Shani's washcloth was cool against Geralt's forehead, and he opened his eyes to look up at her, watching her work with weary interest as she ran the moist rag across his face and neck. She looked tired, he noticed; faint dark circles had formed under her hazel eyes, and her cheeks seemed puffier than usual, a stark contrast to her thin, pale wrists and throat. She was getting less sleep than she needed, he realized, likely due in part to having to look after him like this, though he figured it was probably also difficult to sleep with a living thing growing inside her.

The wording of his thoughts made him grimace, thankful he had had the sense not to say them out loud, and his expression made Shani pause, lifting her hand to blink down at him in surprise. "Did I touch something?" she asked, glancing down over his dressings. "Pretty sure I bandaged everything thoroughly. Try not to move around too much, even so. Some of these injuries came dangerously close." Geralt frowned at the bleak observation, lifting his arm to examine his freshly-wrapped bandages, noting the spots of dried blood in the shape of a ghoul's maw on his forearm. "That one nearly severed your ulnar nerve," Shani told him, nodding towards the broken skin. "Lucky your glove had those spikes to stop it, or you might've lost your ability to hold a sword with that hand."

"Hm," Geralt grunted, letting his hand fall back to his side at the thought. "Wouldn't be much good without my sword arm. Too old to learn any new skills at this point."

Shani gave a soft chuckle at his teasing, brushing a stray lock of hair from his golden eyes. "You could take up whittling while you're on bedrest," she suggested. "Yennefer's learning how to sew. You could open a shop together." Setting the damp washcloth aside, she reached next for a vial of Swallow on the nightstand, shaking it up before uncorking it and handing it over for Geralt to drink. The nightstand was littered with care items, he noticed – a bowl of warm water, several medicine bottles, and among them, Vesemir's medallion, glinting unassumingly in the light of the bedside candle. Geralt faltered at the sight of the necklace, feeling his heart speed up at the memory of its retrieval, before he quickly pushed the thought from his mind again, bringing the vial of Swallow to his lips.

"Thankfully there were no broken bones this time," Shani observed, watching as he downed the potion in a hearty gulp. "Had to do some surgery on your neck, but… not the worst I've had to do. Especially on you."

"Shouldn't take too long to heal," Geralt agreed, handing the vial back to Shani and wetting his lips. Swallow was the mildest of his witcher potions, but it always left a strange, bland taste in his mouth, even so. "Witchers heal fast. Couple bites won't hurt. Be back on my feet and killing monsters in no time."

Shani huffed at his bold assessment, setting the empty vial aside to rest her hand on her stomach instead. "Witchers do heal faster than most," she agreed, looking over at him with a pointed stare. "But whatever bit you this time barely missed your carotid artery. You'll stay in bed until your throat scabs over, witcher or not."

Geralt paused at her commanding tone, before a small, fond grin began to creep across his face. "Yes, ma'am," he said, nodding in agreement. "You're the doc here, after all."

Shani smirked, before leaning down over him to press a soft kiss against his forehead, filling his senses with the smell of lavender and thyme as she brushed her gentle fingers over his bandages. He could feel the stiff gauze across his face and neck, heavy where she had applied salve and disinfectants, with wraps banding around his chest, arm, and leg where the creatures of the swamp had tried to drag him down. It amused him to think that every part of his body had been subjected to Shani's bandages by now, and he could not help grinning at the strange realization, even as he felt the doctor rest her forehead against his shoulder with a sigh.

It was not a romantic gesture, but there was something endearingly vulnerable about it, even so, and Geralt paused for a moment, unsure what to do, before he finally lifted a hand, resting it reassuringly against the back of her head. "You don't have to keep taking such dangerous jobs," Shani spoke after a moment, her voice muffled against his chest. The statement caught Geralt by surprise, but he said nothing, only letting her continue until she finished. "The clinic is all but set up," Shani added, nestling her face into his collar-bone. "I can work, Geralt. I can earn money, too. It doesn't always have to fall to you and Yennefer."

Geralt frowned, realizing with a start that Shani was still in the dark on several things – he had never gotten around to telling her about the curse, so she still assumed his missions were all in an effort to fund her clinic. He had forgotten to correct her on that when it had come up, as well as on her assumption that the sorceress coming to the house had been her fault; he had not wanted to scare her back then, but it was becoming clear now that he could not keep the truth from her forever. Shani turned her head as he thought in silence, resting her cheek against his chest with another sigh, and Geralt moved his hand over her slender shoulder, pulling her in more warmly against him. She was too good for this, he thought – too good a person to suffer for others' mistakes – but the idea of telling her she and her baby were in mortal danger was a bit more than he knew how to address right now.

"The baby's been moving around more lately," Shani spoke up again after another moment, trying to lift the mood. "Something's got it all worked up. That, or it might be something to do with…" She trailed off, sucking her lip as she opened her eyes again, staring intently at the wall past Geralt. "I've been doing as much research as I can," she admitted, sounding much more tired than before, and Geralt felt his stomach drop at the sound, at the disappointment in her voice at the mystery of his condition. "I don't know what's been going on lately. Maybe it's been trying to tell me something. Or maybe… the sorceress was right, and I'm…" She trailed off again, before her expression began to fall, her lower lip paling between her anxious teeth.

"Maybe… it's cruel, you know?" she added, quietly. "Keeping it… when we know so little."

"No," Geralt answered, causing Shani to look up at the sound of his voice. "Sorceress wasn't here because of you or the baby. Sorceress was here because of me." The last bit was a lie, he realized, but he was still not quite sure how to break the truth to her – she had accepted his story of spiritual possession before, but this was something far more twisted and personal. "Got roped into a… contract, of sorts," he explained, feeling Shani's warm breath on his neck as she listened. "Sorceress came here to make sure I took it seriously. Make sure I was still on board."

Shani's frown deepened at this new information, before she suddenly gasped, pressing both hands excitedly to her stomach. "The baby's moving!" she said, giving a soft laugh. "Here, Geralt! Feel! It's kicking." Reaching back, she pulled his unbandaged hand over to rest on her stomach, and he faltered as he felt the impact of a tiny foot against his palm – before the rattle of Vesemir's medallion on the nightstand caused him to look up again a second later, gritting his teeth as he realized that his own medallion still sat motionless against his chest.

He supposed it was possible that Vesemir's medallion was more honed than his, more sensitive, better tuned to the presence of magic from hundreds of years spent refining on the Path; Vesemir had always seemed more vigilant than his pupil, keener and more observant of his surroundings, so it made some sense that the old Wolf's medallion might pick up on things that Geralt's would not. Still, there was something not quite right with that thought, something that sat like a sour stone in the witcher's stomach, and he frowned as he remembered that Vesemir's medallion had also gone off the night before when his had not. It had reacted when Shani had pulled his head into her lap, and he looked up at Shani as the memory returned, wondering if she had any idea that the baby she carried might be emitting some form of magical energy.

Geralt felt his mouth twitch at the thought, fighting the urge to say something about it to Shani, before he suddenly realized a glaring flaw in his theory – that an obvious magical source would set off both medallions, not just one. He frowned, wondering now if perhaps it had nothing to do with Shani at all, and if there was something else in the manor causing Vesemir's medallion to react this way. He turned his head at the unsettling thought, staring intently at the medallion on the nightstand, hoping it might vibrate again and prove his suspicions right – but, as could be expected, it sat quiet now, the wolf's head still and sleepy in the candlelight, and Geralt let out a frustrated breath, wondering if his weary mind could have made the whole thing up.

"Did you feel it?" Shani asked, causing Geralt to falter, caught between two expressions, before he finally nodded, giving an awkward grunt of confirmation. He hoped his reaction would read to Shani as a man overwhelmed by new emotions – which was not entirely untrue, he realized, as he had never felt a baby kicking in the womb before. He hated that his enjoyment of this moment had been spoiled by something beyond his control, but he still could not keep his mind from straying again, wondering why his medallion had failed to pick up on whatever Vesemir's had.

It was not the first time his medallion had acted strangely the last few months, and he wondered if it was possible for a medallion to break, or for its sensitivity to become untuned. But the only one who would know about such things would have been Vesemir, Geralt realized, and he frowned at the medallion on the nightstand again, wondering for a moment if he might never have known about this anomaly had he not had the old Wolf's necklace to tell him. That thought was soon followed by another, an unsettling, almost morbid curiosity, and he found himself wondering, suddenly, if that might not have been part of O'Dimm's plan all along – but that thought was soon pushed aside as he realized how far-fetched it was to give the demon such credit. O'Dimm only did things for his own advantage, and Geralt could see no benefit for him in this

All thought of Gaunter O'Dimm disappeared as soon as the sound of the bedroom door opening reached their ears, and Geralt looked up in time to see the handle turn, before watching as Yennefer let herself quietly inside. Just like Shani, she looked incredibly tired, likely from time spent helping with his care, and Geralt watched as she crossed the room towards them, pausing for a moment as she stared at his hand on Shani's stomach. Shani smiled up at Yennefer as she approached, before slowly starting to push herself up from the bed, using the nightstand to help her to her feet as she gathered her supplies to leave.

"He's doing much better," Shani reported, picking up the bowl of water and tucking it into the crook of her arm. "Another week or so on bedrest and he should be fine to get up and move around. I told him he wasn't allowed to do anything else until his neck wound scabbed over, so don't let him try to tell you otherwise."

"Gimme a little credit, doc," Geralt grinned, letting out a light cough at her teasing.

Shani smiled back at the joke, before turning to look at Yennefer again, waving a hand towards Geralt as she started past the sorceress towards the bedroom door. "He's all yours," she said, giving another soft chuckle. "I've done all I can, for the moment. I promised Regis I'd help him with some research today, but don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."

"Regis is still here?" Geralt asked, looking up at Yennefer in surprise. Yennefer paused, waiting for the door to close behind Shani, before she slowly began for the bed again, sitting down in the indent where the doctor had just sat and running her hands thoughtfully over the covers. She stared for a moment at the blanket under her, before she finally looked up at Geralt again, looking the world like someone who had come to deliver bad news.

Geralt frowned at her grave expression, wondering if he might have said something wrong, before Yennefer took a deep breath, folding her hands in her lap as she prepared to speak. "What happened out there in the swamp?" she asked, cutting straight to the heart of her question. Geralt faltered at the frankness of her approach, but said nothing, only letting her speak until she was finished. "When I got your communication… I was so afraid," she added. "I hadn't expected to hear from you like that."

"Wasn't such a big deal," Geralt shrugged. "Misjudged the number of monsters she could summon. That's all."

"It was a big deal," Yennefer countered, looking up at him again, her gaze firm. "And I doubt you would have said what you did over the xenovox if you didn't believe you might die out there." She paused again, clenching her hands in her lap as she pursed her lips in concentration, her already-pale knuckles growing deathly white as she squeezed them between her slender fingers. She looked like a ghost, Geralt thought, with her wan expression, her rigid, anxious posture, so tightly wound he feared she might rebound like a spring at the slightest touch.

"I was honestly afraid I might lose you in that moment," Yennefer admitted after a while, causing him to look up again, surprised to hear her continue. "Lose you without ever seeing you again… having to listen to you die, while being unable to help you. That's my worst nightmare, Geralt. I don't know what I would've done had I not had the skill to save you."

"But you did," Geralt answered, reaching out to take hold of her hand in her lap. Just as he expected, she jumped at his touch, before looking down, seeming a bit dazed to see his hand resting over hers. "Didn't doubt you for a second," he told her, giving her hand a soft, reassuring squeeze. "Got me out of there just fine. Just like I knew you would."

"Hm," Yennefer answered, seeming unconvinced, staring down at their hands in her lap for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin, staring instead at a slat in the floor. "Did you mean what you said out there?" she asked, causing Geralt to pause, unsure what she meant. "About… loving me since the first time you saw me, and being sorry for everything you've done?"

Geralt blinked at the question, having not expected her to bring it up so soon, or so candidly. "Kinda strapped for time," he admitted after a while. "Had to use broad strokes, but… yeah. Meant everything. Hopefully be able to elaborate a little more once I'm not… dying, so much."

Yennefer listened silently as he spoke, staring intently ahead at the painting above his desk, her weary eyes searching every inch of it, as if only noticing it for the first time. Then, reaching out towards the nightstand, she picked up the wolf medallion from the edge, bringing it up to examine its face, her pretty brow furrowing as she considered the worn design. "Why would a demon want Ciri's medallion?" she asked, her voice distant, as if unaware she was speaking out loud. Geralt frowned at the change of subject, wondering if he had upset her with the topic of his near-death – he would try to bring it up again later, he decided, sometime when she was less on edge, less tired, sometime when he had the proper state of mind to express his thoughts to her more fluently.

"It serves no purpose to anyone but us," Yennefer added, still staring at the medallion in her hand. "A demon has no need for a witcher medallion. Did he wish you to return it to Ciri?"

"Dunno," Geralt answered, shrugging again. "Ask him next time I see him. Doubt it has to do with the medallion, itself, though." It was almost the truth, though he had to resist the urge to ask Yennefer what she had wanted to tell him before – it was not the right time, not when she looked like she had not slept soundly since his arrival back home. Once he was back on his feet, he could ask her about the sensitivity of Vesemir's medallion, as well as whatever it was about Shani's baby that had so upset her the last time they spoke.

Yennefer hummed at the thought, staring down at the wolf's head in her palm, before she set it aside on the nightstand again, leaning down to press a kiss to her husband's forehead. Geralt breathed in her scent as she leaned over him, feeling the downy brush of her dark hair against his face, until she finally sat up straight again, looking him over with saddened eyes, as if wondering if it might be the last time. He had seen that look from her before, on days filled with melancholy, quiet days after large losses; the look of someone who had seen something pass from vibrance to nothingness in barely a day. She looked like someone mourning, though he was unsure what she was mourning most – the quiet and peace of their marriage before Shani's arrival, or the thought that she might actually lose him to whatever task came next.

Reaching a bandaged hand to her face, Geralt passed a rough thumb across her cheek, causing her to look up again, surprised at having been caught so lost in thought. "I'm sorry," Yennefer said, pressing her hand to the back of his. "I was just… thinking about things. About… how things were. Before any of this. Wondering if we'll ever get back to some semblance of… what we had."

Geralt thought a moment, taking a deep breath in as he considered how to answer. "Think we can manage that," he finally said, offering her a reassuring smile.

Yennefer paused, before returning the smile, though Geralt noticed that hers was remarkably wearier, almost forced, and he could not help his own expression from falling a bit as she moved his hand around to her lips to kiss it. "I'll let you get some rest," she told him, placing his hand back over his chest. Then, leaning in, she kissed his forehead again, brushing a gentle hand across his cheek, before moving down to press a soft kiss against his lips, letting her mouth linger over his, as if afraid to leave. Geralt savoured the taste of her mouth, the warmth of wine mixed with the sweetness of honey, the smell of lilac and gooseberries falling over him like a blanket as he breathed in her intoxicating scent. It was hard to imagine a life without her, a life where he would never be able to experience this again, and as she pulled away from him, he found his lips cold with the suddenness of her departure.

"Don't leave," he begged, taking hold of her hand again and pressing it back to his cheek. "Stay. Things can wait. Stay with me a little while longer."

Yennefer hesitated at his request, staring down at him in the bed; he noticed her gaze was softer now, less distant than it had been before, and he pressed his lips to her fingertips, feeling the soft brush of her nails against his beard. She held her breath as she watched him, seeming to be counting every second of affection, before she finally let out her breath in a long exhale, leaning in again to press another soft kiss to his lips. "Perhaps things can wait for a little while," she agreed, unlacing her boots to the floor. Then, curling up in the warmth of his outline, she nestled her head back against his sturdy chest, letting him pull her in close as he drifted back to a fitful sleep.

The room was still dark when Geralt woke again, the candle still flickering pensively on the nightstand, its wax only slightly lower than before, making him frown at how little sleep he had managed to get. There was nothing around to have woken him – no loud sounds, no sudden movements from Yennefer – but there was something in the air that had alerted him regardless, setting his senses on edge enough to rouse him from his sleep.

Narrowing his eyes against the darkness, he allowed his slitted pupils to dilate, and he scanned the room, before feeling his blood freeze as he noticed a dark figure standing in the corner near the door. He stayed motionless at the sight of the figure, not wanting to let on that he had seen it – but the figure had apparently noticed him wake, as it stepped forward barely moments later, slowly emerging from the shadows to reveal itself in the wan yellow candlelight.

"So sorry to disrupt your sleep," O'Dimm purred, pressing his hands together as he spoke. "I merely came to check on the status of your tasks. I wasn't expecting you to have… company." As he mentioned Yennefer, she gave a soft groan, and Geralt looked down, expecting to see her eyes opening at the sound – but she was still fast asleep, entirely unaware of anything going on that might disrupt her dreams. "Far be it from me to disturb her rest," O'Dimm added, waving a hand in Yennefer's direction. "You needn't worry about her waking. I don't think she'll be hearing a thing."

"What did you do to her?" Geralt hissed, taking hold of Yennefer's shoulder and giving her a shake, but she only gave another sleepy huff, curling deeper into the covers at his side in response.

"She's fine, Geralt," O'Dimm assured him, shaking his head with a chuckle at the witcher's attempts. "She's only sleeping, truly. Once we're done speaking, she'll be able to wake again."

Geralt gritted his teeth, hating that he had to take the demon's word, before he looked up towards O'Dimm again, only to find that the master of mirrors had already moved. He had crossed the room in a silent second, vanishing and reappearing with the grace of a cat, and he now sat cross-legged on the bed beside Geralt, making the witcher nearly jump as he realized how close the demon had gotten. O'Dimm grinned at his reaction, before reaching over the witcher and his wife towards the nightstand, picking up Vesemir's medallion and holding it up to watch it spin. "Such a small thing," he observed, seeming almost mesmerized, his dark eyes locked on the necklace. "But with so much meaning. How incredible that this small trinket should be worth you risking your life."

Geralt coughed, touching the bandage on his neck to make sure it was still secure. "Did what you asked, O'Dimm," he rasped, causing the demon to look up at the sound. "Killed the Crone. Retrieved the medallion. Just leave it. Worth nothing to you."

"You don't think so?" O'Dimm asked, smirking. "I think you'd be surprised what has worth to me." He chuckled, but did as he was told, setting the medallion aside on the nightstand again, before he looked up at the witcher once more, fixing him with an unnerving, unblinking stare. It had never occurred to Geralt to look too closely at O'Dimm before, but now he found he had little choice, with the demon sitting so close he could see every stray, scruffy whisker on his unremarkable face. He wondered if O'Dimm had chosen this form, or if he had come into existence by some other means, some higher power which had determined a result so nondescript as to pass for any common man on the street.

It was a clever trick, and a trap even Geralt, himself had fallen into on more than one occasion, lured in by the mien of one so ordinary he assumed him to be just one more face in a crowd. Now that he looked a bit more closely, though, he could see that O'Dimm's mouth was just a bit too wide, his form just a bit too shapeless, his hands just a bit too performatively worn. He was a sadistic puppet of an everyday man, a masquerade made to inspire confidence, but there was something just calculated enough about him to show the true devil through the guise he so skilfully wore.

"So you've finished your first task," O'Dimm observed, drawing Geralt sharply back to their conversation. "Which begs the question… how will you complete your second? Surely you wouldn't have rushed right in, with no consideration where you might go from here." He smirked at the thought, folding his hands together and resting them on his crossed ankles as he stared at the witcher. "I seem to remember Dandelion mentioning something… something about a son, I believe," he added after another moment. "A strapping young lad, about ten years old. Perhaps there's something you could look into there? Not perfectly-formed as a candidate, of course, but potentially… witcher-shaped."

"Not conscripting Dandelion's son," Geralt snapped, feeling his heart beat faster at the suggestion. He had almost forgotten about Dandelion's bastard, among other things discussed that boozy night, but the fact that O'Dimm knew about the boy made Geralt suddenly fear for the child's safety.

O'Dimm shrugged, seeming unfazed that his idea had been shot down so quickly. "Your choice, witcher," he returned. "It was only a suggestion, after all. However, time is of the essence. You may not have the leisure of choice for very long, if you take too long to decide."

Geralt frowned at the bleak reminder, reaching up to cover his mouth as he coughed again. "You and your time…" he growled, wiping his beard with the back of his wrist.

O'Dimm's grin widened at the observation. "Yes," he agreed. "After all, time is all we have. Though too often, it's the one thing we lack. Isn't it strange how that works?"

"I have a question about that," Geralt said, letting his hand fall back to his blankets. He wondered if it was a foolish risk to ask, even if the question was purely hypothetical; the last thing he wanted was to get caught up in a second contract, but he found he could not turn away from the opportunity to learn something he had wondered about for so long.

"I have an answer," O'Dimm returned, waiting eagerly for the witcher to continue.

Geralt faltered, feeling his hands grip subconsciously into his sheets as he readied himself to speak again. "Seen you stop time," he said after a moment, making sure to choose his words carefully. "Seen you bend it to your will. Warp it. Push it forward. Can't help but wonder… can you also turn it back?"

O'Dimm's cattish grin curled at the question, seeming entirely amused at having been asked. "Why, Geralt," he said, his voice almost giddy with false scolding. "Is there some reason you'd want to turn back time?"

"No," Geralt answered, quickly shaking his head. "Just seeing how fucked I am, getting into a contract with you."

O'Dimm chuckled, taking a deep breath as his eyes traced the ceiling in a musing arc. "I suppose you've earned an answer," he agreed after a moment. "Though I still question your motives in asking. In the simplest terms… what exists will always exist, somewhere. That's just the way things are. Everything that will happen has already happened – it's only a question of whether it will happen in this reality." Picking up his spoon, he held out a finger towards the witcher, balancing the spoon along its narrow edge, watching as the utensil rocked precariously for a moment before stilling in perfect balance. Geralt frowned as he watched the display, wondering what point O'Dimm was trying to make, before he looked up into the demon's face again, waiting for the inevitable explanation.

"Time is nonlinear and divergent," O'Dimm continued, staring intently at the spoon on his finger. "The actions we take can change the future, of course… as can those we choose not to take. But no matter what path we choose in this timeline, the opposite will always exist somewhere. The future you seek may be in this reality…" He paused, watching the spoon as it began to tip forward, looping around to balance just as perfectly on the underside of his finger. "…Or it may not," he finished, looking up at Geralt again. "Only the actions we take in this reality will tell."

"'This reality'?" Geralt repeated, narrowing his eyes at the unsettling phrase. "You're saying other timelines exist? In addition to other worlds?"

"Honestly, Geralt," O'Dimm chuckled, not bothering to watch the spoon as it rounded his finger to the top again. "Is it really so hard to believe that alternate versions of our timeline exist? You've experienced hydromancy and prophetic visions from magic-users before, of course – glimpses into the future, which you trusted enough to make decisions based on." He smiled, bouncing the spoon into the air and catching it deftly by the handle, before giving it a pleased little wave, resting the head against his opposite palm. "You think just because you prevented it from happening in this reality, there's no other reality where you didn't succeed?" he asked. "Where, then, did the visions come from, if not from a reality where they've already occurred?"

"So there's no such thing as free will?" Geralt insisted, his brow darkening in anger at the thought. "Everything the prophecies say has already happened? Everything is predetermined by destiny?"

"Destiny has nothing to do with it, witcher," O'Dimm answered, shaking his head. "It's all a matter of time." Tucking his spoon in his belt again, he gave a small sniff, considering what else to reveal. "Technically, I could send a person back in time to relive a chapter of their life," he added after another moment. "But what would be the fun in that? It would only create more margin for error in the long run, as you can imagine."

"You can send people back in time?" Geralt asked, raising his brows in surprise. "But… that's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible," O'Dimm returned, opening his hands to rest them against his knees. "Others less powerful than myself have done it. You remember Alvin—or should I say, Jacques de Aldersberg? The lost little boy who sent himself back in time, only to grow into a famously pro-human radical?" He smirked at the thought, and there was something strange in his expression this time, something notably sinister, something which made the hair on Geralt's arms prickle with a distinctly icy sensation. "It's quite simple, really," O'Dimm continued, ignoring the discomfort on the witcher's face. "Jacques had no training, no understanding of his power, and that's where the primary difference lies. With the proper honing, it's really not all that complicated, if you possess the innate power to control it. No schoolyard sorceress would be able to master such a skill, of course, but Sources, like Alvin, or Ciri…"

He paused, going silent a moment, before his dark eyes lilted to one side, as if debating whether to continue his list. "Regardless," he said after a while, looking to Geralt again. "I do have the power to do that, of course. But I much prefer… more interesting gambits. Sending people back to certain points, with the opportunity to change one element at a time. One short trip, one thing altered… and on their return, they get to see the long-term repercussions." Geralt frowned, half-curious what the demon meant, but not wanting to tempt him further – but it seemed O'Dimm needed no temptation, as he soon lifted a finger, tracing a line of smoke in the air between them.

"Call it… a butterfly effect, if you will," O'Dimm explained, tapping the smoke at various intervals, causing rings to form in its shaky fumes. "Or more simply put, cause and effect. Either way, nobody ever thinks about the long-term consequences of their actions until they're actually forced to live them." He smiled as he said this, before waving his hand, causing the end of the smoke line to bubble and burst, the explosion of mist nearly causing Geralt to jump, having not expected such a violent result. O'Dimm chuckled at his startled reaction, before blowing gently on the line of smoke, causing it to breeze towards Geralt's face as it faded once more into mist.

Geralt coughed as the smoke was blown into his face, before looking up again to find O'Dimm grinning down at him, steepling his fingers in his lap as he waited for the witcher's attention to return. "You're a perfect example of that, Geralt," O'Dimm told him, causing Geralt to frown at the comment. "What long-term repercussions do you think Shani's child will cause, if you go through with allowing it to live? Think carefully… if you had the chance to stop yourself, to go back in time and walk away from it all… to control your urges instead of enjoying one last night of passion… would you prevent all of this from happening?"

"No," Geralt answered, not even taking a moment to consider. It was a despicable question, and he resented O'Dimm for asking it. "Shani loves that baby. So do I, and so does Yen. Wouldn't take that away, no matter what you offered."

"Me?" O'Dimm asked, pressing a surprised hand to his chest. "I offer nothing, witcher, for it means nothing to me. I only wish to warn you that every action has a consequence, and to consider whether yours will be one you're willing to live with." Folding his hands together again, he pressed his index fingers to his lips, grinning his devilish grin as he let the weight of his words sink in. "Just remember what your friend the werewolf said," he added after another moment, causing Geralt to look up sharply at the reminder. "Even the most innocent of things can turn easily wicked, if left to the wrong environment. Perhaps consider whether the environment you provide is one which would create something… worth nurturing."

Geralt felt his blood run cold, feeling a muscle twitch in his bandaged jaw; though he hated to admit it, there was something in the demon's words that latched onto him like a stubborn leech, something which made his mind race with doubt, though he tried his hardest to ignore it. Had he heard that warning before today, he would have dismissed it without a second thought – but after the questions raised by Vesemir's medallion, he found it harder to convince himself of what was right.

"Told you already," he answered after a moment, speaking barely above a growl. "Don't regret it. Won't regret it. Don't bring it up again."

O'Dimm paused at his final answer, allowing a moment of silence to fall between them on the bed, before he took a deep breath, leaning back again and steepling his fingers in thought. "Very well," he said after a moment, nodding slowly. "I see you've made up your mind, then. Just don't forget that two tasks still remain… and that time is running out." He smiled again as he said this, but there was something insincere in his expression this time, something strangely stiff and resentful, as if grinning through news he had not wanted to hear. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone, his weight lifted from the covers beside the witcher, leaving the room once more in eerie silence, as if he had never been there at all.

The majority of Geralt's wounds had nearly healed by the end of the week, though he still wore the bandages around his neck to keep Shani's mind at ease until she cleared him to remove them. He could smell the heady scent of sav following him as he moved through the halls of the manor, but he tried to ignore the medicinal aura that trailed him as he searched each room for Yennefer. He had not had a chance to bring up their conversation over the xenovox with her all week, and he was sure she had been just as busy, as she had not yet brought it up to him again, either. It seemed strange to him that she should leave it untouched, with so few opportunities to hear such deep words from her husband, but he figured she probably had a rational reason for putting off hearing the full confession he had promised.

Yennefer was in the library when Geralt finally found her, and he wondered why he had not thought to check there first; it seemed to be her favourite place these days, surrounded by her books, parchment, and quills. Crossing to her desk as she read, he leaned down, resting his palms against its polished surface, but she did not even seem surprised to see him, only reaching out to tug on his beard with an affectionate smirk. "Nice to see you're feeling better," she told him, closing her book to look up at her husband instead. "Though I could smell your sav from fifty yards away. Perhaps next time consider sneaking up without bandages on."

"Keeping them on for Shani," Geralt answered, moving around her desk to sit against the edge. "Still hasn't cleared me for adventuring. Walking around the grounds seems to be okay, though."

Yennefer nodded, setting her book down to give him her full attention. "That's very sensible of her," she agreed, tracing her finger coyly over his knee. "Who knows what nonsense you might get into otherwise? You're much better off staying here." She smiled as she said this, starting to slide her hand up the length of his thigh, and he watched as she brushed her fingers teasingly against the lacing of his trousers. "I wish you didn't have to leave so soon," she told him, almost purring as her fingers played across his crotch, tracing the outline of his cock against his leg as he bit his lip, feeling it react. It always knew when Yennefer was around, as it never reacted quite so effectively to anyone else, but he steeled his expression at her teasing touch, letting her coax him just a bit more before giving in.

"I don't suppose there's any way I could tempt you to stay," Yennefer cooed, leaning in a bit closer now, letting out a warm breath on his hip that caused him to shudder at the implication. "Just a little while longer."

"Wish I could," Geralt answered, taking her hand from his thigh and pressing it to his lips instead. "Gotta do these tasks, though. Sooner I finish them, sooner this'll all be over."

Yennefer huffed at the practical answer, leaning back in her chair with a defeated frown. "At least you're on your second task now," she agreed. "Though I still don't think you've told me what that is."

"Make or kill a Wolf School witcher," Geralt said, making a face at how strange it sounded out loud – that was the easiest way to explain it, but it still sounded deceptively simplistic, put that way. He frowned at the thought, kissing Yennefer's hand again, before pressing the back of it to his cheek, running his thumb across her dainty palm as he took another moment to consider. "Seems impossible when you think about it," he added. "Can't kill Eskel or Lambert, and don't have time to start from scratch."

"How will you finish the task then?" Yennefer asked, getting up from her seat to stand with him. She traced a fond finger over the scar on his cheek, before moving her free hand to rest against his back instead, holding him close as she looked up into his face, eager for his attention.

Geralt hummed as she moved in close, sliding his hand around her waist to pull her in as well, before he pressed an attentive kiss to her forehead, resting his chin on top of her silky head. "Well…" he said, letting out a short, gruff sigh. "One other option. Don't think you're gonna like it." He pursed his lips, taking a moment to steel his nerves before explaining; he had been dreading this conversation since the first time the idea had been brought up by Gaunter O'Dimm. Still, he knew there was no way around it, and no sense trying to keep it from Yennefer, and he took a deep breath, feeling his hand grow rigid against her back as he prepared to speak again. "Figure, since Ciri's already done most of the training… could just put her through the final Trial," he suggested.

The reaction from Yennefer was instantaneous, her body growing suddenly stiff in his arms, and Geralt lifted his head to look down at her, noting that her face had grown deathly solemn. Her jaw was rigid, her soft lips pursed, her eyes sharp as daggers as she stared up at him, and he felt his gut twist at her countenance, knowing he had touched a nerve he should not have touched.

"You wish to put Ciri through the Trials of the Dreams?" Yennefer insisted, her voice cold as ice as she spoke, and Geralt fell instantly to half-mast, having to choke back a grimace at the unsettling sensation. She was obviously angry, even with her tone so masterfully tempered through years of practice, and he found himself wishing he was not so closely entwined with her in that moment. He remembered times before when he had upset her, times when he had been wrapped in her arms like this, and he remembered too the portal to the middle of the ocean she was so fond of sending him through at those times.

"Figure it's the best solution," Geralt answered, hoping his conviction read just as strongly. It was almost the truth, albeit one he had had to talk himself into beforehand. In truth, he hated the thought of putting Ciri through the Trial as much as Yennefer did, but she was the only person he knew who might be able to handle it before it was time for Shani's baby to be born. Ciri had expressed, once upon a time, her desire to be a full-fledged witcher like Geralt, though he was unsure now if that had been true desire, or merely childhood admiration. He remembered that she had also expressed, more recently, her desire for children at some point, and he knew that taking this Trial would ultimately strip her of that possibility forever.

Yennefer furrowed her brow at the answer, her eyes narrowing, her expression growing steadily colder, and Geralt reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her shoulder, hoping to alleviate the tension just a bit. "She's not prepared for that, Geralt," Yennefer told him, ignoring his weak attempt at affection. "Only three in ten children survive that under normal circumstances, and you haven't even the proper supplies to perform the rite in its entirety. You don't know how to carry it out on your own— and Ciri hasn't been training for it, even if you did. She's been sitting on a throne for six months, eating a diet of Nilfgaardian food, which is nothing at all like what you feed them to prepare them for the Trials at Kaer Morhen."

"Wouldn't be too hard to get her back on the mushrooms," Geralt observed, trying hard to hold back a smirk at the thought. He knew how little Yennefer would appreciate him finding humour in this solemn moment, but he still could not keep his mind from returning to nights at Kaer Morhen, nights spent listening to Ciri pitch fits, complaining to him when her mushrooms were taken away in an effort to appear normal before guests.

Yennefer let out a sigh. "It's not just the mushrooms, Geralt," she told him, firmly. "Before Vizima, she spent months running from the Hunt – starving, barely sleeping. She's in no physical condition to survive the Trials, even if she wanted to. I won't let you put her through them."

Geralt frowned at her ultimatum, pulling his hands from her waist to take a cold step back. "What am I supposed to do then, Yen?" he insisted. "Rather I kill Eskel or Lambert?"

"Yes." Yennefer's eyes flashed dangerously as she said this, and Geralt faltered, taken aback by the starkness of her tone. "I'd kill Lambert any day if it meant not putting Ciri through the Trials unprepared," Yennefer added, coldly. "The Trial of the Dreams would be a death sentence for her. Lambert's lived his life, but Ciri's has hardly even begun."

"Don't think Keira would feel the same way," Geralt answered, unable to help feeling a bit on edge. She had a point, of course – the Trial of the Dreams was one of the hardest Trials, and one which routinely killed witcher recruits, but it still did not entirely excuse the haste with which she felt she could decide the fate of his fellow witcher. Geralt thought back to the last time he had seen the Trial, watched a child go through it in its completion, and it took him a moment to realize that that had been more than fifty years ago, and that the last child he could remember had been Lambert.

Lambert had been almost as prickly a boy as he was an adult, Geralt remembered, but he could still see the look of terror in the boy's mud-coloured eyes, his freckled face pale as death as he watched Vesemir strap him down to Sad Albert. He had been so thin then, so traumatized, still freshly weary from the Trial of the Cave; he had been the only one to come back from that ordeal, and he had sobbed like an infant into Vesemir's gambeson, telling ghastly stories of friends smashed to pulp by Ol' Speartip before they could escape. Lambert had never been the same after that, but he had still been the lucky one, according to Vesemir – he would have to live with the trauma forever, but at least he got to live.

Geralt supposed that explained Lambert's bitterness, as well as his resentment towards Vesemir and the Wolf School, and he could not help wondering if he might not have turned out the same way, had Eskel not escaped the Trials alive at his side.

Yennefer huffed at his answer, turning her violet eyes down at the mention of her fellow sorceress. "I don't care what Keira feels at this point," she said, her voice quiet, trying to hide the hurt. "She made it very clear she no longer wishes to be part of the Lodge. What befalls her and Lambert at this point can no longer be our concern."

"Sounds to me like they just decided to retire," Geralt remarked, his tone pointedly transparent. "Dropped all contact with their former lives so they could just be together. Enjoy each other's company. Not jeopardize their peace by bringing politics back into it. Making targets of themselves."

Yennefer looked up quickly at the jab, her eyes cold, lips pursed in an irate line. "If you have something to say to me, Geralt, I wish you would just come out and say it," she told him, bluntly.

Geralt snorted, raising a brow. "Don't wanna read my mind to find it?" he asked, challenging her. "Or afraid to make the connection? Think I'll see something you don't want me to see?"

Yennefer bristled at the accusation, lifting her chin to straighten to her full, ruffled height, filling the space around her like a black void as she stared her husband down. "I haven't been reading your mind because I know how much you hate it," she told him, sharply. "If I'd known you were going to use that against me, I wouldn't have bothered."

"Seems out of character for you to bother in the first place," Geralt answered, folding his arms.

"You—" Yennefer began, only to stop short as she heard a knock at the door, before turning quickly to face it, watching as it opened slowly to allow a new face inside the library.

Barnabas-Basil stood in the doorway, looking a bit alarmed at the unexpected standoff, his expression confused, as if unsure what conflict he had accidentally walked in on. He thinned his lips at the sight of the two of them, his hand stiffening on the door-handle as he weighed his options, before he lifted his chin, sniffing in a short breath as he looked between the witcher and the sorceress for an audience. "You've a guest, sir and madame," the majordomo announced, sounding ever the professional, despite his confusion. "She asked that she might speak to both of you. I told her to wait in the front-room until I confirmed that would be alright."

"Yes, that's fine," Yennefer huffed, propping her hands impatiently on her hips. Barnabas-Basil nodded in return, before closing the door again, leaving them to their fiery stalemate. Yennefer whirled back around as the door closed, holding a scolding finger out towards Geralt, and he frowned at the anger on her face, knowing she had only just begun to lay into him. "You lied to me, Geralt," she insisted, her voice breaking for a split second into something sadder, but she quickly covered it up again, making him wonder if he had made a mistake in hearing it. "You aren't sorry for anything. Nothing. Your apologies are as meaningless as your promises. You're exactly the same as you've always been, and you've made it clear you've no intention to change."

"You think I haven't changed?" Geralt snapped back, taking a step forward towards his wife. "Changed everything for you. Changed myself—changed this whole house for you. You think this was what I wanted?"

"No, I don't," Yennefer answered, pursing her lips. "I think you would've kept on the Path forever, if given the chance. And up until you learned you'd gotten Shani pregnant, I kept expecting you every day to leave to return to it. Because that's who you are, Geralt—selfish. Thinking of yourself, and no one else. But tell me, why should I suffer – why should Ciri suffer, especially – because of one more of your selfish mistakes?" She fixed him with an icy stare as she said this, causing his confidence to wither under her gaze; he tried his hardest to give the same stare back, but he could feel himself failing with every second. "Tell me, Geralt," she added after another moment. "Why do you only ever tell me you love me when you think you might never see me again? What message is that supposed to send? That I've only ever been your last thought? I knew that already."

Geralt faltered at the stinging blow, staring back at her with a dumbfounded gaze, all stubbornness leaving him as he tried to think of some response, but her words had left him all but speechless. Yennefer turned to glance towards the door as the sound of footsteps began to approach from outside, but quickly turned back to him before they reached the doorway, her pretty nose flattening as she narrowed her eyes. "This conversation is not over," she hissed, her voice barely above an incensed whisper. "We will return to this. I have many things to say to you, Geralt. This is not the marriage you promised."

"Could say the same to you," Geralt answered, coldly, feeling a slight sense of triumph as Yennefer's cheeks turned pink, but she did not have time to get in a final word before the door opened again, allowing their guest into the library.

Triss Merigold looked much the same as the last time either of them had seen her, though her style had changed somewhat, with her auburn hair hanging loose in ringlets about her freckled face. Geralt remembered when she used to wear her hair like that, before she had taken to pulling it back out of necessity, but that had been years ago, before she had had to sacrifice glamour for practicality. Now, she wore her long tendrils pinned at the sides of her head with florets of green and gold, and she dressed in all red and gold, Koviri colours, save for the accent of her constant green necklace. Triss smiled as she noticed the two of them, only for her smile to fade a bit at their dour expressions, but Yennefer quickly put on a bright face in return, crossing to embrace her friend.

"Triss," Yennefer cooed, pulling the younger sorceress in for a tight hug. "You look absolutely gorgeous, my darling. They're treating you well up at Pont Vanis, I assume?"

"As well as can be expected," Triss answered, giving a slight, uncertain chuckle. She smiled as she looked up at Yennefer, but it was clear she could tell something was amiss, and Geralt wondered if she could guess what their fight was about, or if she thought he was still oblivious to the matters of the Lodge. "Kovir's winters are colder than I'm used to, but I've faced much worse than a few headcolds before," Triss added, tentatively. "Thankfully I've managed to pre-enchant some pendants for the most common ailments, so they're ready to use at a moment's notice." She held Yennefer close as she spoke, allowing their hug to stretch on for a good long while, before she finally let go again, pulling back to get a better look at the friend she had apparently not seen in nearly half a year's time.

"Married life is treating you well," Triss observed, pulling Yennefer's hand up to admire her ring. "I never took you for the settling-down type—either of you. I have to say, I was surprised when you told me." She glanced up at Geralt as she said this, almost too quickly for him to notice, before she turned her attention to Yennefer again, releasing her hand to let it fall back to her side. "I was also a bit surprised to read the other details of your letter," she admitted, her expression falling a bit as the conversation turned suddenly serious. "I hope nothing's gone wrong with the duchy down here. I can't imagine why you'd need to use the safe-houses."

"Oh, it's not for me," Yennefer answered quickly, waving a hand as if to shoo away a pesky fly. "We've had no trouble with the duchy, ourselves, though their certification process leaves something to be desired. We really need the safe-houses for Shani, who…" She paused, sucking her lip, seeming to realize how hard the situation would be to explain, before she let out a frustrated exhale, frowning as she considered the best way to handle it. "It's not important why," she finally said, propping her hands impatiently on her hips. "The why can be explained tonight, after supper. It's the can that's most important right now. Can you, Triss, or can you not, secure passage for Shani through the Northern safe-houses?"

"The doctor?" Triss asked, making a face at the request. "I… guess I could. Though I can't think of why a doctor would need a safe-house."

"I'll explain it all later," Yennefer assured her, raising a hand to hold back further questions. "Either way, we'd need absolute assurance that no one else would be using them at the same time as us. It's too much to go into right now, but it's vitally important we not let anyone see her. She's…" She paused, humming, chewing her lip as she tried to think of a simple way to explain. "'In danger' seems a reductive way to put it," she admitted. "Perhaps you could say she's… in duress?"

"There's a bounty on her head," Geralt provided, bluntly. "A deadly one. People will try to kill her if they find her."

Yennefer sighed at the frank explanation, crossing her arms as she lowered her head in frustration. "That's… not exactly it, but close enough," she agreed, not looking back at her husband as she spoke. "We need to find somewhere to keep her safe, where we can control her exposure and movement at all times. The Northern safe-houses seemed the most obvious solution, but if you know of any other way…"

Triss shook her head, looking more concerned than confused this time. "There's nothing as secure as the safe-houses," she assured them. "Though I can't really control who'll be in them, unfortunately. They're made to be sanctuaries, no questions asked. If someone comes around needing help, I can't exactly turn them away."

"Could always use Dandelion's idea," Geralt suggested, causing Yennefer to prickle, pointedly not acknowledging him again. "Hide her out with the gangs of Novigrad. Keep her safe and out of sight that way."

Triss gave a silvery laugh at the suggestion, seeming unsure if he were joking or not, looking between the faces of her friend and the witcher, as if trying to figure it out that way. "Is that what Dandelion said?" she asked after a moment. "Might as well hide her in a pack of wild dogs. His contacts will make her disappear, alright – it's un-disappearing her afterward that'll be the problem."

"Zoltan's no fool about these things," Geralt argued, getting a bit annoyed at being ganged up on. "Knows how to lay low when he needs to. Wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on Shani under his watch."

"Still, I think we should consider other options before jumping to the gangs of Novigrad as our solution," Yennefer interjected, looking up at Triss again as she sought to return the conversation to its original track. "I was really hoping you might be able to help us with the safe-houses, but I can understand if you can't. I couldn't ask you to compromise your life's work to keep safe one woman and her unborn child."

At the mention of an unborn child, Triss' eyes grew suddenly wider, and she pursed her lips, her freckled cheeks growing slightly pinker at the thought. "Wait," she said, holding up a hand. "You never said Shani was pregnant! That changes things, Yen—she's vulnerable. I can't turn away a woman in need." She sucked her lip, pressing her dainty fingers against her cheek as she thought, her green eyes searching the floor as she considered the best way she could help. "She'll need special attention," she observed after a moment, looking up to Yennefer again. "I can isolate my best safe-houses for her… gather extra supplies from some of the others. Make sure she has everything she needs. Even the mages would have to understand that decision."

Yennefer frowned at the last mention, pursing her lips into an uncomfortable line. "I doubt the mages would be as understanding as you think," she said, letting out a thin breath at the thought. "And it would be best not to mention it to them either way. Just… say that the house is unavailable, if they ask."

Triss furrowed her brow. "But… why?" she asked. "These mages aren't dangerous. If anything, they'd probably want to help—I've never met a sorceress who wanted to harm a child."

Yennefer stiffened, just enough for Geralt to notice, but she said nothing, only offering Triss a warm, forced smile in return. "It's not important," she said, resting a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Merely an abundance of caution, is all. Perhaps we should head into the front-room, see if Marlene has set the table—"

"Cut the bullshit," Geralt interrupted, the suddenness of his statement causing Yennefer to look back, too startled to remember to ignore him. "Know you've been in Toussaint for a while, Triss. Know something happened with the Lodge the other day, too. Something that took Yen out of the house while I was in town with Dandelion."

Triss' brows shot up at the claim, and she faltered, before looking over at Yennefer again, confused. "I didn't know you told him," she said, speaking softly, as if trying to converse around the witcher.

Yennefer shook her head. "I didn't," she answered. "I'm not really sure how he knows."

"Lots of ways to find things out," Geralt told her. "Maybe I just read your mind."

Yennefer pursed her lips at the snide remark, her face looking like a pink bubble about to burst, but Geralt ignored her, turning his attention instead to Triss and staring her down, unblinkingly. He knew he still held some sway over Triss, as little as he liked to exploit that, but he hoped whatever strange feelings she still had for him might work in his favour this time. Triss faltered at the strange interaction, before turning to look over at Yennefer again, watching as the older sorceress thinned her lips, making her feelings on the matter clear. Triss blinked at the icy look, seeming to debate whether or not to speak again, before she turned her attention to Geralt once more, taking a deep breath and sucking her lip in thought.

"I received an anomaly," Triss admitted after a moment, reaching into a pouch at her hip to find it. "An artefact, of… some unknown origin. From the look of it, I was sure some member of the Lodge would recognize something about it." Giving a soft huff, she slid the item with some difficulty from her pouch, brushing it off before handing it over to Geralt to take a closer look. "Yennefer came the closest," she added, crossing her arms and staring down at the object in Geralt's hands. "She said you'd found something similar recently, but none of us knew anything apart from that. Our meeting ultimately came to nothing, so… we decided to leave off until we found out more."

"Where did you find this?" Geralt insisted, holding up the artefact with a sharp jerk.

Triss faltered again, seeming to be fighting from taking a wary step back. "It was sent to me by… an old friend," she answered, seeming to have difficulty staying pointedly vague. "Said he found it in a forest near Kaedwen. I can't imagine what it could've been doing there. A forest in Kaedwen seems an awful long way from anything that could do… that."

"And where in the forest did this old friend say he found it?" Geralt asked, starting to get annoyed with her guarded answers. He looked up, meeting eyes with Yennefer, feeling his wife's sharp gaze boring into his like glass; he knew she had likely asked Triss not to speak to him about this, but Triss had never been a very convincing liar. "Know where I found mine," he added, turning his attention to Triss again. "If your friend found his in a similar place, might help us figure these out. What they are, where they're coming from."

"He didn't say what it was," Triss blurted out, the words leaving her before she could stop them. She faltered, before turning to look at Yennefer again, who seemed more resigned to her friend's poor secret-keeping than frustrated by it. "I'm sorry, Yen," Triss told her, softly, before turning her attention to Geralt again. "He said he found it while fighting a monster, but… he didn't say what kind it was. Only that he found that embedded in its skin, and he sent it to me because…" She stopped, sucking her lip, staring pointedly down at the artefact to avoid eye contact with the witcher.

"Because… he didn't want to disturb you and Yennefer in your retirement," she said, speaking softer, seeming embarrassed by her failure to ensure this request. "And because… he didn't want you to know he was still hunting monsters. He didn't want you to know he failed in his resolve less than a year after he swore to it." Taking a deep breath in, Triss crossed her arms tightly, tucking her hands around her ribcage in a wary embrace. "He wanted me to keep it a secret from you and Yen," she added, unhappily. "But… I didn't know where else to turn. I'm sorry, Geralt. I tried to figure it out on my own, but… the truth is, I figured you were the only other person who might know anything about it."

"Sorry to disappoint," Geralt answered, handing the artefact back to Triss. She looked up in surprise as she took it, seeming shocked he would deny her his help. "Know just as much as you do. So does Ciri. Asked her about it after I found mine." He looked down at the disc in Triss' hands again, letting out a hard breath and making a face at the sight of it. "Second time one of those has cropped up now," he observed. "Ciri thinks they're meant for cataloguing… something. Wonder if whoever made them died on the road, then these necrophages fed on them before scattering to the winds."

Yennefer scoffed, causing Geralt to look up in surprise at her reaction. "And what?" she asked. "You think your hybrid was just… out and about, scavenging the roads for overturned carts?"

"Thought you didn't believe my hybrid story," Geralt answered, not bothering to hide his scepticism.

Yennefer shrugged, tossing a swath of raven hair over her shoulder in response. "There has to be a reason Eskel didn't wish to share whatever creature he found his on," she returned, indifferent to his tone. "Likely because he knew how strange it would sound, and he didn't want to risk Triss not believing him for it."

"I never said it was Eskel," Triss pointed out, her voice quiet, green eyes wide at the guess.

"You didn't have to," Yennefer told her, bluntly. "We only know two monster hunters besides Geralt who would contact us. One has cut communication with the Lodge, so it stands to reason the other would be the one corresponding with you." Turning to look up at Geralt again, she raised her brows, pursing her lips in a stubborn line. "And besides," she added. "You don't even know that whatever Eskel encountered was a necrophage. He never said what it was. It could've been anything at all—an insectoid, perhaps."

"Shani said she saw Eskel near Kaedwen, too," Geralt put in, ignoring Yennefer's addendum. "Said he was travelling through the Kestrel Mountains. About a month before she came to live here, with us."

"So, about three and a half, four months ago," Yennefer concluded, looking over to Triss again, expectantly. "And Geralt found his about a month after that. When did Eskel send you his artefact, exactly?"

Triss bit her lip, thinking back, her thin brows furrowing in a pensive line. "I only received it a few weeks ago," she answered, speaking slowly, pondering it out. "He sent it by messenger, and from Kaedwen to Pont Vanis on horseback would take about… a week or so. Possibly more, to account for boat travel, but… if I had to guess, I'd say Eskel's probably still in Kaedwen somewhere."

Geralt frowned, exchanging a quick look with Yennefer before returning his attention to Triss. "Is that what he's doing in Kaedwen?" he asked. "Going back to hunting monsters again?"

Triss shook her head. "Just the one," she answered. "He never meant to get back into witcher work, he said. He tried to get a normal job, but he couldn't just stand by and watch innocent people be slaughtered." She sighed, digging into her hip-pouch again, before sliding out a crumpled piece of parchment, shaking it out and handing it over for Geralt to take a look at. The letter was indeed written in Eskel's hand, and the parchment itself smelled of dirt roads and leather, though the distinct scent of evergreen sap and goat fur still lingered as well, a trace of aroma not even weeks in a messenger's bag could completely expunge, it seemed.

"That's the only letter I've gotten from him," Triss explained, frowning down at the wrinkled parchment. "He sent me the artefact and asked me to look into it. After that, I lost track of him again. My best guess is he might be heading back to Kaer Morhen, to visit the old stronghold one last time."

"Don't think so," Geralt answered, shaking his head and folding the letter up again. "If Eskel's in Kaedwen, probably got something important to do. Wouldn't go anywhere near the old fortress otherwise."

Triss' frown deepened, but she only gave a high-pitched sigh, seeming to accept his expertise. "Well, you know him better than I do," she said, sadly. "I just wish I hadn't lost track of him again. What if he runs into another creature? Who's to say the next one won't kill him?"

Geralt shrugged, handing the letter back, causing Triss to make a face as she accepted it from his hand. "Eskel's an old professional," he told her, watching as she stashed the letter in her pouch again. "Doubt one monster will be the death of him. And if it is, there are worse ways for a witcher to die." He paused at the thought, feeling the burn of Yennefer's eyes boring into him as he said it, before he folded his arms again, staring down at Triss as he turned the idea over in his mind. "Might be worth tracking him down, regardless," he added, scratching absentmindedly at his beard. "Ask him what kind of monster it was. See if he's heard from Lambert. Could be worth a shot."

"Perhaps if you find him, you can ask if he's looking for death in those mountains," Yennefer suggested, her voice pointedly cold. "A witcher chasing strange monsters far from home doesn't sound like a man looking to live long."

"Could be," Geralt answered, looking up at the jab. "Or could just be a man looking for extra income. Earning some coin to provide for a wife who only criticizes, but doesn't work."

Yennefer stiffened at the slight, holding her stoic expression as she stared at her husband across the floor, before she turned her attention back to Triss, placing a hand on her arm with an encouraging, too-wide smile. "Come," she said, starting to turn the younger sorceress quickly towards the door of the library again. "I'm sure Marlene has set the table by now. You must be starving after your long trip down here."

"But I used a portal—" Triss started to say, only to be quickly shushed by Yennefer again, herding her towards the door and into the hall as Geralt watched, until their voices faded out to nothing down the long corridor.

Dinner with Triss had been less of an awkward ordeal than Geralt had anticipated, though the growing number of their party had forced them to pull chairs from the breakfast-nook to supplement the long dining table. Marlene had prepared a meal of roasted pork with spiced potatoes and greens for the evening, filling the manor with the heavenly aroma of glazed honey and spices as they sat down to enjoy their meal. Conversation among the party had been organic and instantaneous, with Regis and Yennefer exchanging thoughts on the vampire's research, while Shani and Dandelion spoke eagerly with Triss, catching her up on everything that had happened at the vineyard before her arrival. It was hard to catch more than small snippets of each conversation, but Geralt found himself content to simply sit back and listen, letting his attention wander as he ate, waiting for something to catch his ear.

"…Only the summer capitol," Triss told her group, her ringlets bobbing eagerly as she nodded her head with her story. "Lan Exeter is actually the winter capitol. It's built on the waterfront, but taxes for portside property are unbelievably high. The houses are all built with an emphasis on height, so as to minimize the amount of portside space they comprise. It's the most unusual sight—I was shocked the first time I went there and actually saw them."

"Seems like a clever workaround," Shani answered, swirling her juice thoughtfully in her cup. "But without the crops from the summer capitol, what's the major export of Kovir during the winter?"

"Glass," Triss answered, looking up at Shani again. "We're the Continent's main source of glass year-round. Poviss is the main distributor of salt, with their salt mines making up most of their economy…" The conversation continued on, but Geralt found his interest waning, and he turned his attention instead to Yennefer and Regis, listening in as they spoke in more hushed tones on their own topic on the other side of him. Yennefer sat beside Geralt at the table, but her manner made it clear she was there by stubbornness alone, as he could see she had moved her chair a few inches further from him than he knew it had originally been set.

"…Reading into Alzur's experiments," Regis was saying, causing Geralt to look up in interest at the name; the vampire glanced over at him as he tuned in, but said nothing, only returning his attention to Yennefer as he continued. "Very little information exists, unfortunately," he added, frowning a bit as he took a thoughtful sip of wine. "And even less about his master, who I've heard did brutal experiments on children as well as adults. Most of the research I've found has only talked about their work in physical alteration spells by way of beasts – expansion, mutations that cause such. The creation of large, dangerous creatures, much larger than our witcher, as substantial as he is."

"Alzur's Double Cross," Yennefer agreed, thinning her lips at the familiar name. "That was where my own research kept coming up short as well. One would almost think his creation of witchers was an accident in the larger scheme. A man who seeks only to harm with his creations would never make something to destroy them."

"Unless his intent was not to harm, but to merely to experiment," Regis pointed out, raising his brows. "Push the boundaries of nature in a controlled setting. It would certainly explain why he would want to make his creations sterile, if that was the case. With him as the sole patron of his experiments' production, he could dictate what mutations would be allowed to exist to fruition— but without him to oversee that, who knows what variations their mutations might produce?" Taking another sip of wine, he hummed low in his throat, sitting back again, staring intently at his untouched silverware as he considered the possibility.

"If his specimens were allowed to mix their mutated genes with other genetics—perhaps even other mutated genetics—there's no telling in what ways they could further mutate," Regis added. "Perhaps even creating worse monsters than Alzur, himself had."

"So what're you saying?" Geralt asked, frowning across the table at Regis. "That whoever made the potion that reversed my sterility was trying to… reverse sterility in giant monsters?"

Regis frowned at the question, tapping his long fingernail thoughtfully against the side of his glass. "I'm not sure," he admitted after a moment. "Though I agree it sounds ludicrous when you put it like that. Alzur's sterility failsafe had its reasons, but… I'm not sure who would have a motive to reverse them. As I said, the research I've found on Alzur's experiments has been… disappointing, at best."

Geralt hummed, opening his mouth to speak again, only to sit back as he felt his medallion give a tremor against his chest, but he quickly pressed a hand to it, stilling it, before turning his attention to Regis again. Yennefer glanced over curiously at this, looking first at his medallion, and then his face, before she turned her attention away again, looking anywhere but at her husband. "Hm," Geralt said, glancing over towards Yennefer, who was suddenly very interested in her food. "Appreciate you for trying, Regis. More than I've found out, anyway."

The rest of the meal continued without incident, with everyone eventually splitting off to attend to their own devices – Shani and Dandelion headed for the day-room, intent on spending time going over the bard's newest work, while Yennefer and Triss took to the master bedroom with two more bottles of wine, locking the door to prevent interruptions to their catch-up time. Even Regis had retreated to the library after dinner, citing a new theory he had been considering since their talk, leaving Geralt alone to walk the manor grounds while he waited for his friends to tire themselves out for the evening.

The air in the garden was pleasant, the flora bathed in a swath of silvery moonlight, and Geralt found himself nearly lost in thought as he moved between the rows of flowers, taking them in with a distracted gaze. Regis' comments on Alzur's experiments were interesting, if somewhat unsettling to think about, particularly his theory about witchers' sterility being put in place to prevent unintended submutations. Geralt had always heard say that witchers could not reproduce with humans because they were no longer human, themselves, but it made more sense to think they had been intentionally prevented from it, as it was impossible to ensure their mutations could be reproduced organically.

That thought bore a more troubling one, making Geralt realize that, if there was no way to know how his genes would transmute, there was also no way to know if the baby Shani carried was actually human at all, or something more sinister. The reaction of Vesemir's medallion had told him that the baby carried some form of chaos energy, but not how much or what kind, and the possibilities were too varied for him to even start to guess. His mind raced at the realization, before it immediately went to Uma, and then to the botchling, both terrible, twisted creatures that had set off his own medallion like Vesemir's had done around Shani – but he quickly pushed the horrific thoughts from his mind, telling himself that it was too soon to dread the worst. There was nothing to indicate that Shani's baby was a monster, and he rubbed his eyes, wondering if he should head back to the house and get some sleep.

"You're out mighty late."

The voice took Geralt by surprise, and he turned, only to falter as he spotted the familiar shock of strawberry hair, noting how the blonde in her strands was much more conspicuous in the pale moonlight; it reminded him strongly of Ciri for a moment, but he quickly pushed the thought from his mind again, frowning as he glanced down over the emerald coat and white stockings of his seemingly unshakeable pest. "You again," he told her, folding his arms as he turned to face the girl. "What do you want this time? Wife isn't big on you coming around anymore. Says you asked some pretty rude questions last time you were here."

Rosie frowned at the curt greeting, her petal lips twisting as she gripped the edges of her coat. "I only asked if she could have children," she answered after a moment, innocently. "How was that rude?"

"Think that's a normal question?" Geralt asked, thinning his lips.

Rosie wrinkled her nose, looking up at him as she pulled her coat tighter around her. "I asked you," she told him, matter-of-factly. "You didn't seem to mind."

"That's—different," Geralt huffed, moving his hands agitatedly to his hips. "Don't care if you ask me. But Yen—my wife—and other sorceresses, they don't like to be asked. Hurts their feelings."

Rosie frowned, pressing her lips together in a worried line as she stared up at him. "I didn't mean to hurt her, master witcher," she said, softly. "I was only curious. I didn't know."

Geralt paused at her answer, caught off-guard, before he slowly began to deflate again, dropping his gaze to the garden walk as he let out a long, tired breath. "Figured," he said, looking up at Rosie again. "Just— be more careful next time. Some things aren't okay to ask. Could really hurt somebody." He frowned at the thought, wondering for a moment what kind of questions were normal for children to ask; he had spent years on the road, and had encountered any number of curious children in his travels, inquisitive souls who had approached him on the street to ask him the reason for his white hair, his bathing habits, and whether witchers were known for eating the children they stole. Children had very little filter, he knew, and very little sense besides, so he supposed it was not so strange that this one should ask whether Yennefer had any intentions of being a mother.

Shaking the thought from his head again, he looked down to the girl, disapproving once more, watching as she poked at one of the flower-bushes, distracted in his moment of silence. "But—that's not the point," he said, causing her to look up again, her eyes wide. "What're you doing here? It's the middle of the night. Shouldn't you be back at home?"

Rosie paused, rubbing the soft petals of a bloom between her fingers as she thought. "I wanted to talk to you," she finally said, retrieving her hands to return them to the pockets of her coat. "I was curious about something you said the other day. May I see the thing you found lodged in that monster's neck?"

Geralt frowned, taken aback, before crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest again. "Don't have it anymore," he lied. "Figured someone else would get better use of it."

"Did you figure out what it was at least?" Rosie pressed, her little mouth twisting in discouragement. "I was so hoping you might have kept it. Are you really not curious about what it might have been?"

"Cataloguing plate of some kind," Geralt answered, bluntly. "That was our closest guess."

"And it was in a monster's neck?" Rosie insisted. "How could it have gotten in there like that?"

Geralt faltered, unable to help feeling a bit uneasy with all the girl's questions. "Could've… lodged in its neck when it swallowed it," he said, trying not to sound as unsure as he felt. They were valid questions, he realized, but he could not help feeling a bit put on the spot even so, and he wondered if he might have too easily dismissed the importance of the plates in his own investigation.

Rosie wrinkled her freckled nose, making a face as she thought it over. "Do monsters usually swallow metal plates?" she asked. "Is that something you see a lot, as a witcher?"

"Seen lots of strange things," Geralt answered, curtly. "But— let me ask you something. What were you doing in the bar the other night?" Rosie looked up quickly at the question, her blue-green eyes wide and startled in the moonlight, but she only pursed her lips in response, staring up at him with locked knees as she waited for him to continue. "Must've come in for a reason," he pressed, wondering what had surprised her about his question – her green coat stood out like a sore thumb in most places, so he was not sure why she seemed shocked that he had seen her. "Took off before I could talk to you. Made me look like a damn fool, chasing after you. Friend thought I was crazy."

"I went in to talk to you," Rosie answered, stiffly. "But… I had to leave. I almost got caught. Someone must have said something… nobody knew I talked to you before, but they do now."

"Said something to who?" Geralt insisted, making a face at the strange excuse. "Your father? Or—your uncle? Wasn't me. Don't know who they are to tell them."

Rosie frowned, but gave no response, only smoothing the front of her little green coat in thought. "I can't stay long, master witcher," she said after a moment, looking up at Geralt again with a solemn expression. "I have to get back. I'd hoped you might have the plate so I could see it before I had to go."

"Don't have it," Geralt repeated, starting to get annoyed with the girl's refusal to listen. "Why didn't you talk to me anyway? Could've finally introduced me to your father and uncle."

Rosie made a face at the suggestion, her little fingers twisting anxiously into the hem of her coat. "I'm almost certain you know them already," she returned, seeming uncomfortable with the thought.

Geralt frowned, wondering where in his question he might have struck a nerve this time; he knew the girl disliked discussing her father, but the thought of him already knowing the man seemed to make that somehow worse. "Doubt it," he answered, shaking his head. "Don't know anyone with a kid named Rosie."

"It's only a nickname," Rosie shot back, letting out a soft, frustrated huff. "Everyone calls me by it except my father. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like most things. Sometimes I wonder if he likes me." She faltered at this, pursing her lips, looking for a moment as if she might have said too much, before she finally lifted her little chin again, letting out another indignant puff of breath. "And besides," she added, matter-of-factly. "I had other reasons for leaving. It was crowded, and loud, and smelled horrid, and— I didn't want to speak to you when you'd been drinking."

Geralt blinked at the answer, taken aback, unsure which part to respond to – this was more than he had learned about the girl in some time, though he was certain she would not like him trying to pry further. He could not help his curiosity from creeping back with every strange new tidbit he learned about her, but he also knew the irony of scolding her for prying questions, only to turn around with some of his own. "Hm," he answered after a while. "Fair. Yen doesn't like to talk to me when I've been drinking, either."

"You really should be better to her, you know," Rosie told him, causing Geralt to falter again, thunderstruck. Last he had spoken to her, Rosie had not even known he and Yennefer were married, let alone that they were having troubles, yet here she was scolding him, as if she somehow knew they had been fighting barely hours ago. He had to wonder who the little girl had been speaking to, what vile rumours had been spreading through the tongues of taverns, and he gritted his teeth, feeling a faint hot tinge begin to reach his ears as he stared down at her, unsure what to say.

"Who told you to say that?" Geralt insisted, trying hard to keep his tone in check. It was not the girl's fault, he reminded himself – children repeated what they heard, to whatever end. "Somebody been talking about me behind my back? Your uncle put you up to saying that?"

Rosie shook her head. "No," she answered, honestly. "No one said anything, master witcher. I can just tell when someone is unhappy. I think I've only seen her smile once since first we met."

Geralt hesitated, tempted for a moment to explain that Yennefer's dour mood towards the girl was on her, not him, but he resisted the urge, only thinning his lips as he folded his arms again, still on edge. "Hm," he said, deciding to drop the subject. "So what did you come to tell me, before you had to leave the tavern?"

Rosie looked up, shaking her head again. "It's not important now," she answered, quickly. "I was going to tell you there was a stranger at your house. But you found out anyway, so you didn't need me there to tell you."

"Stranger must've been here a while for you to see her and come all the way to town to tell me," Geralt noted, frowning.

Rosie shrugged, looking down to her shoes again. "I did arrive to Beauclair quite late," she admitted.

Geralt paused again, wondering what the girl expected him to take away from her admission; this was not the first time she had told him about her ability to get from his house to town at an improbable speed, he realized. The only logical explanation he could think of was that someone was escorting her around on horseback, but even that seemed unusual at best, and downright suspicious at worst. It was also possible, he guessed, that she had more supernatural means of transport, but that thought was quickly dismissed as the memory of his conversation with Regis came to mind – the vampire had all but shut down his suspicions of the girl's nonhuman qualities, but Geralt still could not help wondering if she might be something even Regis had not thought to consider.

Furrowing his brow at the thought, Geralt pursed his lips, staring down at the girl. "Asked my friend about you," he told her after a moment, causing her to look up again, curiously.

"Oh?" Rosie asked. "And what did your friend say?"

"Says you're probably not a vampire," Geralt answered.

Rosie hummed, twirling the edges of her coat as she thought. "He's right," she said after a moment. "I'm not."

Geralt frowned at the unhelpful answer. "What are you, then?" he asked, frustrated. "Starting to think you're not human."

"Why?" Rosie asked, looking up at him again. "Because I don't like answering your questions? Maybe I just don't trust you. We are still strangers, after all."

"Hardly strangers," Geralt answered, folding his arms at the roundabout response. "And you sure come around my house a lot for someone who doesn't trust me."

Rosie huffed, smoothing the front of her coat, seeming a bit offput by his scepticism. "Think what you like, master witcher," she told him, looking up at him again, her expression frank. "You wouldn't be the first to call me a monster. People can be quite cruel when they think no one's around to listen."

Geralt faltered, taken aback by her answer, feeling suddenly very guilty for asking – though he could not quite put his finger on what the girl was, he hardly thought of her as a monster. Regis had described her as a pest, but even that seemed harsh now, looking at her, and Geralt let out a soft sigh, dropping his gaze, before letting his hands return to his hips. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean it that way. Just… hard to know who I can trust anymore." He paused, realizing that was his own fault, before he looked up again, his mouth thinning in concern. "Does… your father drink?" he asked after another moment, trying to tread delicately on the topic. "That why you don't like it? That why he's so… distracted, all the time?"

Rosie paused at the question, her petal mouth twisting, as if trying to decide how to answer. "He works very hard to provide for me," she finally said, tactfully avoiding the subject. "He does try to be a good father. I know he does. He just misses his wife very much, I think."

"Hm," Geralt answered, his frown deepening at the thought. "Sorry. 'Least you have your uncle."

"Yes," Rosie agreed, nodding solemnly. "It's kind of him to look after me the way he does. I know he misses my mother terribly, but he has his own matters to deal with."

"Right," Geralt answered. "His work in Beauclair. Need a ride back? Getting pretty late."

Rosie shook her head, scraping her shoes across the stones so the buckles gave a soft jingle, and Geralt paused as he realized he did not mind the sound so much now as the first few times he had heard it. "No thank you, master witcher," she answered, pushing her tiny hands into her pockets again. "I appreciate the offer, but I don't need a ride. I can get back on my own. I'm quite fast, you know."

"So you keep telling me," Geralt grunted, feeling something picking at his brain at the repeated phrase. Perhaps she was being literal, he thought, and she was simply incredibly fast on her feet, a child with energy to burn and stamina enough to get her where she needed to be. It was something he could not help envying, sometimes finding himself winded after a hard fight or uphill trek, and he could not help wondering if a six-month diet of decadent foods was truly enough to undo a century of witcher training. Still, he knew it was unsafe for a girl her age to be walking the roads of Toussaint this late at night, and he started to open his mouth to object, when he suddenly heard a soft voice calling his name across the vineyard.

Turning to see who had called for him, he watched as a small yellow light bobbed towards him across the garden from the house, growing ever closer as he squinted, trying to make out who was holding it. "Geralt?" Shani called again, moving steadily across the starlit garden in his direction; she was lit up by the soft glow of the lantern in her hand, and he could not help staring at the way it accentuated her features in the most unusual of ways. She wore her travelling-cloak against the chill of night, pulled snugly around her form like a velvet cocoon, and she smiled up at him as she approached him, holding up the lantern to better see his face.

"Geralt," she said, letting out a soft breath. "What are you doing out here in the dark, alone? Everyone's gone to bed, but I was worried about you, so I came out here to find you."

"Not alone," Geralt answered, shaking his head. "Got—" He turned, pointing back behind him, only to realize that Rosie was already gone, having vanished without even the sound of her jingling shoes to alert him while he had been talking to Shani. He frowned at the suddenness of her departure, wondering how he could have missed her leaving like that, but he quickly shook his head at the thought, turning to look back at Shani instead. "Got… Roach," he said, saving himself. "Got… chickens. Plenty of company."

Shani chuckled, lifting the lantern a little higher to get a better look at his face. "You always did like animals better than people," she agreed, looking up at him fondly in the candlelight. "But if you wouldn't mind some human company, you're welcome to join me in my room for some sleep. Yennefer and Triss have taken over your bedroom, and Julian is sleeping in the clinic. I know you don't really need to sleep, but I thought I'd extend the offer, regardless." She paused, rolling her rosy lips, her hazel eyes growing puckish in the lantern-light as she turned them towards the flowers instead. "If, of course, you wouldn't mind sleeping with clothes on for once," she added, wryly. "I'm almost six months pregnant with one baby, after all. I don't think I can handle any more responsibility."

"Couldn't get you pregnant again anyway," Geralt answered, shaking his head at the thought. "Superfoetation only occurs in certain animals. Cats, rabbits, horses, mice…" He stopped, watching as Shani looked up at him again, an endeared smile curling her lips. "…Oh," he said. "You were joking."

"Yes," Shani answered. "But it's good to know you've been doing some research. If not on babies, then at least on cats, rabbits, and mice." She smiled again, before reaching out to take hold of his arm in the darkness, indicating with her lantern towards the house and holding close to his side as he led the way.

The house was quiet as they entered, though not completely silent despite the late hour, with the last logs popping down to embers in the fireplace and the low whisper of female voices hissing through the thick master bedroom door. Shani blew out her lantern as they entered the house, letting Geralt set it down by the doorway for her, before she began to untie her heavy cloak, letting him hang it by the door for her as well. He paused as he handled the cloak, running his fingers over the patterned velvet, wondering how many years she had actually had it – this was the same cloak he had seen her wear in Oxenfurt, when he had first been introduced to her eight years ago, he remembered. He supposed it had been a gift of some sort, something to make her hold onto it for so long, and he let out a low grunt as he hung it gingerly on the hook, smoothing it out to ensure it did not wrinkle overnight.

The trip up the stairs was worrisome for Geralt, but Shani appeared not to mind it as much, seeming only a bit out of breath as they reached the landing and taking a moment to recover before starting to get ready for bed. Geralt sat on the edge of the bed as he pulled off his boots, laying them aside neatly on the floor, before he turned towards the wall, offering Shani some privacy as she changed from her loose day-clothes into her nightgown. "Such a gentleman, Geralt," Shani laughed, smoothing the soft material of the nightshirt across her round stomach. She smiled as she approached him, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his scruffy cheek, and Geralt felt a warm blush touch the tips of his ears as he watched her push a few loose strands of white hair from his face.

"Don't let my teasing fool you," Shani told him, her voice more sincere now. "I do appreciate it. You're very sweet. I don't know what I would've done without you and Yennefer helping me these past few months."

"Think I messed up with Yen today," Geralt answered, letting out a short huff at the admission. "Started arguing about Ciri, and… said some things I shouldn't've. Got real defensive." He paused, making a face, remembering all the harsh words that had gone between them that day, before he looked down to the floor, hardly noticing as Shani moved to sit beside him on the bed. "Always get defensive about Ciri," he added, letting out another sigh at the thought, wearier this time. "Know I can't help it, but… just wish… it hadn't happened with Yen. Spent so long looking for Ciri, fighting for her, cutting down anyone who stood in my way. Thought it'd be over now. Thought things'd be better. But it still feels like I'm fighting everyone. Even people I know want what's best for her."

Shani hummed at the thought, running a pensive hand over her stomach as she considered. "Maybe you should ask Ciri what she thinks," she suggested after a moment, looking up at Geralt again with wise, soft eyes. "I know you only want what's best for her, both of you do, but… maybe you don't know what that is anymore. She's a grown woman now, and people… they change. It's a natural part of life." She took a deep breath at the thought, pausing a moment to let her hand rest on her stomach, before she leaned her head over to rest Geralt's arm, letting her breath out again in a soft sigh. "I don't think it's bad that you and Yen have different views on what your daughter needs," she observed, thoughtfully. "That just means you're conscientious parents. But ultimately, it should be left to Ciri to decide."

Geralt frowned at the thought, nodding along, unable to help wondering if this was an omen of things to come; if he and Yennefer were so divided on Ciri's care, he could not imagine how they would be with Shani's baby. Perhaps it was a good thing she intended to leave once the baby was old enough to travel, he thought, though he could not help but feel something missing now, some part of him that felt hollow at the thought of not being able to help raise his own child. Letting out another soft grunt, he kissed the top of Shani's head, before turning to climb into bed, cornering himself against the wall to allow as much room in the bed for her as he could manage. Shani seemed just as happy to go to bed, and she let out a soft yawn as she climbed in beside him, nestling down under the covers and moving back to press her warm back against his chest.

Geralt let out a warm breath, leaning his chin on Shani's shoulder and moving his arm around her to hold her, and he could not help a bit of surprise as she reached up, moving his hand to her stomach instead. Her stomach was warm, and incredibly round, more than he had anticipated, and he paused, before letting his hand move hesitantly over it, feeling the curve against his anxious palm. He was unsure how she managed to stay so accepting through nine months of her body changing like this, as the idea of something growing inside of a person was almost enough to make him pull his hand away again. That was the difference between a doctor's perspective and witcher's, he guessed, though he had to admit his envy for Shani's calmness in the face of such things, and he moved his hand over her stomach again at the thought, finally letting it rest at the widest peak.

He felt her warm hand settle over his, curling her fingers over his hand as she nestled back against him; he could feel her breathing through her nightgown, the rise and fall of her stomach against his hand, her heartbeat even and gentle as he pulled her in closer, resting his face in her downy hair. She had gotten a haircut from Regis as well, he noticed, as her hair was somewhat shorter again, but it was still as soft as it had always been, thick with the smell of lavender and thyme.

"Geralt," Shani whispered, causing him to open his eyes sleepily at the sound. "I've been thinking about… names. For the baby. What do you think of… Vlodomir? If it's a boy."

Geralt grunted, letting out a hard breath that ruffled her fluffy hair. "Fuck no."

Shani laughed, and Geralt could not help a small smile as he felt the laughter shake through her form. "I had a feeling you'd hate it," she admitted, still clearly pleased despite being shot down. "It just reminds me of… that night, at the wedding. When we danced together, and you looked so happy." She paused at the thought, staring ahead, her thumb moving pensively over his hand on her stomach. "I'd never seen you happy like that before," she admitted after a moment, her voice quieter, a bit more melancholy this time. "It was so nice to see you smile like that. Even if… it wasn't really you, doing it."

Geralt frowned, trying for a moment to think back to all the times he had spent with Shani, wondering if it was possible that she had never seen him smile before that night. "Been happy plenty of times," he told her. "Just, hard to show it. Stunted emotions. Doesn't mean I wasn't happy. Always enjoy spending time with you."

"Hm," Shani answered, still sounding unconvinced. "Still, I wish you smiled more. Just you, without a ghost making you do it. I bet the baby would love to see your smile."

Geralt thinned his lips, feeling a slight emptiness in the pit of his stomach at her request; he knew she had not meant to touch on his insecurities, but he still could not help feeling a bit put on the spot. He could force a smile if he had to, though he had seen his own forced smile in reflections before, and he hated how stilted and inhuman it looked when not prompted by something real. He had smiled for Ciri plenty of times, and for Yennefer more times than he could count, but being asked to smile on cue made him feel strange and broken all over again. "Thought you wanted a girl," he said after a moment, hoping to move the conversation to something less sensitive. "Haven't been thinking of girl names?"

"I have," Shani answered, seeming content to move on as well. "But… I can't think of any I like. Nothing seems right, no matter what I try." She paused, her pretty brow furrowing, starting to chew her lip again as she thought. "What was your mother's name, Geralt?" she asked after a moment, causing Geralt to blink in surprise.

"Mine?" he asked, still a bit stunned. "…Visenna. Don't like that for a kid, either."

Shani hummed at the name, before shaking her head. "No," she agreed. "That's not the name I'm looking for. I'll… give it more thought. Something will come up eventually, I'm sure." Letting out a soft huff at their futile effort, she clasped her hand more tightly over his on her stomach, before she pushed herself up onto her elbow, turning to press a soft kiss to his scruffy cheek. "Goodnight, Geralt," she told him, fondly, smiling down at him in the bed beside her. Then, settling down again, she nestled back against him, pulling his hand around to rest on her stomach once more.

Geralt smiled at the doctor as she settled in, pulling her closer against his chest, before tucking his legs into the backs of her knees, letting her cross her dainty feet between his ankles to warm them. "Goodnight, Shani," he told her, burying his face in her soft red hair again. Tomorrow would be another day, and he would figure out what to do about everything then, he decided – but for tonight, he was content to just be here, warm and clothed under the covers with Shani.