, remembering how the poor girl had idolized Vilgefortz – how she had been manipulated by him, mangled by his curiosity, and then, when she was no longer useful, discarded like an old handkerchief. She had ended her own life at his behest, and he in turn had left her to bleed out on the floors of Thanedd Island, giving himself and Rience time to pursue Ciri while the others were distracted by his apprentice's untimely demise.

"She had no potential to change the world," Vilgefortz continued after a moment, causing Geralt to look up again, feeling a spiteful heat rising to his face the longer he listened to the mage's vile rhetoric. "Not like you, Geralt. Not like Yennefer, or Ciri. Not like me, or Jacques De Aldersberg. And certainly not like Gaunter O'Dimm." The mention of O'Dimm got Geralt's attention, and he frowned, waiting for Vilgefortz to go on, wondering what the mage could possibly have to say about the demon's involvement in his contemptable work. Vilgefortz's spiteful sneer widened as he thought, before he took another deep, contemplative breath, his well-tailored chest moving eerily in and out as a small trickle of blood began to seep from his severed neck.

"I had no inkling of O'Dimm when I strove to assist in the removal of the Usurper from Nilfgaard's throne," Vilgefortz went on, seeming oddly self-righteous now, as if bitter he had been denied the chance to defend himself thusly in life. "I merely saw benefit for myself in reinstating Emhyr to the title of Emperor. Goëtia was never my forte… that was reserved for the annals of Oxenfurt, the experiments of Rissberg Castle. I never stooped to involve myself in such… unsavoury subjects, back then." The mage paused a moment, thinking this over, before his mouth began to twist in an irritated gash. "I was prideful in my studies," he admitted, letting out a sharp sigh. "And thus, woefully unprepared for what might seek to target me for my gifts. Therein lay my mistake… he enjoyed those who showed an interest in him, those who sought to understand him better."

"Like Professor Shakeslock," Geralt observed, reaching up to wipe a sheen of sweat from his forehead.

Vilgefortz thought another moment before responding. "One example," he finally agreed. "Of course, O'Dimm determined he was too dangerous to live freely in his knowledge… but he gave him an out, allowed him to continue living so long as it was on the devil's own terms. He gave us no such choice… we had snubbed his plans, so he saw to it that we, in turn, were snuffed out." He narrowed his eyes at the thought, before his dark irises began to climb slowly upward again, moving until they settled unnervingly on the witcher's face once more. "Of course, he used that to his advantage as well," he observed. "There was never an event he couldn't twist to his needs. He had… interests, in Angren and Lyria, which were handled quite nicely by Emhyr's invading forces."

Geralt frowned at the mention of Lyria, unsure what interest O'Dimm could possibly find there. "Remember when Nilfgaard invaded Lyria and Rivia," he agreed, nodding in spite of himself. "Our group intervened during their attack on the Red Lobinden's bridge. Halted our journey, but managed to drive them back from the northern banks." He paused, realizing he was once again allowing himself to lean into baseless conspiracy, but he found it difficult to combat the points Vilgefortz was making when he had been there to witness some of them, himself. "Found a letter later, after things got quiet again," he added, speaking lower now, as if the memory had just occurred to him. "Talked about some man… Ritterhof, I think. Made a pact which could only be collected on when the sun rose over Rivia in the dead of night."

"And to think," Vilgefortz jeered, causing Geralt to look up again, his silver brow furrowing. "He saw to my death for defying his plans, then used my good work to collect on his debts." He paused, his lip curling, before he finally let out a soft, disgusted huff. "Of course, it wouldn't be the first time," he admitted, snidely. "He always finds ways of getting what he wants, in the end. No matter who he has to use in the process."

Geralt made a face at the unsettling news, before clearing his throat, noticing that it was starting to scratch; he was getting thirsty, but without any water, there was nothing he could do to soothe his parched condition. "So what does this have to do with my tasks?" he asked, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling from his mind.

Vilgefortz shrugged, his headless body moving in time with the arch of one of his shapely brows. "Nothing, I suppose, if you find no relevance to your situation in any of it," he answered, simply. "I merely find it interesting that so many things seem to connect back to one who was pulling the strings so silently until now. Right until you exposed him for who he was, brought him to light… and made him incredibly bold in the process." Geralt felt his stomach turn at the thought, but he held his expression, hardly daring to even blink, not letting on to the mage how disturbing it was to think that his actions had anything to do with O'Dimm's current reign of terror.

"He enjoys the spotlight, now you've given him a taste of it," Vilgefortz continued, seeming not to catch the subtlety of the witcher's expression. "He sees no reason to hide in the shadows any longer. And why should he? He's nearly completed his goal. Nearly eliminated all threats to his power. And once he does that, he will be unstoppable."

"Hm," Geralt grunted. "Pretty thin logic. Still seems like coincidence to me."

"You and I both know there's no such thing as coincidence, witcher," Vilgefortz sneered, his free hand curling angrily over his unburdened knee. "Everything O'Dimm does is in an effort to destroy what he can't control. I was a Source, as was Jacques De Aldersberg. And now we're both dead, at your hand."

"You?" Geralt asked, frowning at the information. "Thought Sources were only born of Elder Blood." It was getting steadily hotter in the clearing, he realized, though he had to wonder if it might not simply be his imagination – it was unsettling enough to be brought back here again and again, without the added worry that someone was trying to slow-broil him in his armour.

Vilgefortz stared at him, his dark eyes narrowing, his broad mouth drawing into a thin, thoughtful line. He did not seem affected by the heat at all, Geralt noticed, making him wonder, again, if it was something only he could feel. "It's more common for Elder Blood to produce Sources down bloodlines," Vilgefortz admitted. "And their Sources are usually more powerful – but that's not always the case. Deidre Ademyne was a Source, as you remember, and she had no Elder Blood to speak of. You chose not to kill her, however, despite her transgressions… perhaps, had I been a shapely woman, you might have spared me your blade as well."

"Funny," Geralt growled, feeling his jaw clench at the snide remark. "Deidre gave up her magic and witcher studies to pursue a path in politics. Doubt she even remembers how to use her powers now."

"So you nullified her," Vigefortz observed, widening his eyes to stare up at the witcher, pointedly. "Put her in a position where she could either denounce her abilities, or suffer retribution. Much like you nullified Ciri by placing her on the throne of Nilfgaard."

"Didn't put Ciri on the throne," Geralt argued, his hackles rising at the accusation. "Ehmyr offered it up on condition of her return, and she took it to keep her people safe." Despite his defensiveness, he could not help feeling a bit unsettled that Vilgefortz seemed to know so much about what was going on after his death – this was only a dream, of course, but it was still disconcerting to think that someone so insidious might still be silently keeping track of events going on in Geralt's world. "Gave up her freedom to make life better for Nilfgaard's citizens," he added, doing his best not to let on to Vilgefortz how much he disliked the topic. "Didn't force her to do anything. Did it all of her own accord."

"And that's the real difference, isn't it?" Vilgefortz pressed, seeming undeterred in his point. "There's nothing keeping her there, if she decided to leave. She could any day go back to her old life, begin practicing her navigator magic again." He paused a moment, allowing his statement to sink in, his dark eyes never leaving Geralt's uncomfortable face. "And she is a powerful navigator, isn't she?" he added, speaking again after a moment of no response. "Anyone who can portal through time and space is enough to be feared by anyone. That's why you had to kill Caranthir, wasn't it? Another Source, another navigator too powerful to exist of his own volition."

"Killed Caranthir because he tried to hurt Ciri," Geralt shot back, gritting his teeth at the question. "Same reason I killed you. Had nothing to do with being a Source. You know that better than anyone." Furrowing his brow, he reached up again to wipe a blanket of sweat from his forehead; it had become so hot by now that he could feel his vision starting to waver, the sound of the mud hissing beneath his feet growing snake-like and sinister as the spoons continued to sink into the dirt. It was boiling in the forest, a wet heat that soaked his hair and through his clothes, causing sweat to pool in the insoles of his boots, stewing his feet in their casings. The trees had formed a kind of crucible around him, a sweltering oven choked in infernal blackness, and he cleared his parched throat, blinking sweat from his eyes, feeling the sting of salt water as it beaded heavily on his lashes.

"Certainly I do," Vilgefortz answered his question, simply, drumming his fingers pensively against his thigh, the sound causing the wet hair on Geralt's neck to stand on end. "I know you didn't intend to kill him for being a Source. Much like you didn't intend to kill me for that reason, nor Jacques De Aldersberg. Yet we're all dead now, aren't we? For one reason or another." He paused in his drumming, his hand stilling against his knee, his dark eyes narrowing again as he stared pointedly up at the witcher. "Funny how your actions always end with our deaths," he commented, speaking slowly. "Almost as if everything had been set up to pit you against us, specifically."

Geralt huffed at the argument, wishing he could will himself to wake up, forcing himself to think through the heat that weighed down on his mind like an anvil. "That's what De Aldersberg said, too," he growled. "Insinuated O'Dimm had some hand in all your deaths. But I had legitimate reasons for killing you. Had nothing to do with O'Dimm."

"Keep telling yourself that, witcher," Vilgefortz answered, his tone flat, dark, clearly in no mood to hear logic outside his own. "It appears my word alone is not enough to persuade you otherwise. But don't be so hasty to believe him blindly, either. Think carefully of what your tasks might imply… what their doing might mean for you, and for the world once they're completed."

Geralt scoffed at the warning, taking a step forward, feeling the mud sink unsettlingly beneath his boots as he moved. "Never knew you to look out for my best interests," he growled, feeling sweat start to drip from his beard as he spoke. "What makes me think I can trust you now?"

Vilgefortz sighed, seeming almost bored with the question. "I never despised you in life, Geralt," he said, sounding weary of having to explain himself. "I never wanted to see you fail, even after you refused to join me. I still saw you as an equal, to be admired in your accomplishments— I saw us as brothers, you and I. Two of the same, abandoned babes of sorceress mothers, each a pinnacle in our own right." Standing from the stump at last, he picked up his head, holding it carefully at chest level, handling it as carefully as if it were a glass flower on a satin pillow. His feet seemed solidly planted, Geralt noticed – weightless, almost featherlight, as if he were floating above the mud – but it took a moment longer for the witcher to realize it was not Vilgefortz who was floating, but himself who was starting to sink.

Geralt could feel the warm sludge bubbling around his ankles, curdling around his legs as it climbed greedily up his boots; all around him, he could see the spoons sinking in as well, their solid forms melting into pulp in the sweltering heat. "We could have moved mountains, had we but worked together," Vilgefortz told him, his voice disturbingly calm as he watched the witcher pulled deeper into the mud. "Between us, we could have changed the world. But O'Dimm had other plans for me, and I was not strong enough in life to spite them." Letting out a panicked bark of breath, Geralt yanked at his boots, trying his hardest to free them, but the muck only pulled back harder, holding him tight with a wet sucking sound. He could feel the mud coagulating around his knees, congealing like blood as it pulled him further downward, until the warm, wet dirt sucked against his hips, trapping him waist-deep in quicksand that only seemed to be growing quicker.

Vilgefortz watched as the witcher struggled, his dark eyes cold, seeming neither pleased nor upset, before he furrowed his brow again, letting out a soft scoff as his lip curled in another bitter sneer. "What can O'Dimm possibly do to me now for undermining his plans?" he insisted, still seeming intent on explaining himself so long as Geralt was still able to hear him. "Kill me again? Not likely. I've nothing to fear from his retribution now." Geralt gasped for breath, clawing desperately for something to hold onto; he could feel sweat pouring down his face and into his open mouth, his lungs burning with every vain attempt to fill them. His armour was plastered so heavily to his body with sweat he could swear it was melting into his skin, and he thrust out a hand towards Vilgefortz, grabbing one of his expensive boots as a last, desperate anchor.

Vilgefortz frowned as the witcher grabbed him, before taking a step back, shaking his sweaty hand loose, watching with barely an expression as Geralt was sucked deeper into the mud with nothing to hold onto. He was going to die here, Geralt realized; it had been a miracle he had not frozen to death the time before, but now he was sure he would drown in this mud before he had a chance to wake up in the real world. "Think on it, witcher," Vilgefortz told him, lifting his head to place it squarely on its bloody stump; the witcher grimaced at the sound of flesh meeting wet flesh, the skin-crawling clicking of bones knitting in ways only magic could achieve. Geralt spit wet mud from his mouth, choking and gurgling as it pooled at the back of his throat, before his vision began to slowly darken around him as the muddy grave closed over the canopied sky.

"Time is running short to decide," he heard Vilgefortz's spiteful voice clearly through the mud, the sound as if the sorcerer were standing beside him, speaking directly into his ear. "Help is not something you can afford to take for granted… mine, or anyone else's. And it may yet come from some unexpected places. Godspeed, Geralt… and good luck."

---

Geralt opened his eyes with a gasp, clutching the covers at his sides as he gulped for air, twisting so tightly into the linen of his bedsheets he could feel the threads nearly break with the strain. He could feel himself sweating, sickly and wet, but the air was much cooler here than in the forest, and he paused, taking a moment to look around, realizing he was blessedly back in his own bed. His heart still raced as he panted, doing his best to catch his elusive breath, and he stared at the ceiling, blinking haze from his eyes as he tried to remember how he had gotten here. He had been out with Dandelion, last he remembered, but everything after that had been reduced to a blur; he remembered a flash of green, the wicked smile of Gaunter O'Dimm, but after that, only darkness filled his memory.

"I told Shani you would be fine," he heard Yennefer's voice from beside him, and he turned to look, only to find his senses filled with the smell of lilac and gooseberry. Yennefer sat on the edge of the bed, watching her husband as he slept, and she smiled softly as he stared up at her, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his golden eyes. "You refuse to die," she told him, teasingly. "Despite clear attempts to try."

"How long was I out for?" Geralt asked, his voice rasping in his painfully dry throat. The dream had been nothing but an illusion, he realized, but it seemed his thirst was quite real, and he glanced expectantly towards the nightstand, hoping Yennefer had thought to bring him a cup of water.

Yennefer seemed to realize what he wanted, and she turned, picking up the cup from the nightstand, before bringing it over to her husband's lips, sliding a gentle hand behind his head as she tipped the cool liquid into his mouth. "About a day," she told him, careful not to give him too much water at one time. "Shani says you should stay here for at least another day to allow for a full detox. After that, she says she can focus on making sure your leg heals properly. It's lucky you're naturally resistant to infection, or you may very well have gotten tetanus from an injury like that."

Geralt coughed as the cool water tickled his throat, before clearing it and looking up at Yennefer again, warily. "What… happened?" he asked, his voice still hoarse. "How… did I get here?"

"You truly don't remember?" Yennefer asked, her brow furrowing as she rested the cup in her lap.

Geralt shook his head. "No," he answered, honestly. "Should I?"

Yennefer paused, thinking a moment, before she finally let out a soft sigh, arching her sculpted brows as she set the cup aside on the nightstand again. "I don't really know," she answered, sounding a bit disappointed to admit it. "I'm not really sure how it happened, myself. Only that you went out drinking with Dandelion, and when you came home, you were dangerously toxified—high as all hell, hallucinating, and covered in blood. Your own blood, but… still." She fell silent, her lips pursing in a distressed line, as if she had managed to dismiss the image from her mind until just now. "You scared poor Lucja half to death," she added after a moment, forcing herself to continue. "When you're well again, you need to apologize to her. I wouldn't be surprised if she quit, after what she's seen."

"Guess I really scared her," Geralt acknowledged, his brow furrowing at the news. "Don't remember that at all."

"I didn't expect you would," Yennefer answered, frankly. "You were ranting and raving like a madman when you got home. Going on about darkness and shadows, something about… creatures coming out of the walls." She made a face at the memory, her pretty nose creasing, as if she had tasted something unexpectedly sour. "I only caught the tail end of it," she admitted, letting out an anxious huff. "But you frightened Shani something dreadful. She said she suspected you'd been poisoned somehow. I'm not sure how, considering your resilience to it… and I find it hard to believe you could have been poisoned accidentally, seeing as I've watched you drink yourself into a stupor on multiple occasions with no apparent issue."

Geralt frowned at the comment, knowing well Yennefer's distaste for his recreational drinking; he had seen her refined nose wrinkle too many times, her pink lips curling at the smell of vodka on his breath. She hated how impressionable he became to his friends' suggestions, how freely he shared intimate details of their life with whatever trusted soul might listen – but most of all, she hated his inability to open up to her unless he was numb with alcohol first. It was a trait he shared with Eskel and Lambert, though he doubted that made it any more tolerable to the sorceress; it was a terrible habit, but one he had taken to blaming entirely on his witcher mutations. That was not entirely true, of course, but the reality of it was a bit harder to swallow – that it was much easier to overlook his psychological shortcomings if he simply refused to address them.

"I don't actually know if witchers can get alcohol poisoning," Yennefer admitted, drawing Geralt quickly back to the present.

"We can," Geralt answered. "Just takes more than most. Wasn't alcohol poisoning, though." He paused, wondering if Yennefer had truly been left in the dark on the situation, or if she knew more than she was letting on, and was simply giving him enough rope to hang himself with. "…Dandelion didn't tell you what happened?" he asked, feeling cautiously for an answer.

Yennefer shook her head, taking a moment to smooth her pants across her thighs. "No," she said. "I suppose he thinks he's protecting you by not telling me. He only told Shani because she needed to know in order to treat you effectively. Otherwise I don't think he would have told anyone. He's painfully loyal to you, you know." She paused at the thought, staring down at her boots, before she took in a deep breath, looking up at her husband again. "You were talking in your sleep again," she told him, thoughtfully. "Something about… Vilgefortz. I figured it was just delirium. Nightmares, perhaps, made more vivid by… whatever was in your system." She took another moment to think, as if hoping to find a better explanation for the subject of his dreams, before she finally looked away again, her brow furrowing as she stared at a spot on the floor.

"Dandelion told me why she was here," she said, the sudden change of subject taking Geralt by surprise.

"Who?" he asked, frowning at the lead-in.

"The sorceress," Yennefer answered. "Thea, or whatever her name was." She paused, her gaze fixed on the hardwood floor, before she pursed her lips, taking another deep breath to continue. "He said she'd come to hurt Shani's baby, but he wouldn't tell me why," she added, her voice growing strange. "He said that explanation was best left to you, and to wait for you to wake to hear it." She paused again, still staring at the floor, before she finally lifted her gaze to her husband's face. "You must have really gotten yourself into trouble for not even Dandelion to want to relay the tale," she told him. "What did you do, Geralt? What did you do to put Shani and her child in danger?"

"Don't… know," Geralt answered, regretting the words as soon as he said them. It was not untrue – he knew what he had done, in theory, but the thought of explaining it to Yennefer had left his mind all but blank.

Yennefer frowned at the answer, looking as frustrated as he knew she would. "What do you mean, you don't know?" she insisted. "Was it something you did last night?"

Geralt shook his head. "No," he answered, quickly. "Happened before that. Couple weeks ago. Can't… quite figure out exactly what I did, though. Just know Shani's in trouble now. Because of me."

Yennefer took a moment to contemplate, her pretty brow furrowing as she considered the timeline, before her plush lips thinned, her eyes growing cold as she looked down at her husband again, understanding. "It had something to do with Ciri's contract, then," she observed, her voice making it clear she already knew the answer.

Geralt nodded, realizing there was no point in lying anymore. "Yeah," he said. "Not Ciri's fault, though. Had no idea what it was. Just thought it sounded interesting, wanted me to look into it." He faltered, watching Yennefer's expression, knowing she had not blamed Ciri from the start; if anything, her anger would be directed at him, but he knew honesty was his only option now if he wanted her help in the matter. "Contract was for some… being, in a forest," he continued, not waiting for Yennefer to prompt him. "Been hanging around, talking with some villagers… one got spooked, sensed something unnatural. Asked for a witcher to investigate, see if they could figure out what the creature really was." He paused at the thought, balling his bedsheets subconsciously in his fists as he took a breath to continue.

"Turns out, he was right," he went on, his brow furrowing. "Being was definitely something unnatural. Something I'd dealt with before, and hoped to never deal with again." Yennefer's expression did not move as he said this, her violet eyes fixed intensely on his face, and he thinned his lips, steeling himself to go on, knowing the next part would be the hardest to admit. "Tried to confront it, get it to go away, but it… he… wouldn't," he said, trying not to falter over his words. "Wanted me to leave him in peace. Refused, so he offered me a deal instead. Said… he'd grant magic-users the ability to have children if I walked away, just left him be. Was surprised by the offer, but… didn't accept. Know better than to make deals with demons."

He looked up quickly at this, searching his wife's face, as if expecting to see some reaction, some look of surprise – but the sorceress remained remarkably impassive, hardly bothering to even blink as he took another breath to continue. "Told him I wouldn't do it," he insisted. "So… put a curse on me instead. Said he'd still let magic-users have kids, but… only if Shani's kid were to die first. Before it was born." He stopped, his teeth clenching, waiting in bated silence for Yennefer to say something – anything. To scold him, insult him, slap him across his foolish face, anything to break the quiet and give some reaction to his story. But once again, he was met with nothing, and he felt his gut twist with guilt, his heart beating faster in his chest.

"Didn't know what to do, Yen," he admitted, desperate to fill the silent void. "I panicked. Then, he said he'd let me undo the curse if I did three tasks for him."

"You agreed, of course," Yennefer returned, her first spoken words since the start of his tale.

"Had to," Geralt answered. "Couldn't let him hurt Shani. But he'd only tell me the first two. Said he'd reveal the third once those were completed." Yennefer's painted brows arched at this, incredulous that her husband had agreed to such deceitful terms, but he only shook his head, knowing there was no point in lamenting a decision already made. "Had no other choice," he insisted, firmly. "Dunno why he was able to do it at all. Still, sorceress showing up here proves it's real. Gotta do the tasks now. Got no other choice."

Yennefer paused at this, her violet eyes straying to a spot on the bed as she thought, before she let out a long sigh, folding her slender arms across her lap to hold each elbow in her opposite palm. "I suppose you didn't tell me before now because you were afraid of how I would react," she guessed.

"Tried to tell you," Geralt answered, noting the unusual distance in her voice. "After Vizima. Too delirious to make much sense at the time, though. Should've tried again, harder. Just thought, when nobody believed me… might've dreamed the whole thing up." He faltered as he said this, staring up at his wife, wondering what was going on in her head that she refused to tell – her gaze had fallen as he spoke, and her mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely. "No excuse," he added, shaking his head, unsure if she could even hear him anymore. "No idea what to do now. Gotta complete my tasks, but… no idea where to start. Hard to tell what's real and what isn't anymore. Just know I should've asked for help earlier. Always making the same stupid mistake, thinking I can do everything on my own."

Yennefer was silent as he finished, staring intently down at a spot on the bed. Then, taking a deep breath, she looked up at him again, her violet eyes glassy as she pursed her lips, preparing to speak. "…So," she concluded, slowly, as if unsure she could find the right words on her first try; the careful, quiet tenor of her voice made Geralt's chest clench, but he kept his face set, impassive, listening. "You say all mages would be able to have children… if Shani's baby for some reason were not to survive?"

Geralt hesitated, not sure how to respond. "Yeah," he finally answered, solemnly. Yennefer nodded, seeming lost in thought, before she slowly turned to look away from him again, and Geralt frowned, troubled by his wife's reaction, knowing full well the weight this carried for her. The lengths one would have to go to to fulfil this curse were too horrific, even for someone as determined as Yennefer – but the longer she refrained from making eye contact, the more he began to worry, and he found himself wondering for a moment if this might finally be the thing which drove his usually rational wife over the edge. "Yen," he spoke up again after a moment, causing Yennefer to blink, not realizing how deep in thought she had managed to stray. "Can't seriously be thinking about it."

"No— No," Yennefer said, quickly, turning to look at him again. Despite the resolve of her words, there was a strange, glassy distance in her eyes as she said it, and she blinked a few more times, clearing the last fog of thought from her mind before settling back into reality. "Of course not," she added, now much more resolute. "I couldn't do that to Shani. It's not worth it, even for…"

She trailed off again, going silent once more, and Geralt could not help but feel a pang of guilt at her expression, realizing how deeply this wound had to cut for the usually eloquent sorceress to be so thoroughly lost for words. In all their years together, there had only ever been one thing Yennefer had expressed as her most intimate regret, though the time it had taken him to pry even that from her had been an era in and of itself. Her desire for children had always haunted her, the thought of what might have been, had she never studied magic; the thought of what might have been, had she never used glamour – staying misshapen, but with the healthy womb of the mortal woman she had once been.

"Would never have met you if you hadn't studied magic," Geralt had reminded her time and again, and Yennefer had always smiled and agreed with him, before changing the subject quickly. It had only occurred to him after a while that that might not have been the encouragement he had thought it to be; in truth, her choice to be with him, a witcher, had only truly sealed her childless fate. He could not help thinking, deep down, that had she been able to have children when first they met, she might never have even given him the time of day, knowing he could never help her to become the mother she hoped to be.

Yennefer took a deep breath as she thought, staring down at a spot on the covers, before she finally looked up at her husband again, this time with an odd, unreadable expression in her eyes. "But you say…" she began, speaking slower this time, as if trying to justify the words, even as they were leaving her. "You could have had the same thing… mages would be able to have children again… if you had just… walked away?"

Geralt paused at the question, taken aback, before his expression grew quickly solemn. "Yen…" he said, giving a thin, wary breath. "Can't make deals with this thing. Just can't. Dealt with him before. Know how he works."

Yennefer nodded, her expression still faint. "Hm," she said at last, an answer without meaning. "I suppose you know best, in that regard. I'm just… trying to wrap my head around it, is all." She paused again, her gaze distant, her breathing slow and meticulous, as if debating whether or not to continue. "I tried so many things," she said after a moment, now sounding almost as if she were speaking unconsciously. "Researched and experimented for so many years… and always, it came to nothing. You must understand, then, to hear that this… thing, has the capability to just… undo, all mages' inability to bear children…" She stopped, her voice fading out again, before she thinned her lips, turning away from Geralt once more, staring instead towards the far wall of the bedroom, leaving him to sit alone in the silence of her contemplation.

He had no idea what to say to her; he had never faced a situation like this before, never had the sinking sensation that some decision he made carried such weight for Yennefer and those like her. Usually, when he spoke with his wife about these situations, she responded with some manner of straight-faced raillery, exasperated but logical in her response and quick wit, but always ready to help fix whatever he had botched with his heavy-handed solutions. This time, however, it seemed not even Yennefer had something cutting or witty to say, and Geralt found the absence of her usual barbs much more unsettling than any insult she had ever seen fit to throw his way. Reaching across the bed to his wife, he wrapped his hand hesitantly around her much smaller one, watching as she looked down at the hand clasped over hers, making no attempt to close her fingers around his in return.

"Can't know for sure he could really do it," Geralt told her, his voice solemn, speaking quietly, as if hoping that might help soften the blow. "Might've just been trying to get under our skin. Offering the thing he knows we want the most." Yennefer said nothing, only staring down intently at the hand still resting over hers, as if trying to read something in his gesture only she could understand. Her violet eyes were distant as she stared at his wedding-band, glinting in the wan light of the room's candles, before she slid her hand out from under his, finally standing from the bed and smoothing her jacket distractedly.

"You did the right thing," she told him, stiffly, not bothering to look back at him as she spoke.

"Yen…" Geralt started to say, feeling a weary sigh building in his chest, but he did not have the chance to speak before Yennefer quickly turned, looking back at him again.

"It was the right thing, Geralt," she told him, coldly, her vivid eyes flashing in the yellow candlelight, so sharp and cutting in that moment he wondered if there might be some spell at work to make them look that way. "That's all there is to it. Let's not speak of this anymore." Then, pursing her lips, she turned away from him again, folding her arms and staring intently at the far wall. She paused as she thought, seeming to be considering something, before she let out her breath again in a long, shuddering sigh, seeming to lose her indignation before his very eyes as she turned back to face him again, her expression now strange, sad and worried, all at once.

"Geralt," she said, her voice softer now, the sudden gravity of her tone making his nerves prick with apprehension. "There's… something I need to tell you about Shani's baby. I—" But before she could finish, the sound of the bedroom door opening reached their ears, and she closed her mouth quickly, looking across the room to where Shani had begun to peek her head into the room. The doctor paused when she spotted Yennefer, and she opened the door a bit wider, before her hazel eyes grew bright with a smile at the sight of Geralt sitting up, awake and alert.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything," Shani said, sliding carefully the rest of the way into the room. "I just wanted to check on how my patient is doing. I brought some more tonic to help with the detox."

"Nothing important," Yennefer returned, genially, smiling as warmly as she could at the doctor. "We were just chit-chatting about Geralt's work. I'll leave you two to it now. If anything changes, you know where to find me." Then, turning to glance back at Geralt again, she gave him a fleeting look of warning, making it clear their conversation was not over yet, before turning to make her way for the bedroom door.

Shani watched as Yennefer crossed the room, stepping out of the way to give the sorceress space to leave, before she turned her attention to Geralt again, crossing to sit beside him on the bed. Shani smelled like lavender and sage, Geralt noticed, the soothing scent of warmth and healing, and he looked down at her arms, noting the fading burns where the sorceress' magic had seared her skin. He had seen burn-marks before, but had never seen them heal so quickly or so nicely as these seemed to be doing; he figured Yennefer had likely given her something imbued with magic to assist in the healing process. Shani hummed to herself as she worked, pulling a set of vials from a pouch at her hip, before laying them out on the bedside table, shaking each one to ensure they were all well-mixed.

"You and Yennefer have something special," she spoke up after a moment, causing Geralt to look up in surprise at the comment. "I hope I can find something similar someday. Not any day soon, of course, but… eventually." She paused at the thought, her gaze growing pensive, before she took a deep breath, looking back down at Geralt again with a soft smile. "Maybe I'll just do what Yen did," she told him, lightheartedly. "Find myself someone to rescue from rash decisions until he buys me a home in the country."

Geralt snorted at the playful jab, watching as Shani picked up one of the vials from the table, giving it another good shake before handing it over for the witcher to drink. He took it with a nod, removing the cork and lifting the vial to his lips, before making a face as the bland taste of charcoal coated his tongue and throat on the way down. "Not the tastiest," he joked, giving a light cough as he made a second attempt to swallow. The mixture was gritty, and it took a bit to get down, but he did what he could before handing the vial back with a nod of thanks. "Live to be a thousand with you around," he told the doctor, grinning up at her with a faint grimace. "Dunno what I'll do with all my extra time."

"Won't be a lot of that if you keep eating mistletoe," Shani answered, smirking as she took the vial back. Setting it aside on the nightstand, she paused, considering the painting above Geralt's desk, before she leaned back against her palm on the bed, resting a thoughtful hand across her bump. "The baby hasn't been moving much today," she observed, causing Geralt to look up at the comment, frowning a bit. "I felt it earlier, so I know it's alright… probably just worn out from all the excitement." She hesitated at the thought, her soft gaze straying, her pretty brow furrowing as she sucked her pink lips, before she let out another long exhale, moving her hand across her stomach until it fell back into her lap.

"I'm probably overthinking everything," she admitted, sounding almost exasperated with herself at the observation. "But I can't stop thinking about that woman who came to the house. She wanted to hurt my baby, but… I didn't even know who she was. If I'd known I'd done something so wrong, just by wanting to keep it…" She stopped, her soft voice trailing off, and Geralt felt a surge of sickening guilt, realizing that Shani assumed the sorceress' presence at the manor had been because of her. She had no idea what he had done, only that someone wanted to hurt her for it – but he could not help wondering if telling her the truth might not only serve to frighten her more. Shani let out another soft sigh, before looking down again to her expectant lap, staring with an unreadable expression at the telltale curve in her borrowed blouse.

"I want to have this baby," she said, her voice quiet, making Geralt's heart ache with guilt. "But if staying here means I'd be putting you and Yennefer in danger… maybe it'd be best if I didn't stick around." She stopped, chewing her lip for a moment, running a pensive hand over her stomach as she thought. "I could go somewhere else for a while," she said, looking up at Geralt again. "At least until the baby is born. I don't want my selfish decision to be something that puts other people at risk. It's not fair to you and Yennefer, not after you've been so good to me through all this."

"Out of the question," Geralt answered, firmly. "Can't let you leave. Not while you're still in danger. Yen'll protect you here, and so will I. Wouldn't be much of a father if I didn't."

Shani watched him as he spoke, considering his words, before a small, grateful smile began to curve her soft lips. "You're a good friend, Geralt," she told him, quietly, reaching out to take hold of his hand. Her hand was warm in his, her fingertips calloused, toughened from field work and study; it was much different from Yennefer's soft, always-cold ones, which was comforting, in its own way. Shani laced her fingers fondly together with his, smiling down at their hands intwined over the covers, before she gave a soft sigh, her expression falling faintly as she rested her still-free hand on her stomach. "If… something does happen to me because of this," she said, speaking slowly, her solemn voice making Geralt's brow furrow with worry. "I… want you to try and save my baby. Please… promise me, Geralt. Her life is more important to me than mine."

Geralt frowned at the difficult promise, turning the weight of it over in his mind, before another small detail caught his attention, and he looked up again, his expression puzzled. "…Her?" he asked, unsure if he had heard correctly.

Shani blinked, seeming surprised, her fingers twitching subconsciously around his at the question. "Oh," she said at last, sounding a bit embarrassed, as if she had not expected to be asked about it. "That's… just what I've been calling h—the baby. I know you and Yen think it's going to be a boy, but…" She stopped, her mouth hanging open for a moment, before she closed it quickly, letting out a soft huff and turning to look down at the floor again. "It's silly," she said, her voice quiet, her cheeks lighting up with a soft blush. "I've always kind of… wanted a little girl. Wishful thinking, I know… no way to tell until it's born, of course, but…" She faltered again, before shrugging weakly, pulling her hand away from her lap to rest it instead on the bed beside her.

"Just one of my idiosyncrasies, I guess," she admitted, letting out another weak huff. "With everyone calling it a boy, I guess I'm… just trying to even the odds a little." She chewed her lip for a moment, her teeth pinching the skin until it turned nearly white, before she turned to look back at Geralt again, offering him a small, apologetic smirk. "I bet you're hoping for a boy," she guessed. "And… truthfully, a little Geralt would be mighty cute. I can't say I'd mind having a little boy, if he ended up anything like you."

Geralt paused for a moment, considering, before he slowly leaned back into his pillows again, nestling his head against their downy warmth as he let out a low, meditative hum. "Hm," he grunted after a while, feeling a small smile start to curl the corners of his lips. "Actually, come to think of it… think I like 'her' just fine."