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.]

14. Blackthorn

The warm yellow light of midday filtered in through the bedroom window, causing Geralt to squint, wrinkling his nose as he blinked his bleary eyes against the sun. The candles in the room had been snuffed out, leaving only the faintest aroma of medicinal lavender, and he groaned as he looked over towards the edge of the bed, spotting a dark shape seated there, waiting for him to wake. Geralt took a deep breath, rubbing his wrist across his eyes as he turned to face the figure, expecting the smell of lilac and gooseberries to greet him, only to be surprised when he was met with the smell of mandrake instead, the faintest whiff of pipe-smoke and shoe-polish following behind to create a distinctively scholarly aroma.

The witcher faltered at the scent, blinking a few times in surprise, trying to focus his vision on what was in front of him – with his slitted pupils, it took him less time than most to adjust to new light levels, but it still took his brain time to catch up to everything else on first waking. The dark-clad figure sat patient and poised as he waited for Geralt to acknowledge him, and he smiled as the witcher finally looked up in surprise, seeing his visitor clearly for the first time. "You're awake," Regis commented, giving a soft chuckle. "I was afraid you might sleep the entire day away. I would've waited, regardless, but… I would've liked to find a book to pass the time. As fascinating as you witchers are, one can only gain so much pleasure from watching you sleep."

Geralt blinked at the teasing, still too surprised at the sight of Regis to process much else. "Regis?" he finally asked, dumbfounded. "When… how did you get here?" Pulling himself upright against his pillows, he gave his friend a quick glance over, checking to see if anything had changed significantly since the last time he had crossed paths with the vampire – Regis seemed about the same as Geralt remembered him, down to the constant dark circles around his eyes, but he could still not help noticing that his friend seemed just a bit thinner, perhaps a bit wearier, his smile just a bit more wan. "Didn't expect to see you," Geralt admitted, shaking his head at the welcome sight. "Figured it'd be too dangerous to visit. Travelling out in the open like that."

"After Dettlaff's assault on Beauclair?" Regis asked, raising his bushy brows at the thought. "You're not wrong. It is rather more challenging to travel these days. But your letter seemed too important to respond in any way other than in person." He took a deep breath at the thought, stretching his long arms in front of him with a tired groan. "Besides," he added, stifling a yawn. "It's much faster to fly than it is to walk or ride horseback. Don't fret about me, Geralt. I haven't lived this long without learning a few lessons about discretion."

"Hm," Geralt answered, not sure whether to believe him. "Thought you might just be ignoring me when you didn't respond to my letter."

"I thought you might believe that," Regis returned, nodding in acknowledgement. "And I do apologize. I've been incredibly busy lately, with… personal matters."

"Dettlaff?" Geralt asked.

Regis nodded again, letting out a weary sigh. "Among other things," he admitted, reluctantly. "He's taken it hard, what happened with Syanna. I've been doing my best to console him, to help him get on his feet again, but…" He paused, holding his breath for a moment, before he thinned his lips, exhaling a long, tired breath from his nose. "Well," he said, frankly. "Ailments of the heart are deceptively difficult to heal, compared to ailments of the mind or body. And that comes from one with significant experience in healing from ailments of both mind and body."

Geralt frowned at the news. "Been over six months," he said. "Made no progress at all?"

Regis looked up, his bushy brows climbing towards his hairline in surprise at the question. "How long does it take for a human to heal from a broken heart?" he asked, frankly. "Or a witcher, for that matter?" He paused, waiting for an answer, before looking away again, leaning back and lacing his long fingers over his knee. "I doubt it's your fault you don't understand," he admitted, staring at the bookcase against the far wall as he thought. "You're a short-lived species, compared to Dettlaff and I. Time flows differently when you've less of it to spare. I've seen you hop into bed with a new woman within a day of a different one breaking your heart." Geralt faltered at the jab, but said nothing, only thinning his lips in an embarrassed line; Regis had every right to take a stab at him after his insensitive comment, he knew, but Regis did not even seem to notice his expression, or if he did, made a good show of pretending not to.

Taking a deep breath, Regis rubbed his long fingers idly together, staring down at them as if getting ready to toss away a bit of dust he had pinched from his jacket. "Unfortunately, some love leaves wounds too deep to so easily move on from," he said after a moment, still seeming lost in thought. "Dettlaff is starting to heal, but the process is… slow. As, I think, can be expected. It took me a full year to recover from my ailment, yet he cared for me in all that time. I can't rightly fault him for taking whatever time he needs for his own rehabilitation." He paused again, before his gaze moved upward to fix on the bookshelf once more, staring at it for a long time before he turned to look back at Geralt again, his dark eyes pensive.

"Dettlaff was, as you know, quite angry with your decision to allow Syanna to live," he told the witcher after a moment. "Though he did eventually come around on the topic, and now claims he prefers it this way. He'd done enough damage on her behalf, he said, and killing her would ultimately have solved nothing. It would only have proven he was truly the monster she had manipulated him into becoming at her behest."

"Hm," Geralt grunted. "Dunno if I agree, but glad he's doing okay."

"Yes, I suppose so," Regis sighed, his voice still oddly wistful. "Though—speaking of which, Yennefer tells me you haven't been feeling well lately. I've never known you to take ill for long, so I was a bit concerned to hear that."

"Been 'taking ill' a lot these days," Geralt answered, frowning a bit at the thought. "Starting to think I might be losing my edge. Losing my skills as a witcher."

"Nonsense," Regis said, giving a soft huff and waving a gloved hand, as if to banish the thought. "More likely you're simply out of practice. That happens when one takes time away from a lifestyle to which one has become accustomed." Folding his hands in his lap again, the vampire looked down at his friend with a wry, curled grin. "I'm willing to bet that when the chips are down, you're just as dangerous as you've always been," he added, assuredly.

Geralt faltered at the observation, not quite sure how to take it, before he finally let out a gruff chuckle. "Appreciate the vote of confidence," he said, reaching up to scratch absentmindedly at his beard. He paused as his nails brushed the neat scruff, realizing how short and clean it felt against his fingers, and he pressed a surprised hand to his cheek, rubbing it over his beard with a dumbfounded expression. His beard had been trimmed to near perfection, the scruff clipped and tamed by an expert hand, and when he reached back further, he realized that his hair had also been trimmed, the split ends and snags from weeks on the road purged and evened by a pair of master shears. "Did you… cut my hair?" he asked, looking up at the barber-surgeon with surprise.

Regis grinned, his dark eyes glinting with puckish mirth. "Yes," he said, brightly. "I was wondering when you'd notice. I had a wager with Yennefer there was an actual man under there, if I were only brave enough to try and find him."

Geralt nodded distractedly, running his fingers through his hair a few more times, enjoying the feel of the fresh cut. "Thanks, Regis," he finally said, still a bit bewildered.

"Oh, no need to thank me," Regis answered, shaking his head. "It was as much for my benefit as yours. After all, I was the one who had to witness that bird's nest while I waited for you to wake. If not for the white hair, I might've mistaken you for a homeless vagabond in Yennefer's bed." He chuckled at the thought, reaching out to brush a small remnant of white clippings from the pillow beside Geralt's head, before he returned his hands to his lap again, taking another deep breath as a new thought occurred to him. "Speaking of white hair," he added, raising a greying brow at the thought. "I didn't know you produced White Wolf at Corvo Bianco. I thought the product was made for you, but that another vineyard owned the stereoisomer. A rather older one."

"Bought the… recipe, when I settled down here," Geralt answered, not even bothering to try and mimic Regis' more cultured terminology. "Figured wine production would help supplement income. Wouldn't have to depend so much on taking monster contracts."

"Ah, yes," Regis agreed, his greyish lips curling again. "Clearing wine cellars of giant spiders and exterminating man-eating plants can become such a monotonous exercise." He paused, as if considering how true this might be, before he suddenly seemed to remember something, taking a sharp breath and reaching into an inside pocket of his quilted jacket. "Speaking of monster contracts," he said, pulling a folded piece of parchment from his breast pocket. "That was quite an encounter you had, over in Beauclair. Your guess of a higher vampire was a good one… though I must admit, I'm still a bit baffled by some of the details you included." Opening the parchment, he smoothed it out, before holding it up to the light to read, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the witcher's scratchy handwriting to find the relevant details.

"Mirik," Regis mused, sucking at his lip. "I'm not familiar with the name, unfortunately… but from your description, if I didn't know better, I'd wager you encountered a mula. Which is strange, as I do know better, and I know that no mula has ever passed the gate from our world into yours." Folding the letter again, he pinched it between his long fingers, creasing it tightly, before stuffing it back in his breast pocket, patting the spot for assurance. "I can't deny the similarities, as strange as the idea may be," he admitted. "It has been a while since I've, er… checked, I suppose. One does tend to forget to keep track of every one of one's species in existence on any given plane." He paused at the thought, his grey brow furrowing, his mouth drawing into a stern line, nearly obscuring his already-thin lips.

"One should think," he continued, slowly, as if this were not the first time he had considered it, "with someone in constant guard of the gate, that none should slip through without some alarm going up about it. But… who am I but a humble barber, tending the wounds of an old friend. I suppose I haven't had the time nor the clout to be apprised of such things as they occur… if indeed they have occurred."

"Not sure what you're telling me," Geralt admitted, frowning at the jumble of words.

Regis let out a soft sigh, giving a small shrug as he rested his palms on the bedspread again. "I'm not sure I entirely know, myself," he admitted, turning to look at the witcher again. "Except, perhaps, that there are more things occurring than either of us is aware of. With us both in retirement and preoccupied with our own matters, which of us is expected to keep an ear to the ground?" Looking away again, the vampire hummed, staring absentmindedly at a Gwent trophy sitting atop a low bookshelf. "Life was so much simpler when all we had to worry about were a few murders," he mused, jokingly. "Who could have guessed we'd miss those days? Now you can't even go to the bootblack without someone looking twice at you, asking about your pallid complexion. It's never been easy to be a vampire, certainly, but it's grown exponentially more difficult lately. Particularly for those of us just trying to live respectable lives."

"Hm," Geralt answered, smirking, hoping to chip through a bit of his friend's dour disposition. "If I ever meet a respectable vampire, I'll be sure to ask him about it."

Regis chuckled at the retort, a small grin curling the corners of his lips again. "You're an ass, but I like that about you," he told the witcher. Then, thinking a moment, he paused, before adding, "Though you do make an interesting point, whether you meant to or not. Mula are higher vampires, like bruxa—they're rare, but they're social creatures. They're seldom found in solitude. Where there's one, there's usually more nearby." Raising his brows again, he tilted his head, his long fingernails digging thoughtfully into the material of the comforter. "Have you seen any other higher vampires around?" he asked, turning to look down at Geralt again. "They might not have been in the exact same area, but it's unusual to find one wandering alone."

Geralt paused, thinking back to the fight, before he finally shook his head, unable to remember anything else. If there had been other vampires in the area, they had not revealed themselves to him at the time— though he was sure if there was another one mulling around, he would have been delivered a contract to inform him of it. Just then, he paused, realizing something, before he looked up at Regis again, his expression mixed. "Not in the same area," he said, speaking slowly. "Not even sure if it's a vampire. But…" He hesitated again, his brow furrowing deeper, before his lips thinned into a pensive frown. "Higher vampires are born higher vampires… right?" he asked, causing Regis to raise a brow at the strange question. "So it's possible for a higher vampire to be… a kid? Or… look like a kid?"

Regis blinked, seeming surprised. "Well… yes," he finally said, sounding almost wary to share this information. "Higher vampires are born, for the most part, though there have also been instances of thralls being given the Gift by another. The Queen of the Night – I believe you know her – she had the capability to gift our… condition, onto those who so chose it." He paused, his expression cautious, watching Geralt with dark, intuitive eyes, as if waiting to see whether the witcher remembered that Regis had once been a lover to the famous vampiress. Geralt said nothing, only blinking slowly as he waited for Regis to answer his question, and Regis let out a soft sigh at the lack of reaction, sliding his thumb pensively across the underside of his bandolier strap.

"That was her special talent," he added after another moment, returning to his original train of thought. "But apart from her and those she turned, I suppose the answer is… yes. Higher vampires are primarily born into our condition, so we do exist as children, at one point in our lives."

"Took the scenic route to that answer," Geralt commented, dryly.

"We each speak in our own way," Regis returned, sounding a bit affronted, though whether it was in jest or not was difficult to tell. "Not all of us have quite mastered the minimalism of your Palaeolithic proto-speech." He paused again, staring down at Geralt, before a small, wry smirk began to lift the corners of his pallid lips. "Regardless," he continued, before Geralt could respond. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is—yes, there are such things as child vampires, though they're very rarely seen. Most are kept hidden away out of fear that our enemies might seek to hurt us by harming our young ones." He faltered again, before his frown returned, seeming once more wary, now that the question had been answered.

"…Why?" he asked. "Do you believe you may have encountered a child vampire?"

"Maybe," Geralt answered, still not entirely sure what to think. "There's this… girl. Keeps showing up in weird places. Always seems to be an omen of trouble. Keeps telling me about how fast she is, which… I guess could be a vampire thing."

"It could be," Regis agreed, nodding along with the description. "Vampires are known for our strength and speed. But let me ask, have you ever seen your child vampire change shape?"

"No," Geralt answered, shaking his head. "Damn good at disappearing, though."

Regis frowned, tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin. "Alright," he conceded after a moment. "Well, does your child vampire have a reflection, or does she cast a shadow in the sunlight?"

"Dunno about a reflection," Geralt admitted. "Never seen her look in a mirror. Pretty sure I've seen her cast a shadow, though. Couple of times, here at the house."

"Well, there you have it, then," Regis returned, simply, holding out a hand with a satisfied nod. "Higher vampires don't cast shadows, so your little friend is most likely not a higher vampire."

"But there are other things," Geralt pressed, leaning forward on his elbows on the bed, still troubled. "Doesn't set off my medallion when I touch her. And she can walk around in broad daylight. Both signs of a higher vampire."

"Or a human child," Regis returned, grinning at the obvious answer, and Geralt felt a flush of embarrassment at the realization that the vampire was right. Reaching out a hand, Regis rested it softly against the witcher's shoulder, patting it a few times reassuringly as he smiled across at his friend. "You're far overthinking this, Geralt," he told him, shaking his head with a fond chuckle. "Nothing about this girl sounds remotely supernatural. It sounds as though you've simply got yourself an enthusiastic little pest."

"Hm," Geralt grunted, making a face. "Great. Just what I need."

"I thought you'd be happy to hear it," Regis answered, leaning back to rest his palms against the bedspread again. "One less mystery, one less potential monster."

"One more kid," Geralt returned, deadpan.

Regis chuckled warmly at the dour response. "Always the pessimist, Geralt," he said, fondly. Then, pausing again, he reached up, pressing a thoughtful finger to his lips. "Though… speaking of children," he added, causing Geralt to look up, wary of the topic. "I noticed you have Dandelion staying here at Corvo Bianco. As well as that lovely doctoral student – Shani, I believe her name is. Beautiful girl, so bright and friendly. Absolutely glowing in her pregnancy."

Geralt felt his stomach sink at the mention of Shani, and he frowned, trying to figure out how Regis had known about her pregnancy so quickly. "How…" he started to ask, before closing his mouth again, realizing it was pointless to try and hide these things. Regis had a sixth sense about pregnancy, it seemed, as he had been the first to realize Milva was pregnant as well when she had travelled with their party all those years ago. He was observant, as well as being a physician and a vampire, all of which gave him added capabilities to pick up on such things – especially compared to clueless Geralt, who had had to ask his own daughter about the correlation between pregnancy and urination.

"How'd you know?" Geralt finally asked, realizing there was no harm in simply being curious. "Does she smell different? Some hormone she's giving off?"

"She's showing," Regis answered, simply, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "She's five months along, Geralt. Not only that, but our friend Dandelion was quite excited to tell me all about it." Geralt clenched his jaw at the mention of Dandelion, making a note to give the bard a piece of his mind later – it was not that he did not trust Regis to know, but he did not like the idea of Dandelion sharing Shani's condition with every guest to come through Corvo Bianco's door. "He says it's yours," Regis added, causing Geralt to look up again, distracted by his own thoughts. "I wasn't sure how to take that, knowing what I know of witchers and your… limitations. Though I suppose if vampires can have children, there's no reason witchers shouldn't be able to as well."

"Not sure I like the comparison," Geralt admitted, his brow furrowing at the thought.

Regis grinned, straightening in his seat on the bed. "I meant nothing by it," he assured the witcher. "Only that our sperm is technically dead, yet our rate of successful impregnation is exponentially higher than most witchers. Present company excluded."

"You've never impregnated a woman in your life," Geralt told him, narrowing his eyes at the barber.

"That you know of," Regis returned, quickly, raising his expressive brows again. "You don't know everything about my past, Geralt. We've only known each other for a very short sliver of time. I'm nearly four hundred and fifty years old, yet I've known you for barely a decade."

Geralt faltered at the explanation, realizing with a start that the vampire was right. "Huh," he finally said. "Got any kids, Regis?"

Regis only shrugged. "I'm not sure," he answered, honestly. "I did have a rather wild streak, at one point in my past. But that part of my life is over now, and I've no inclination to bring more of my unfortunate genetics into this world." He paused at the thought, taking a deep breath, his dark eyes straying towards the bookcase as he pondered. "At this point… I think I'd rather settle down with someone who can fulfil me emotionally," he said, speaking quietly this time, more to himself than the witcher, making Geralt wonder if he had meant to say the last bit out loud at all. Regis was silent for another moment longer, allowing the odd statement to hang in the air, before he took a sharp breath in, turning his gaze back to the witcher again.

"But! That's neither here nor there," Regis said, sounding once again chipper, trying to push the conversation forward, though Geralt could still hear the obvious melancholy in his voice he was trying hard to hide. "I heard you're dealing with something of your own, something of a rather more… supernatural nature. I wasn't able to get the full story from Yennefer, but I got the impression she was a bit unsettled by it. Which of course only piqued my interest more, as I don't think I've ever seen her unsettled by anything."

"Not since the Hunt," Geralt agreed, smirking at the mental image of Yennefer beading up with worry. "Situation's a bit outside her expertise this time, though. Mine too. Still not entirely sure what I got myself into." Leaning back into his pillows again, he watched as Regis raised his brows, folding his hands patiently in his lap as he waited for the witcher to continue. "Long story short… got mixed up with a demon," Geralt explained, figuring there was no point in telling the whole story over again. "Wound up getting swept up in a deal I didn't agree to. Not sure how he did it, but… either way, it's done. Put a curse on Shani, then gave me three tasks to complete to undo it."

"A deal with a demon?" Regis repeated, his brows pinching together worriedly at the thought. "Your misadventures never cease to amaze me, Geralt. And what were the tasks he asked of you?"

Geralt frowned, clearing his throat as he tried to recall the riddles O'Dimm had given him. "First task is getting Vesemir's amulet back," he finally answered. "Second task is killing a Wolf School witcher."

Regis made a face at the news, his grey brow furrowing as he ran his tongue along the inside of his sharpened teeth. "That seems like quite an escalation," he observed after a moment. "Though I can't see how either task could benefit a demon. Killing a Wolf School witcher, perhaps—"

"Killing or creating," Geralt corrected himself, reaching up to scratch absentmindedly at his beard again. "Task was to even the number. Meaning either kill one, or put someone new through the Trials. Either way, can't see any reason the tasks would benefit him."

Regis hummed at the thought, his greyish lips pursing as he considered the implications of the tasks. "And what about the third?" he asked, turning his dark eyes down to Geralt again.

Geralt shrugged. "Dunno," he answered, honestly. "Hasn't given me that one yet. Probably some other difficult task, though. Rebuild Kaer Morhen with my bare hands, or something."

"Perhaps," Regis mused, nodding slowly, seeming less entertained by the possibility. He paused again, seeming lost in thought, before he took a deep breath, resting his hands against his knees. "Sadly, I can't think of any significance to these tasks off the top of my head," he admitted. "However, I can certainly ask around to a few acquaintances and see if I can't get more insight on the matter. Vampires and demons are not generally known to show interest in one another's goings-on, unfortunately, but when you've nothing but time, you do sometimes tend to fill it with unusual fields of interest."

Furrowing his brow, Regis tilted his head, considering who he might possibly ask, sucking his thin lip until the edge of one sharp tooth peeked over the paling skin. Geralt could not help a small smirk at the sight of his friend so deep in thought; vampires were terrifying creatures, of course, and Regis no less than any other, but the softness Geralt had come to associate with him made his vampiric aspects almost endearing, in a way. Regis did not seem to notice his expression, only humming as he let out a long, pensive breath, staring intently for another moment at the bookcase in the corner before he turned to look back at Geralt again.

"It's possible Orianna might know more on the matter," he suggested, thoughtfully, causing Geralt's brows to lift at the idea. "She tends to mingle with the elite of Beauclair… and if anything is universally true of the elite, it's that they like to invest their ample free time in fashionably bizarre interests."

"Never known goëtia to be fashionable," Geralt admitted, only half-joking. For as long as he had been aware of the practice, it had been regarded as something dark and shameful, but he supposed priorities were different for those too detached to fear normal things like poverty and starvation.

Regis shrugged. "Nor have I," he admitted. "Regardless, I can ask Orianna if she knows anything about it. Perhaps someone in one of her circles might know why a demon would show interest in witcher matters. Though again, I doubt it will come to much… goëtia is not as avant-garde as it once was, back when the Brotherhood of Sorcerers was still around. They've likely moved on to more chic interests by now."

"Appreciate it," Geralt answered, unable to help wondering what else such circles might consider 'chic'. Any group that dabbled recreationally in goëtia was not one he trusted to pursue other interests, but he realized he did not have time to consider that right now, when there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Regis nodded back, thoughtful, before a small, wry smirk began to curl the corners of his thin lips again. "In the meantime, you should probably avoid following strangers into dark alleys and warehouses," he suggested, sounding amused by the advice. "You never know where another vampire may be lurking. Perhaps even in your own home, if you don't pay careful attention."

"Hm," Geralt grunted, smirking back. "That one's my fault. Invited him in."

A knock at the bedroom door interrupted their lighthearted back and forth, and they both looked up in interest as the door cracked open, allowing a familiar head to peer around the corner. Dandelion beamed as he noticed Geralt awake and sitting up, before he pushed the door the rest of the way open, sliding inside with a cheerful flourish. "You're awake!" he said, his pearly smile wide. "I heard voices, so I thought as much. Still, I figured I should check in, just in case Regis was in here talking to himself."

"I do that a lot, do I?" Regis joked, raising a sceptical brow at the bard.

Dandelion judiciously ignored the question, fixing his cravat before continuing. "Yennefer is waiting in the front-room," he said, looking up at Geralt again as he spoke. "Despite my best efforts to soothe her with music, she's still worried sick about you… Melitele knows why. You always pull through from these things, I told her, but—she still insists on worrying about you, for whatever reason."

"Thanks, Dandelion," Geralt grinned, holding out a hand for Regis to help him out of bed. The vampire was quick to stand, taking the witcher's hand and securing his other hand under Geralt's shoulder, before offering a counterweight to lift him out of bed and onto his weary feet. Geralt huffed as he stood for the first time in two days, reaching down to feel over the new scar on his thigh, before he headed for the clothing-trunk at the end of the bed, pulling on a pair of trousers and a clean shirt. "Let's go," he said, yanking on a pair of boots, before indicating for Dandelion to lead the way, glancing once behind him to make sure Regis was following as they made their way out into the front-room.

The front-room was nearly unrecognizable, stripped bare of its furniture and decorations; the only things that remained from the way he remembered them were the fireplace and the rug. The walls were discoloured with streaks of oil paint, some half-covered with a fresh coat of white, and the rug was stained through with a ring of dried blood, the edges nearly black with congealed crust. Two attendants were scrubbing the rug on hands and knees, soaking it down to the wood floor in their efforts, but the stain seemed too stubborn to be scoured away, and Geralt frowned at the growing pile of blood-stained rags in a corner of the room.

The rug squished unpleasantly beneath his boot as he stepped onto it, a ring of water rising up from the threads to surround his heel, and he quickly retreated, letting out a low hum as he looked around for some sign of Yennefer. "Oh good, you're awake," her voice was quick to reach him, and Geralt turned towards the sound, watching as the sorceress crossed the barren room towards him, seeming unfazed by the disrupted décor, as if she had grown used to it in his absence. He knew that was likely a front for the sake of their guests – Yennefer hated a work in progress, and even moreso a house in disarray – and he watched her expression, hoping to catch some glimmer of her true thoughts, but found he could detect nothing.

Yennefer smiled as she reached their group, the gesture thin, forced for polite company, before she rested her hands on her hips, turning to look over at her husband with the same stiff, cordial expression. "I wanted to wake you, but Regis insisted I let you sleep," she told him, frankly. "He's a great deal softer than I am, in that regard. But he's also our guest, so I let him do as he wished."

"What happened to the furniture?" Geralt asked, gesturing vaguely towards the empty front-room.

Yennefer turned, glancing back, as if noticing the emptiness for the first time, before she turned to face her husband again, seeming just as unfazed as before. "The table was broken," she answered, stiffly, as if irritated he would ask. "As was the mannequin. We had them hauled out until new ones could be brought in to replace them." She paused, thinking a moment, glancing up to a green paint smear on the wall, before she let out a soft huff, turning her attention to the workers scrubbing the rug instead. "Since we were replacing the table, it seemed a good time to replace the chairs as well," she added, her nonchalance more clearly forced this time. "The style of the set was very last year, anyway. It'll be good to get a new one more in tune with today's trends."

"Hm," Geralt answered, only half-listening. "Where's Shani? She doing okay?"

"Shani and her baby are fine," Yennefer answered, seeming just as glad to leave the previous topic behind. "I checked her over, but apart from a few superficial burns and bruises, she seemed perfectly healthy. I patched her up – with her help, of course, being our resident surgeon – but there didn't seem to be any lasting damage, thankfully." She hummed at the thought, crossing her arms to rest each elbow in the opposite palm. "She's in the day-room, if you'd like to check on her," she added, tilting her head so her raven hair fell over one shoulder. "I should probably get back to helping with the rug, in the meantime… though I'm not sure even my magic will be able to fix this."

She sighed, looking down at the stained rug again, her violet eyes tracing the grisly ring. "If all else fails, I suppose we can replace it as well," she conceded. "Perhaps with something a bit more… durable, this time."

Geralt grunted, unsure what she meant, but trusting Yennefer to know what was best for the house – as far as he was concerned, as long as it made her happy, he was glad to live in whatever sort of home she created. He was a simple man, with simple needs, and as long as he was allowed his trophy-room, he was more than happy to turn over creative ownership on the rest of the house to Yennefer. Turning back to Regis and Dandelion, he indicated for them to follow with him towards the day-room, taking special care to step around the wet rug as they made their way down the hall in the direction Yennefer had indicated.

Regis walked noiselessly behind the witcher, taking care not to crowd the corridor as they walked; Geralt could feel the vampire's presence at his elbow, and he glanced back, wondering if his friend had something to say. "You have a lovely home," Regis commented, though whether he had been meaning to say it or felt prompted by Geralt's attention, it was difficult to tell. "Rather larger than the last time I remember being here. You've added onto it since moving in permanently, I assume."

"Yeah," Geralt answered, nodding. "Thought the house needed a bit more space, with the two of us. Place to keep our things, accommodate guests. Plus Yen kept hinting about a library and a day-room." He frowned, before letting out another low huff, shaking his head at the memory. "Barely used the day-room since building it," he added, sourly. "Taught me a lesson about taking hints at face value."

Regis chuckled, amused by Geralt's domestic follies, his smile lingering as they entered the day-room in question, moving across the sun-dappled floor to where Shani sat on one of the couches, looking lost in thought. She was barefoot, her trousers rolled up nearly to her knees, soaking her feet in a small wooden basin that smelled faintly of salt-water and rosemary, and she looked up in surprise as they approached, having clearly not expected guests. Her look of surprise soon changed to one of glee as she recognized the faces coming to greet her, however, and she began to get up, pulling her feet from the tub, only for Geralt to raise a hand, quickly stopping her.

"Don't get up," Geralt told her, gently. "Didn't mean to disturb you. Just wanted to check if you're okay. Yen says you got patched up, but… just wanted to make sure there was nothing else you needed."

Shani paused at the question, settling back a bit, stirring her feet in the basin as she thought. "I'm fine," she answered after a moment. "A bit sore, but that's to be expected, I think. It's not every day you get thrown around by magic. …Or at least, I don't. Can't say the same for you." She smiled at him again, teasingly, before turning her attention to the figures standing beside him. "If I'd known I would be this popular, I would've gotten pregnant a long time ago," she told them, grinning. "Did you come to check up on me, too, Regis? Give me a second opinion on whether I'm dying or not?"

"I doubt death is your primary concern right now," Regis returned, giving her back the same impish grin. "Though your aches and pains may feel like death, I assure you that no one has ever died from swollen ankles." Moving to sit beside her on the couch, Regis reached out, starting to massage her tender shoulders, and Shani hummed as he worked his thumbs into her back, kneading the taut muscles until they relaxed. "A good massage will do wonders for your back," he told her, seeming pleased with her positive reaction. "You should make someone give you one every now and again. Perhaps someone with strong hands, capable of relieving all this tension."

Geralt frowned at the obvious lead, glancing over to Dandelion next, who only smirked back. "It's the least you could do," the bard put in, shrugging. "She is carrying your child, after all."

"Getting reprimanded in my own house," Geralt growled, but found he could not help but grin at the teasing. Shani asked for so little, he supposed it had never occurred to him to look for other ways he could help – it was useful, then, to have others around with more insight into what she might need than himself or Yennefer. Taking a deep breath, he folded his arms, watching as Shani leaned back gratefully into Regis' hands, before he paused, thinking back to the conversation he had had with Yennefer the evening before.

She had seemed so worried about something – something she had said had to do with Shani's baby – but she had not had a chance to tell him what that was before their talk was cut short by Shani's arrival. Geralt frowned at the thought, wondering for a moment if there was something Shani was intentionally keeping from him, or if perhaps whatever had worried Yennefer was something even Shani did not know.

"We should probably get back to Yennefer," Dandelion whispered, leaning in to Geralt's ear, forcing his attention back to the present. "While they're busy catching up. Gives us an opportunity to talk about the t-a-s—"

"Shani can spell, Dandelion," Geralt hissed, turning his head to cut the bard off. Then, looking up at the two on the couch again, he held up a hand, gesturing back in the direction they had entered. "Gonna let you two finish catching up," he announced, causing both Regis and Shani to look up at the declaration. "Dandelion and I are gonna head back. Trying to finish up the front-room before you have to leave again, Regis."

"Take your time," Regis answered, pleasantly, before turning his attention back to Shani again, seeming much more interested in conversing with the young doctor than in anything Geralt had to say. "Now, I've heard tell from a little bird that you worked alongside Milo Vanderbeck at the Battle of Brenna," he told her, his mouth curling into an eager smile, looking every bit like a child about to learn the secret to his favourite candy. "I admit I'm rather fascinated by his work in pathomorphology, so I have to ask… did he share any of his insights with you during your time together?"

Geralt turned towards the door at the sound of medical jargon, realizing the conversation was going over his head, before waving a hand for Dandelion to follow along behind him, watching as the bard bounded happily after him into the hall. Dandelion held his hat perched smartly in place as they began in the direction of the front-room again, every so often glancing over his shoulder to make sure Regis and Shani were not following behind them. "Regis thinks the baby is going to be a girl," he said after a moment, causing Geralt to look down in surprise at the unusual start of conversation. "I think it's going to be a boy, myself—being half-witcher and all. I was thinking of starting a betting pool… I think Shani would find it funny, but I wasn't sure if Yennefer would."

"Probably think it's in poor taste," Geralt answered, giving a soft grunt at the thought. "Probably place a bet anyway, though. She likes to be right, poor taste or not."

Dandelion chuckled at the thought, but quickly stifled the sound as they approached the sorceress, and Geralt cleared his throat to get her attention, causing Yennefer to turn in surprise at the sound. "That didn't take long," she commented, looking them over, as if to check for anything different. "Though I see you lost Regis. It's probably for the best… I don't know that he'll be around to help much with the situation."

"Gave him a short rundown anyway," Geralt answered, resting his hands on his hips. "Think he's trying to put Shani at ease. Make things easier for whenever we have to break the news to her." He paused at the thought, turning to look over at the ring of dried blood on the floor, his frown deepening at the gruesome reminder before he turned back, looking up at Yennefer and Dandelion again. "Would prefer not to force her out of Corvo Bianco, if possible," he said, his brow creasing at the thought. "Want her to be comfortable until the baby arrives. Just worried if one mage can track her down, others can, too. Last mage got inside the house, and nobody even blinked."

"Nobody knew to blink," Yennefer returned, her pretty brow furrowing at the implication. "Now that we know better, what makes you think we wouldn't protect her? That I wouldn't protect her? It's my home, too, after all."

Geralt faltered, unsure how to answer for a moment. "Guess I assumed you'd be travelling with me," he finally said, honestly. "Didn't realize you'd be staying behind. Thought you'd be helping me with my tasks."

"And why?" Yennefer asked, her voice cutting, causing Geralt's jaw to clench at the tone – there was more going on here than simply sorting an agenda, he realized, but he was not equipped to deal with that right now. "Are you incapable of doing the tasks by yourself? Or is it that you think I'm incapable of protecting Shani objectively?" She pursed her lips, propping her hands formidably on her hips as she stared him down, daring him to answer. "Whatever you believe, Geralt, I am perfectly capable of putting my own interests aside for the sake of others," she told him, bluntly. "And I believe I'd be of far more use here at home than I would playing second fiddle to what is essentially witcher's work."

"Didn't say you couldn't be objective," Geralt told her, speaking in a low voice, unsure whether she could hear him or not. In response, Yennefer only turned her head, glancing down the hallway in the direction of the manor library.

"I've been doing some thinking over the last two days," Yennefer said, moving the conversation curtly along, ignoring his attempt to placate her. "Regarding the… incident, that occurred here. I've gotten in contact with Triss, and I've informed her of all the details about it." Geralt faltered at the mention of Triss, remembering O'Dimm's comment about her involvement with the disturbance of two nights prior, but he said nothing, deciding that would best be left as a topic for another day. It was not a subject that could be handled right now, regardless, and especially not in front of Dandelion, and so he only furrowed his brow, looking thoughtful, allowing Yennefer to continue uninterrupted.

"Triss tells me she's been busy in Pont Vanis, acting as the advisor to King Tankred," Yennefer went on. "She says he's given her quite a bit of freedom in her position, and pays her handsomely for her expertise – enough to allow for comfortable investment in her other areas of personal interest." She paused at the thought, the stiffness of her expression faltering slightly as her brow furrowed in a look of concern. "She tells me she's continued her work in her efforts to smuggle mages out of the North," she went on, trying her hardest to sound impassive. "It seems sentiment towards mages in the North hasn't improved much since Radovid's assassination… apparently Northern lawmakers didn't take kindly to the rumours of Redania's king being murdered by a sorceress and her spymaster associate. As a result, the witch-hunters have taken it on themselves to double down on their efforts to brutalize magic-users."

"Doubt it took much to convince them to do that," Dandelion scoffed, running his fingers thoughtfully over his goatee. "Brutes and bullies, the lot of them. Always mugging around outside the Chameleon, scaring away my customers."

"Triss says she isn't even sure who they're working for anymore," Yennefer agreed, turning to look over at Dandelion, as if hoping the bard might have more insight on the matter. "Admittedly, it feels more like a personal vendetta than anything, at this point. An organization like that is a cesspit for the worst humanity has to offer… sociopaths who take pleasure solely from lording violence over others." Letting out a heavy sigh, she crossed her arms, before looking up at Geralt again with a tired expression. "Regardless, Triss tells me she's still in close contact with her old network from Novigrad," she continued, wearily. "She says she can potentially offer Shani access to a number of safe-houses across the North. She says they'd be willing to offer her protection if they think she might be in danger from the witch-hunters, so we'd need to come up with a convincing story for her, or figure out another way to get them to take her in."

"Doubt there's much need for a story," Geralt observed, his brow furrowing in concern at the thought. "Witch-hunters hate nonhumans. Probably be more than happy to kill a witcher-born child, if they knew about it."

"Be that as it may," Yennefer said, speaking quickly, though Geralt could tell his point troubled her. "I still have to figure out the details with Triss about how any of this will work, if we do decide to go with this plan. If I can figure something out with her contacts, I might be able to keep Shani safe by keeping her on the move." She paused again, before letting out a soft huff, uncrossing one arm to rest her fingers worriedly against her pale cheek. "I could use my magic to obscure her presence from other mages' attempts to scry her," she suggested, sounding less than convinced of her own idea. "If nothing else, that would make it so neither of us is a sitting target while you're off fulfilling your tasks."

"It's a sound plan, in theory," Dandelion agreed, frowning as he turned it over in his head. "Except, wouldn't smuggling her through mage safehouses put her more at risk from the exact thing she's trying to get away from?"

Yennefer shrugged, seeming less concerned with the thought. "It's possible," she admitted. "Though I'm not sure what there is to be done about it. It's not an ideal solution, clearly, but I can't think of anything else at the moment."

"I can," Dandelion returned, quickly, raising a finger to indicate an idea forming. "What about my network? Zoltan and I have accrued quite a few useful contacts in Novigrad. Not to mention she'd be safer in the city, with the witch-hunters making mages notoriously unwelcome there." He grinned at the thought, proud of his solution, propping a hand on his hip and waving the other in Geralt's direction. "Plus, with Geralt's connection to the King of Beggars and Dudu in control of Whoreson Junior's network, we've got the criminal element on our side," he added, sounding more enthused with the plan the further he got into it. "Think about it. Even the most stubborn of mages would be hard-pressed to gain access to someone being harboured by Novigrad's kingpins."

"True," Yennefer sighed, turning her violet gaze patiently up to meet the bard's. "However, as much as I appreciate your creative solution, Dandelion, I would prefer not to have a pregnant woman harboured by hardened criminals. Unfortunately, most of your network outside the criminal element is made up of vagabonds and minstrels – or, alternatively, royalty, which would only make it more difficult to keep her out of the public eye, if we were to go that route." Dandelion made a face at his idea being shot down so quickly, but he said nothing, only standing back and crossing his arms, allowing Yennefer to continue her say.

"I believe the Northern safe-houses would still be the most effective place to hide her, at the moment," Yennefer went on, turning to look over at Geralt again. "By concealing her in a place best known to be used by mages, we'd be keeping her safe by putting her in the last place they'd think to look for her – right under their noses."

"But what happens if a mage needs to use the safehouse while Shani's there?" Dandelion countered, his cravat puffing out like a ruffled bird at the thought. "And—who even runs these safehouses? How do we know they're not mages, themselves? Who's to say she's safe with them?"

"Enough," Geralt insisted, holding out his hands, causing both Yennefer and Dandelion to look up in surprise at the command. "We'll figure this out later, once we know more. Not getting anywhere arguing about it."

"You're right," Yennefer agreed, turning to face her husband again. "So, what's your first task, then? If we're to get started on this, we might as well know what we're getting into."

"Vesemir's amulet," Geralt answered, deciding to forgo the exact wording of O'Dimm's riddle. "Ciri wore it when she fought the Crones. One got away, made off with it. Need to kill that last Crone, get it back."

"Seems simple enough," Dandelion conceded, nodding along with the explanation. "Kill a monster, collect a prize. Seems like everyday stuff, for you."

"Not just a monster," Geralt countered, his frown deepening at the descriptor. "Crones are much more powerful. Old spirits, strong and revered. Sure to be a lot more involved than just going in and killing it."

"So you think the demon's whole point in asking for this was just to get you killed," Yennefer observed, her tone dry. "I personally can't see what other benefit Vesemir's amulet would have to him. It has no value to anyone but those who knew him, and perhaps a few others. Trophy collectors and the like."

"Or collectors of Vedyminaica," Dandelion put in helpfully, lifting a thoughtful finger.

Geralt wrinkled his nose at the term, hating how medical it made his profession sound – it reminded him of butterflies pinned in a glass case, just one more blow to the slow decline of his dying breed. "Amulet means nothing to him," he said after a moment, shaking his head. "Pretty sure Yen's right. Only reason he picked it is because it'll be hard to do." He paused a moment, considering, before his brow furrowed deeper, his gaze growing suddenly solemn. "Or…" he added, causing Yennefer and Dandelion to look up again. "Might be another reason. Could be the Crones pose some threat to him. Once this one's gone, they're all gone. Forest spirit, too. With all of them dead, people of Velen are free from their influence."

"Free to do what, exactly?" Yennefer asked, arching a curious brow.

Geralt shrugged. "Dunno," he answered. "Figure I could write to the Pellar and ask. See if he's got any insight. Or any thoughts about killing the last Crone."

Yennefer made a face, before she shook her head, crossing her slender arms over her chest. "Writing a letter takes too long," she objected. "The Pellar is difficult enough to get hold of as it is. It'd be much easier to use teleprojection to contact him. There's not much he can do to avoid us if we simply show up in his house." Geralt faltered at the idea of surprising the Pellar with an unannounced magical appearance, but he realized quickly that Yennefer was right – even when he had gone to the hut in person while travelling through Velen, it had been nearly impossible to get the old man to answer any of his questions. Any letter they sent would likely get lost among the soothsayer's oddments long before it was answered, and Geralt let out a huff, folding his arms as he watched Yennefer wave a hand in the direction of the manor library.

"We can use my megascope, in my study," Yennefer suggested, not waiting for Geralt to agree with her plan. "The sooner we get it out of the way, the better. And, Dandelion—?" Turning again, she faced the bard, who looked up in interest at having been addressed. "Would you mind checking in on Shani and Regis?" she asked, offering him a genial smile, one Geralt recognized as being dangerous to deny. "We won't be long, but we don't want our guests to think we've abandoned them in the meantime."

Dandelion paused, before returning the smile, clearly recognizing the latent threat as well as the witcher. "Sure," he answered, his tone forcibly bright. "Take your time. I know how important this is. I figure you two could use a moment alone anyway, after the last few days." Then, turning, the bard gave one last knowing glance to Geralt, before spinning on his heel and starting down the hall in the direction of the day-room.

Geralt watched as Dandelion disappeared, almost missing as Yennefer turned in the opposite direction, starting to walk down the hall towards the manor library, not bothering to check if her husband was following behind. "If you do get Vesemir's amulet back, perhaps you can give it back to Ciri," Yennefer suggested, her voice carrying down the corridor as Geralt walked quickly to catch up. "It'll be much better than that Cat amulet she still has. That thing gives me the creeps." Pausing at the door to the library, the sorceress allowed a faint shudder to run through her as she reached for the handle. "I'm not sure why she insists on wearing it," she added, shaking her head at the thought. "I've long put the Griffin medallion she gave me in a drawer somewhere. I don't even like looking at it."

"Didn't know you kept it," Geralt admitted, waiting for his wife to open the door.

Yennefer turned at the comment, looking back at her husband with a frown. "Of course I kept it," she said, sounding affronted he would think otherwise. "It was a gift from Ciri, albeit a rather grisly one. I wouldn't dispose of it for the world." Then, opening the library door, she made her way inside, heading swiftly for the megascope in the corner, dusting it off with a titter as she tweaked and adjusted its many moving parts. Geralt looked on in interest as she worked, tucking his hands behind his back to avoid getting in the way, unable to help wondering, as he watched, how Shani had managed to figure out such a complex apparatus. "Stand over here with me," Yennefer prompted after a moment, and Geralt did as he was told, crossing to stand beside her in front of the circular glass.

He watched as Yennefer closed her eyes, starting to recite a string of phrases in Elder speech, the words causing the crystals in the stands to glow and hum before an amorphous window began to take shape in the middle of the circle. The projection warped and stretched, shimmering for a moment like polished glass, before it finally began to form shadows and shapes, gradually sharpening into a vision of the inside of the Pellar's hut. The hut was just as Geralt remembered it, though it had been a while since he had last set foot inside; cured meats and apple-sized cloves of garlic still hung in clusters from the structural beams, with a circle of nearly-melted candles flickering warmly on the low stone stove in the middle of the room. The house was tiny, barely large enough for one man to fit a bed and table, but the Pellar had managed to utilize the space well enough to leave a clearing for his rituals and other tasks.

The Pellar himself stood in a corner of the room as their projection began to take shape, and he turned around with only a sleepy look of interest as they materialized, blinking slowly as he waited for the spell to finish. He folded his hands behind his back as he watched them, looking first at Geralt, and then at Yennefer, before his bleary gaze returned to Geralt, offering him a tight-lipped, toothless smile.

"The Pellar has been expecting your call, White Wolf," the soothsayer informed him, matter-of-factly. He sounded genial, glad for the familiar company, but Geralt could not help noting how tired the old man looked. He supposed that was nothing new for the Pellar, who always looked a bit worse for wear, with his toothless grin, his necklace of chicken-feet, and his rumpled, wax-stained robes; still, there was something about him now that seemed just a bit wearier, a bit more run-down, and Geralt could not help wondering if something had happened since he had last visited the oracle in person.

"Hm," Geralt answered, dismissing the thought. "Been busy with other things. Was wondering if you could give me some information on the last Crone."

The Pellar's bushy eyebrows rose at the request, and he blinked a few times, making sure he had heard correctly. "The Last Lady of Crookback Bog?" he finally asked. "Why does the Wolf wish to know about her?"

"Call it curiosity," Geralt answered, trying not to look too concerned by his reaction. "Got a contract to take her out. Like to know what I'm getting myself into."

The Pellar frowned, running the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip in thought, before he pulled his lips into a wary ribbon, letting out a low hum as he reached to stroke his wizened chin. "The Wolf should be careful, if his goal is to harm the Last Lady," he said at last, his voice grave. "The Pellar has heard rumours… rumours of her return to the Bog. Folk around the Bog have grown fiercely protective of her, knowing her to be the last. They feel it's their duty to guard her, keep her safe from those who wish to do her harm." Letting his hand fall back down again, he ran it along the string of chicken-feet around his neck, his thin mouth nearly inverting in a deepening frown as he stared at something on the far wall, past the teleprojection.

"The Wolf should be extra vigilant if he intends to hunt the Lady down," he said, his voice taking on the ominous air of a man who had seen more than he intended. "He may find himself up against much more than he bargained for, otherwise."

Geralt faltered at the warning, exchanging a worried glance with Yennefer, but she only shrugged, seeming just as lost in the soothsayer's ambiguities as her husband. Turning back to the Pellar, Geralt cleared his throat, getting the old man's attention, causing him to blink a few times before lifting his watery gaze to the two of them once more. "Any idea why someone would want her dead?" Geralt asked, hoping to get more information down a different route.

"To escape paying tribute, the Pellar assumes," the Pellar answered, shrugging his thin shoulders at the guess. "The Ladies of the Wood demand sacrifice, but offer protection in return. Killing the last Lady would stop the sacrifice, but it would stop the protection as well."

"And without the Ladies to protect them, the people of Velen might seek protection from something else," Yennefer observed.

The Pellar thought for a moment, sucking his toothless gums before answering. "It's a possibility," he finally said. "Though the Pellar knows not who they would turn to, in that instance."

Yennefer frowned at the answer, crossing her arms as she turned to look up at her husband again. "Do you think your demon might be trying to take the place of the Crone as Velen's protector?" she asked, warily.

Geralt shrugged. "Doubt O'Dimm intends to protect anything," he answered, frankly. "Probably just looking for people scared and desperate enough to deal with him." He paused at the thought, his brow furrowing again, before he folded his arms, letting out a curt sigh. "Don't like the implications of opening Velen up to that, but… Crone isn't much better," he admitted. "No good choice in this one."

"At least O'Dimm doesn't eat children, I suppose," Yennefer answered, dryly.

Geralt's frown deepened at the observation, unsure if his wife was joking or not. "Pretty low bar," he finally said, deciding it was not worth it to decipher. Turning to look back at the Pellar again, he unfolded his arms, propping his hands on his hips instead. "Speaking of the Crones, any update on the Baron and his wife?" he asked, curiously.

"Anna Strenger?" the Pellar returned, sounding surprised, his bushy brows lifting again at the question. "Nothing that the Pellar's heard. Though he must say that the Baron's men have been under much better control of late. The Pellar would guess it has something to do with a unit sent down from Vizima… one would almost suspect someone may have mentioned something about it to Nilfgaard's new Empress, as it would seem the Empress has been making efforts to remove such corruption where she can manage it." He grinned at the news, tapping the side of his bulbous red nose with a conspiratorial wink. "In the meantime, if the Wolf has time, perhaps he can visit the Baron and his wife in the Blue Mountains," he suggested. "Perhaps check in on their progress, see how long until they return. If ever they do intend to return."

"I'll keep it in mind," Geralt answered, nodding. "Doubt I'll have time, though."

"Time is a fleeting commodity," the Pellar agreed, nodding his balding head along.

Yennefer sighed at the exchange, seeming to have gotten her fill of the conversation. "Thank you for your help, Pellar," she told him, before waving a hand, causing the projection window to swiftly dissipate. Geralt watched as she turned away from the megascope, causing the crystals to hum faintly as they powered down, before she crossed instead to her desk, leaning on the polished wood as she stared across the library towards a far bookcase. "I suppose this means you'll be leaving for Velen soon," Yennefer observed after a moment, her voice flat. "You've only just returned from Vizima, and now you're leaving again. For who knows how long this time."

"Only until I kill the Crone," Geralt assured her, moving up to stand behind her at the desk. He reached out a hand to touch her hip, only for her to quickly turn in response, causing him to retrieve it in surprise. "Be about… three weeks on horseback," he said, a bit more warily this time. "Three weeks back. So, six weeks, give or take. Unless something happens to change it."

"And what do you suspect might happen?" Yennefer insisted, folding her arms, her tone sharp at the suggestion. "You think you might die, and never return? Then what am I to do to protect Shani?"

Geralt frowned at the barrage of questions, taking a moment to observe his wife before answering. "Don't think this is about that," he finally said, watching Yennefer's expression closely as he spoke. "Pretty sure it's about something else. Never got to finish our conversation from the other day."

Yennefer scoffed at the observation, turning her violet eyes downward to avoid his gaze. "I'm not sure how much more there is to discuss," she told him, her voice stiff, clearly not used to being called out this way. "You were offered a deal from a demon, and you refused. Now you have to do three tasks to appease him. Simple."

"Not gonna question it at all?" Geralt asked, his brow furrowing incredulously. "Just willing to accept it? Just like that? Doesn't really seem like you, Yen."

Yennefer hesitated, staring at the floor, her lips twitching in a thin line as she fought to find an answer. Then, letting out a long, quiet sigh, she looked up again, her anger much more visible and sincere this time. "What do you want, Geralt?" she asked him, quietly, her voice barely above a resentful whisper. "What do you want me to say?"

"Just want the truth," Geralt answered, frankly.

Yennefer gave a soft snort. "I told you the truth," she told him, her frown not lifting.

Geralt shook his head, folding his arms to mirror hers. "Don't believe that," he told her, bluntly. "Think you're deflecting. Avoiding the topic. Just can't figure out why."

Yennefer paused at the accusation, standing perfectly still, hardly daring to even breathe in response; she stared at the far wall of bookcases as she thought, her arms crossed disapprovingly over her chest. "You can't?" she finally asked, turning her face down so only a sliver of it was visible through her hair. "Well then, it seems pointless to tell you. If you can't figure it out, why should I do it for you?" She pursed her lips, staring down at the floor as she waited for some response, before she quickly lifted her chin again, looking up at her husband with a stark, scornful stare. "No," she decided, correcting herself, her voice much sharper now, finished playing games. "I will tell you, Geralt. Because ignorance is no excuse. Not anymore."

Geralt faltered at her tone, but held his expression, not allowing even one muscle to move in his face. He knew Yennefer often assumed his ignorance was feigned in these situations, and in some cases, she was right – with the dulled expressions his mutations had given him, it was sometimes easier to pretend not to understand, rather than admit culpability and be scolded for his poor decisions. But this was not one of those cases, and he felt his stomach knot at the thought of what was to come, but still he held his ground, waiting for what he knew was needed to finally put their emotional tug-of-war to rest.

Yennefer clenched her jaw, the muscles in her elegant face tensing as she stared at him across the room, seeming to be needing a moment to collect her thoughts before she began to lay into her husband. It was strange, Geralt thought, how beautiful she still was, even frightfully angry like this, and he wondered if that might not be part of what he found most attractive about her – the fact that she was so vibrant in her emotions, where he was so dull. "You ask me to accept these things at face value, but do you even—do you listen to half of what you say?" Yennefer insisted, pulling his focus quickly away from her beauty and back to her words. "When I repeat the specifics of these situations back to you, do you not hear how completely ludicrous they sound? Who lives like this, Geralt? Who? What other wife is expected to hear these things and be alright with them?"

"Didn't think you'd be alright with them—" Geralt started to say, but found himself quickly cut off again.

"This isn't a normal relationship, Geralt!" Yennefer insisted, her cheeks growing brighter with anger as she continued. "I feel like I'm living in some… bizarre alternate reality, where every day I wake up hoping today will be the day things go back to normal. Hoping that all of this will have been one long, terrible dream, and when I wake up, we'll be back in Skellige, before any of this began." Letting out a hard huff, she propped her hands on her hips, giving him a look he had not seen since his night out drinking with the boys at Kaer Morhen – she had mastered this look for his benefit, he was sure, and it never failed to make him feel like a schoolboy about to be given the switch. "This is not what I imagined when I agreed to settle down," she told him, her voice stiff, though he could detect a hint of a waver in it now. "I wanted peace and quiet, a normal married life, not… demons and near-death experiences."

"What I wanted, too," Geralt agreed, but Yennefer only shook her head.

"No," Yennefer said, curtly. "I don't think it is. Do you want to know what I think, Geralt?" She took a deep breath, staring across at him with the detached regality of a sorceress, looking every bit the ice queen she allowed others to believe she was. "I think you never intended to settle down," she told him, bluntly. "I think you were simply broken up about losing Ciri. About losing the daughter who worshipped you. You felt insecure, so you went looking for something to give you that sense of security back. I think it didn't matter to you who you married—me, or anyone else. You just wanted to get married to someone because you thought it would make you feel whole again."

Geralt felt his face grow hot at the accusation, before realizing with a start that she was right – he had brought up the topic of marriage to Shani weeks before ever bringing it up to Yennefer. He supposed had spent so long thinking about marrying Yennefer that it had never occurred to him to actually ask—until he remembered that he had told Dandelion barely days before how he would have happily married Shani, if it meant doing the right thing for her and her child. He felt a sharp twist in his gut, wondering if Yennefer was not completely right about him, before he quickly pushed the thought from his mind, realizing how ridiculous it was to even consider.

He had known from the start that Shani would never say yes to him – the flames of their passion had long died down too much to amount to anything – but his feelings about the life she described had been real, all the same. He wanted that life with Yennefer, and Shani had helped him to realize that. Yennefer was the woman he wanted to be with forever, and that would never change.

"You never actually intended to change your ways," Yennefer told him, drawing him sharply in again, though he found his defences lower now, his gaze softer as he looked upon her, listening to her words. "You were merely frightened of being alone, and wanted something symbolic to ensure it wouldn't happen again. I see a man who regrets his decision, because he feels stifled—suffocated by the domesticity he claimed to crave, the life he promised his wife would be the way things were from now on." She paused, pursing her lips, forcing back a lump in her throat as she fought to steady her breath, and Geralt felt his heart ache at the sight, wishing he could say something to make her stop and realize how wrong she was.

"I see a man who's tearing at the seams," Yennefer continued, her voice wavering, though she was clearly trying hard not to let it break. "Deluding himself into thinking he isn't constantly trying to break free of the life he created. Tell me, Geralt, if you could leave right now, go back to the Path with Ciri, would you not take that opportunity?"

"No," Geralt answered, assuredly. "Don't want to be on the Path. Not with Ciri, or anyone else."

Yennefer scoffed, looking away again, folding her arms around herself in a self-contained hug. "I find that hard to believe," she told him.

"Don't care," Geralt answered, bluntly. "Told you what I want. Whether you believe me or not is your prerogative."

Yennefer frowned at the answer, saying nothing for a moment, her lips trembling briefly before she caught them, stilling them again. "Would you rather be married to Shani, then?" she asked, the question taking Geralt by surprise.

"…What?" Geralt answered, making a face, sure he had heard her incorrectly.

Yennefer huffed, turning her violet gaze up to her husband again. "Don't 'what' me, Geralt," she told him, sharply. "I've seen the way you look at her. The way you talk to her, so naturally. She's a beautiful woman, capable of bearing your children. You'd be a fool not to feel something for her."

"Guess I'm a fool, then," Geralt answered, his tone firm, annoyed she would even ask. "Shani's just a friend, Yen. Can even ask her yourself. Don't want to be married to anyone but you."

Yennefer's brow furrowed in doubt, and she tucked her arms more tightly around herself in a protective circle, before she finally let out a long sigh, looking down again, seeming almost to shrink before his eyes. "I'm sorry, Geralt," she told him, softly, her voice shaking now, seeming much more human. "All of this, it's just… too much. It's too much right now. These tasks, and having to protect Shani's baby…" She faltered, her gaze still fixed the floor, before she took a deep breath, moving her hands to clasp her slender shoulders. "None of it feels real, still," she admitted, shaking her head in bewilderment at the thought. "I don't think it's all quite hit me, just yet. I'll be able to sort it out eventually, I'm sure, but… what am I supposed to feel in the meantime?"

"What do you mean?" Geralt asked, frowning, working hard to keep his voice gentle.

Yennefer sucked her lip, before letting out another sigh, this one more tense than the last. "I'm no fool," she insisted, looking up at him again, trying hard not to let her voice break. "I know how absurd it sounds—someone spontaneously offering mages the ability to bear children. It's impossible, it has to be. If it was that simple, someone would have figured it out long ago. But…" She stopped, her body tensing, as if trying to physically hold her heart in place, keeping it from leaping into her throat and choking her, letting loose the emotions she was trying so hard not to show. "If the sorceress who came here was so convinced it was true that she was willing to kill three people for it…" she said, quietly, "…what am I supposed to think?"

"Yen…" Geralt started to say, but stopped, realizing he had no idea what to tell her. She was right, and he had no argument to disprove her, as much as he wished he did.

Yennefer frowned, seeming disappointed that her husband had no comfort to offer. "I don't have all the answers, Geralt," she told him after a moment, shaking her head again, her expression honest. "I wish I did, but it feels like every day I keep having less of them. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel anymore. I feel… lost. Tired. Confused. Scared. Scared that I'm losing you a little more every day. Like you're drifting away from me, piece by piece, and one day I'll wake up and you'll just be… gone. Maybe not physically, but… you won't be the same. And somehow, that's… so much worse." She paused at the thought, her eyes growing misty, her lips pursing for a moment to contain their trembling, before she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor again, hiding her face behind the curtain of her hair.

Geralt frowned at the shift, forgetting all tension of before as he moved to take hold of his wife, pulling her in close and resting a reassuring hand on her back, feeling her breath stagger against his palm. Brushing a dark swath of her hair aside, he tucked it clumsily behind her ear, clearing half of her face, before pressing his lips softly to her forehead, running a calloused thumb tenderly across her weary cheek. Yennefer let out a shuddering sigh, reaching up a small hard to curl around his larger one, before allowing herself to lean into his comfort, nestling her face in his palm as the first tear skated silently down her cheek.

"I'm afraid I'm losing the man I love," Yennefer told him, quietly, still not daring to look up at him as she spoke. "You've been trying so hard to find purpose after Ciri that… you can't see that your purpose is to just be here, with me."

Geralt shook his head, reaching out to brush the other half of her hair gently from her face. "Could never forget that," he told her, quietly. "Wouldn't bother to be alive, if not for you. Only reason I wake up every day is because I get to do it next to you." He kissed her forehead again, breathing in the deep, floral scent of her hair, feeling the soft brush of her cheek against his hand as a second tear pooled at the spot where they met. He touched a finger under her chin, tilting her face gently upward to meet his, and he kissed her cheek, drying the salty trail, before moving his lips down to embrace hers.

Yennefer sighed as she felt his mouth brush against hers, gently at first, and then with more fervour, kissing her with slow, gentle passion as he pulled her in close, needing to feel her body against his. It had been too long since he had been with Yennefer, had seen her smile in a way she saved only for him, had felt her skin grow warm and wet against his as she held him close, never wanting to let go. He kissed her jaw, and then her ear, feeling her shudder against his hand as he moved his mouth across her skin, trailing soft kisses down her neck as his second hand slid down her jacket to unfasten her clasps. She gave a soft gasp as she felt her jacket pop open, before her mouth was quickly covered with another kiss, and she sighed as she felt Geralt's hand slide inside her shirt, giving a soft moan and squeak as it enveloped her tender breast.

Through the soft material of her blouse, Yennefer could feel the outline of his cock against her stomach, hard and warm against the clasp of his pants as he coaxed her back gently against the desk. She huffed as she was moved, gasping for breath, sliding her arms around Geralt's neck as she kissed him, feeling as he pulled his hand from her shirt again to instead slide it across her supple backside, squeezing it between his fingers. "Geralt!" Yennefer gasped, feeling as his cock brushed teasingly up against her thigh – it pulsed against her skin, making her heart beat faster, but she shook her head, pushing the thought of what lay just beneath his trousers from her mind. "Geralt—please! We have guests!"

"Let them hear," Geralt growled, kissing her neck again. "Wouldn't be the first time." Then, picking her up, he sat her squarely atop the desk, earning a short, surprised gasp from the sorceress as he began to spread her legs, starting to unfasten her pants.

Yennefer parted her lips as she watched him, fighting her instinct to allow him to continue, before she quickly shook her head again, using one hand to gently push his hands away from her lacings. "Geralt… no," she told him, gently, reaching up a hand to cup his disappointed cheek. "When you get back, maybe we can revisit this, but right now… I just don't think it's a good idea." She sighed, giving him a sympathetic look, almost laughing at the dog-like distress in his yellow eyes. "You know I wouldn't usually say no," she told him, running her thumb gently across his scruffy beard. "But we've got too many guests just outside still, and… you need to start getting ready for your tasks."

Geralt frowned at the assessment, before looking down, letting out a faint, distressed huff. "Can't… go out just yet," he told her, a bit embarrassed by his precarious condition. It would not be the first time any of their guests had seen him standing attention, he realized – especially around Yennefer – but he still had no desire to be teased about such things right before heading off to potential death.

Yennefer chuckled at the rigid situation, starting to fasten the clasps of her jacket again. "I can see that," she told him. "It's alright. You can stay here until it goes down again."

Geralt grunted, watching as her deft fingers made short work of his small achievement. "Gonna be a month and a half before I see you again," he told her, regretfully.

Yennefer looked up at the comment, thinking a moment as she rested her hands beside her on the desk. "I don't see why it has to be," she finally said, looking up at her husband with a pointed expression. "I only didn't portal you to Vizima because I hoped to teach you a lesson. But the only one who learned a lesson in that instance was me. I learned my husband will kill himself if left to his own devices for more than a week." Sliding off the desk, she smoothed her jacket, before moving around to open one of the lower drawers, starting to rummage around inside. "I'd been working on something for you before Vizima," she said, pushing aside a stack of neatly-rolled parchment as she searched. "I started work on it when you mentioned wanting to visit Ciri, but I didn't manage to finish it before you left. I had some time to work on it while you were away, however, and I think it's just about functional now…"

Pausing in her searching, she stared into the drawer, before her pretty brows lifted and she let out a short, sharp gasp, clearly spotting what she was looking for. "There it is!" she said, triumphantly, reaching deeper into the drawer to pull it out. Standing again, she held up her find, showing off what looked to be two compasses on sturdy twine, before she set one aside on her desk, handing the second to Geralt and allowing him a moment to inspect the trinket.

"It's a xenovox," Geralt said, looking between his own and the one on the desk. "Which one's the communicator?"

"They both are," Yennefer answered, sounding incredibly proud of herself. "I've modified them to work both ways, as it seemed rather pointless to have only one person capable of communicating in case of emergency. This way, if anything changes on either end, we can let the other know about it immediately."

Geralt nodded in thanks, tucking the xenovox into a pouch at his belt. "Thanks, Yen," he said, before stopping, staring down fervently at the petite sorceress standing in front of him. He hated the thought of leaving again so soon; his time with Yennefer was so limited anymore that he barely got to see her, let alone be with her, when being with her was all he ever wanted. He wanted a simple, quiet life with Yennefer, and he knew now that that was all she had ever wanted, too, and he let out a soft sigh, his brow furrowing faintly as he searched her gaze, lost for a moment in her beautiful amethyst eyes. "Can I… at least hold you for a while before I have to go?" he asked, his voice quiet, so soft he barely recognized it as his own.

Yennefer hesitated at the request, before she offered him a soft, loving smile in return. "I suppose I don't see the harm in that," she agreed, moving in to close the space between them. Pushing his medallion aside, she nestled her face in the warm indent of his chest, breathing in his musky, wild scent as she slid her hands across his muscular back. He was nothing if not a man, she thought, but there was such nuance in him that only she got to see – his insecurities, his embarrassments, the way he fretted about his clumsy hands breaking delicate things. He was force and logic, where she was cunning and grace, but there were things in life that took more than logic to decipher, things Geralt wanted so much to have, to make himself better than the Trials had built him.

Geralt pulled his wife in as close as he could, burying his face in the soft slope of her neck, wishing he could make time stop, if only to make this moment last forever. Yennefer was everything to him, and he knew he did not deserve her – yet here she was beside him, giving him hope, pulling him from the fire, as she always had. "Love you, Yen," he told her, quietly, his voice muffled by the soft waves of her hair.

"I love you too, Geralt," Yennefer returned, gently, pressing a soft kiss to his scruffy cheek.