Pond water was disgusting, Geralt thought, but at least it offered a soft landing.
Roach whinnied as her legs touched down in the cold water, and she tossed her head, quickly starting to head for the shore. The amulet had worked as Triss had described, putting them down within easy distance of Kaer Morhen, but it had also proven to still be an experimental tool, and Geralt grimaced as he shook unwelcome water from his boots. He clicked his tongue to his horse, pulling on her reigns to focus her back again, before he turned her in the direction of the stronghold, squeezing her sides to coax her on.
Roach blustered as she made her way towards the fortress, flicking her agitated ears as she climbed the hill and over the drawbridge, before shaking her head with a snort as she pulled up beside the tying-post in the courtyard. "Good girl," Geralt told her, patting her neck, but Roach only bobbed her head in frustration, having no interest in hearing his praise when he had just sent her tumbling through a portal.
Dismounting the mare, Geralt took her reigns, leading her over towards the stables to rest, before he began to climb the various ramps and stairs towards the main fortress atop the hill. It was a lengthier climb than he remembered, but the time spent walking gave him that much more time to think, and he frowned as he looked up at the bastion's crumbling walls, wondering if it would be worth it to try and fix them. The place felt almost haunted in its emptiness, not the same welcoming hall it had once been – a ghostly reflection of what had previously been the place he had considered his one true home. It felt strange to be here again, as if he were intruding on somewhere he had no right being, and he felt a faint shiver at the sight of its heavy doors, before pushing them open to allow himself inside.
The fortress was frigid as he entered, the walls cold and unwelcoming to his familiar presence, and he clenched his teeth as he made his way across the great hall, hearing the hollow echoes of his footfalls on the stone. Kaer Morhen had been left as he had last seen it – half-broken by the thrashings of steel and snow, a skeletal echo in the absence of Vesemir; no longer a home, but a mausoleum. Making his way to the winding staircase, he began his slow ascent, careful not to look down, not wanting to remind himself just how perilous a climb it was to the top. The stairs had not been fixed since the last time any of them had been there, and he could hear small stones chipping off its foundation as he continued his way to the library.
The library in the tower had been left exactly as Geralt remembered it: half-full, with a few books tossed here and there across the tables, a tribute to the carelessness that had driven Yennefer mad on her visits. Geralt and Lambert had never been much for reading, and Vesemir had read every book in their library years before, so it was only between the sorceress and Eskel that any semblance of order existed here at all. Making his way to one of the bookcases, Geralt glanced over the rows of tomes, dusted over by time, before taking a book from one of the shelves and blowing the silt off, cracking the aging spine.
He had been taught never to judge a book by its cover, but this one – Witchers: Not Quite the Devils You Thought – was about as straightforward as a book could get, with its inside text reflecting exactly what the title advertised. He hummed as he thumbed through its yellowing pages, catching glimpses of essays detailing how misunderstood his kin were, before he closed the tome with a weary snap, tucking it under his arm to save out for Shani. He had room in his saddle-bags for a few things, and he figured a book would not take up too much space, and he let out a weary sigh as he looked up again, realizing just how many books had been left to decay on the fortress' shelves.
He had read barely a fraction of these books as a boy, and had never quite considered how many there might actually be; Eskel had been more of the scholastic sort back then, while Geralt and Gweld had been too tied up by their studies of swordsmanship to give much thought to books. There were books on goëtia here, Geralt saw, but only on the topics of identifying and fighting the spirits, and he let out a grunt as he ran his fingers across the dusty spines still lined along the shelf.
"Too much here," he muttered, before frowning as his hand came to stop on a certain book – bound in black, with a thin title etched in the spine, like the one Yennefer had purchased during their outing shopping for Shani's cradle. Pulling the book from the shelf, he flipped through it, wanting to see what it was like inside, only to find it as dry and scientific as the title suggested: Theses of Symbiotic Evolution of Species By Necessity. He hummed at the text, wondering how such a book could make its way onto Kaer Morhen's shelves, before remembering that Yennefer and Triss would sometimes keep their things here during their stays at the keep. If the title was anything to go by, this was probably one of Yennefer's, he realized, and he grunted as he closed it up again, sliding it back onto the shelf where he had found it.
There was something familiar about the title, beyond its parallel to Yennefer's recent purchase, and Geralt found his mind suddenly distracted by the thought of where he might have heard the name before. He had been too preoccupied during their trip to town to realize the familiarity of it at the time, and even now he could not quite put his finger on it, and he made a face as he turned away again, trying not to get too caught up in unimportant details. He was not here to read about how zeugls adapted to life in city trash pits, he told himself – he needed to see if there was anything to explain what in the witcher Trials caused sterility, and if there might be any explanation for how it could be reversed.
Making a quick sweep over the shelves again, he began to pull down a few more tomes, taking down every book that had the words 'Witcher', 'Trials', or 'Alchemy' in its title and setting them aside on a nearby table. He had no time to read every one of these, he knew, but he could send them along to the rest of his group, and perhaps they could glean something of use from them while he was off doing his part to break the curse. Geralt paused as he looked back over the remaining titles, making sure he had not left anything behind, before he reached out to grab the black-bound book, shoving it protectively under his arm.
He had no idea when the others would be settled, or if it would be safe to try and contact them just yet; it had been barely hours since they had parted ways, though it already felt like a lifetime without hearing his wife's voice. He supposed he should give them some time, and wait for Yennefer to contact him first, and he let out a sigh, picking up the rest of the books and starting for the stairs again. He would stay here for the night, he decided, as putting Roach through a portal was enough strain on her for one day, and he grunted as he set the books down on the end of the long banquet table, feeling his stomach churn with an angry growl. He had forgotten breakfast that day, too distracted by the journey still ahead, and he hummed as he turned towards the kitchen, heading down to see what food could possibly be left from the last time he was here.
The food at Kaer Morhen, much like the witchers, was resilient, made to last the winters, and Geralt grunted as he pulled down a sack of flour, coughing as the white powder flew up into his face. Some flour and water would make a decent bread, he knew, and with the leftover spices, he could give it some flavour as well, and he grinned as he leaned down to the old stone oven, heating it up with a cast of Igni.
The sun was nearly setting as Geralt made his way down to the mound where Vesemir lay, the stones piled high and sombre as a gentle breeze sighed its way through the trees overlooking the hallowed ground. Settling down on the grass, he stretched his long legs out in front of him, before leaning back, letting out a long, tired sigh as he took a swig from a bottle of vodka he had found. He had found the vodka in the kitchen while cooking, and had decided it would be the other half of his meal, and he chased it down with a mouthful of hardtack he had managed to bake in his attempt at bread. Vesemir would approve of this meal, he thought – or at the very least, would understand it – and he could not help but feel almost exhilarated at the sense of being so rawly self-sufficient again.
It was a change of pace from Corvo Bianco, but the more he embraced it, the more he remembered its charms—the thrill of scraping by, living off what he could find, just like in his days on the Path.
"Been a long time, old man," Geralt said, squinting into the sunset as he looked up over the mound. "Said I wouldn't come back, but… couldn't stay away. Guess old habits die hard." He paused, staring at the grave a moment, watching as a soft wind pulled at a tiny white flower growing in the grass, before he furrowed his brow, taking another bite of bread as he looked up over the stones again. "Wish I'd known it'd end this way," he said, his lips thinning into a regretful sliver. "Know what they say. Can't turn back time. But… wish I'd known I'd never get another chance. Had so many things to ask you then… guess I'll never know the answers now."
He paused, taking another bite of bread, brushing crumbs absentmindedly from his beard as he thought, before he looked down to his legs in the grass again, sucking his lip as he pondered what to say next. It felt strange to speak to Vesemir like this, but at the same time, it felt as if he had never left; the old man was the only person Geralt felt he could be honest with like this, more even than Yennefer or Ciri. He cared for Yennefer and Ciri dearly, often more than he did for himself, but he hated to burden them with his thoughts, especially when he knew they had burdensome thoughts of their own. Vesemir, however, had always been able to tell whenever something was on the younger witcher's mind, and he had always taken the time to sit him down and give him the space and patience to speak on it.
Even as a boy, Geralt had preferred to communicate with his sword, rather than with words, and it had been Vesemir who had encouraged him to speak his mind, to prioritize himself in ways outside the sparring-field. He hummed at the thought, wondering what Vesemir would think of his lacking communication skills now, before he let out a weary huff, looking up again and taking another swig of vodka. Vlodomir had told him that he had always been able to hear whenever Olgierd came around to talk to him, Geralt remembered, and the witcher could not help wondering now if that was only true of the two of them, or if Vesemir could somehow hear him, from wherever he was.
"Don't really know what I've gotten myself into," Geralt admitted after a moment, speaking low. "Dunno if you'd know the answers, either. Just know I fucked up this time. Wish I could've had your wisdom, but… gotta learn to do things for myself, eventually." He frowned, laying back in the grass to look up at the leaves swaying gently overhead; it felt good to speak without judgement, but he still could not help feeling as if he were worrying into the void. "Got mixed up with O'Dimm again," he explained, feeling a juvenile guilt creep over him as he said it. "And… got Shani pregnant. Don't even know how. Wish I could ask you about it, but… don't think you'd know any more than I do."
Geralt paused, chewing his lip, not even seeming to realize he was doing it, before he let out another long breath, resting the half-empty vodka bottle on his stomach. "Probably just give me hell for it anyway," he reasoned, feeling a sad smile itching at his face at the thought. "Told you to keep it in your pants, you'd say. Serves you right for fucking around. Figured this'd happen to one of you one of these days. …But wasn't 'one of us'. Happened to me." The thought made him stop, the smile quickly falling from his lips at the weight of his words, before he took another harried breath in, sitting up and taking another swig of vodka.
"Things like this only ever happen to me," he admitted, realizing just how much he hated to say it. "Dunno why. Never set out to be special. You put so much good work into me, and… feel like I've thrown most of it away. Squandered it all on… circumstance. Being in the right place, at the right time." He stopped again, pulling his legs in until he sat cross-legged in the grass, staring down at the stitchwork in his boots as his expression hardened, wondering what the others had to think of him – Lambert, the youngest, bound by society to an unrealistic precedent Geralt had set; Eskel, his peer, plagued by the shadow of the Kingslayer, always fated to be considered second-best. He hated the thought of his brothers suffering because of his actions, intentional or not, and he made a face, gritting his teeth as he took another frustrated bite of hard bread.
"Listen to me…" he huffed after another moment, looking up to Vesemir's grave again. "Go away for a year, and when I come back, start bitching like a kid with a stomachache. Never could get away from our troubles, could you, Vesemir? Even in death." A quiet followed this thought, a peaceful rustling of the leaves that sounded almost like conversation, and Geralt listened for a moment, wondering if this was somehow Vesemir's way of responding. "O'Dimm wants me to kill or make a Wolf School witcher," he continued after a moment, quieter. "But, don't think I can do it. With you gone, and Ciri as empress… Eskel and Lambert are all I have left. Can't kill them, and can't put Ciri through the Trial of the Dreams. It'd kill Yen. Might actually kill Ciri, too. Wouldn't be able to live with that, even for Yen's sake. Even for Shani's."
He stopped, pondering the thought, taking another swig of vodka to fill the frustrating silence, before he let out another anxious breath, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his armour. "Guess I could always kill myself," he admitted, surprising even himself with the thought. It had come out of desperation, though he figured it had to have been on his mind for a while beforehand. "But… don't wanna do that. Don't wanna die. Sounds weird, coming from a witcher, but… been seeing things differently recently. Got too much to live for now. …Though I guess that's true of anyone. Eskel and Lambert, too."
Geralt frowned, taking another bite of hardtack, chewing slowly as he turned the thought over in his mind. "Wish I could go back to the fight at Kaer Morhen," he said after a moment. "Save your life. Make sure Caranthir doesn't break Eskel's arm. Tell him to get somewhere the frost couldn't reach us. Couldn't freeze us in our tracks." He paused again, slowing in his chewing, before finally swallowing with a shake of his head. "But… know I can't," he added, his voice lower. "If I hadn't helped Lambert, he'd've been killed by the Hunt. And if you'd never stabbed Imlerith, Ciri would've never used her Nova. Never sent the Hunt retreating."
It was a hard chain of events to consider, and he hated the sound of it, even as it passed his lips; even to his own ears, it sounded as if he were trying to justify Vesemir's death as a good thing. It would never be justified, no matter how many other of their lives he had saved with his sacrifice, and Geralt hung his head at the thought, staring down at the bottle still tucked between his knees. "If you'd lived, then Ciri would've left with Eredin to save me," he continued after a moment, feeling his heart clench at the thought. "Couldn't do that to her. Know you wouldn't've wanted that, either. Won't give Ciri up to the Hunt because of my stupid mistake."
Geralt scowled, before taking another swig of vodka, listening to the sound of a bird chirping, free and unaware. "Shit," he huffed, setting the bottle aside, realizing how low it was getting. "Sounding like O'Dimm now. Talking about… actions, and consequences. Like anything has any meaning." Taking another long breath, he paused again, before looking up towards Vesemir's grave, curiously. "If you could change one thing, what would it be?" he asked, not caring how foolish he sounded, conversing directly with the old witcher. "Go back… maybe never return to the Wolf School. Give up the Path to settle down with Countess Mignole. Stop being a witcher, and just… live a normal life. Think she would've liked that. Think you would've liked that too. They say a witcher's never died in his bed, but… maybe a former witcher. Could've been the first."
He paused, the thought of a life ever after reminding him suddenly of Yennefer, and he brushed a hand against his hip-pouch, wondering when he would hear her voice again. It had been a few hours since he had arrived to Kaer Morhen, but he knew their journey was much more perilous than his, and he took another drink of vodka, telling himself that he could only be patient. Pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead, he frowned, realizing the combination of dry bread, vodka, and a lack of breakfast was making his head start to swim; he wondered if he should start thinking about bed – it was still light out, though barely, with the dusky departure of the sun giving way to the moon and stars, glowing gently over the mountains.
"There's this… girl," Geralt said after a moment, the thought leaving his lips without meaning to. He supposed it had been on his mind, and in truth, he could think of no one better than Vesemir to ask about it. "Can't figure her out. Know what you'd say… already got one child surprise. But it's not like that. Wish I could've asked you about her. Maybe you'd've figured out what she was." He paused, narrowing his eyes, drawing his knees in to rest his arms across them, thoughtfully. "Dunno why, but I get the strangest feeling when I look at her, like… I've seen her before," he admitted, quietly. "Like… something about her reminds me of someone. Says I know her father… maybe that's who she reminds me of. Dunno. Keep going through the possibilities, but none seem right. Can't figure it out."
He sucked his teeth, frowning as he ran through the list in his head again; his most obvious thought had been Olgierd von Everec, but even that had had too many flaws to be right. The girl and Olgierd both had reddish hair, and Olgierd had blue eyes, while Iris had green, and Geralt found it was not so far-fetched, after their last encounter, to believe Olgierd might have a distaste for witchers. Still, Olgierd had never mentioned having a daughter, and his wife had died of heartbreak, not childbirth; plus, his brother Vlodomir had been dead for years, and had never been anywhere near Beauclair, even in life. The thought had become less and less viable as he went, no matter how hard he had tried to make it work, and Geralt hummed in frustration as his options ran short, leaving him once again clueless.
"Seems to have a pretty shitty home life," he said, deciding to give up on the pursuit for now. "Can't imagine a father who doesn't like their kid. Know I'm gonna love Shani's baby, whatever it is." He paused, taking a moment to consider, before his brow began to knit at the thought, realizing his statement could be taken in two very disparate, unsettling ways. "Just hope it's healthy. That's all," he added. "Can't really hope for anything else, at this point. Know what you'd say… Wolf, you're getting soft. But… think I'm okay with that. Starting to realize, don't have to be tough all the time. Life's hard, and… think it's okay to be soft sometimes."
He stopped, staring at the ground, watching as the little flower shuddered in the breeze, before he took a long breath, finishing off the vodka and pushing himself back to his feet. "Should probably sleep," he said, stretching out with a groan. "Got a long ride ahead of us tomorrow. Gotta find Eskel, track him down. Already know how tough that'll be." He paused, watching the stones for a moment, as if hoping for some response from Vesemir, before he finally let out a huff, realizing he was only speaking to himself. "Wouldn't tell me even if he did come around here," he reasoned, looking down to the bottle in his hand instead. "Keep your secrets, old man. I'll send Eskel back here if I manage to come across him. Figure he should get a chance to say goodbye too, before…"
He trailed off, going silent, the warm glow immediately leaving his cheeks at the thought; he had not even meant to speak that last bit out loud, and he realized now just how sick the idea of Eskel being gone made him. He had already lost Vesemir to the Hunt, and too many others before him to count, and he steeled his lips, feeling his hand clench tightly around the empty bottle at the thought. This was what O'Dimm wanted, he realized – to break him, to force him to choose between two great evils; to rip out his heart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but stone. Tossing the empty bottle to the ground, Geralt turned, heading back towards the fortress with an angry huff, intent on getting a good night's sleep before more bad decisions had the chance to claim him.
The bed in Yennefer's tower was layered in dust when Geralt went up to investigate, and he coughed as he pulled the covers off the bed, shaking them out and watching the dust fly over the room. As he stared across the now-dusty floor, he realized too late that he probably should have shaken them out a window, before figuring that he would not be here long enough for it to matter, and Yennefer was likely never coming back here, either. Tossing the covers onto the bed again, he had climbed in, realizing how very empty it felt, before sinking down deeper into the cosy sheets, deciding he could only make the best of the situation.
It was comfortable, at least – much more comfortable than anything on the lower floors, he knew from experience – though he was sure Yennefer would not have stood for the kind of beds they provided to those who actually lived and trained here. Those beds were not made for lovemaking, and this one was, and he let out a sigh as he ran his hand over the pillows, missing the scent of Yennefer's glamour in the empty space beside him. The room still held traces of her presence – the vanity mirror where he had watched her preen countless times; the tub, where they had sometimes bathed together; the fireplace, where they had held each other close on cold nights. A silk bathrobe of hers had been left in the tower, folded neatly over the back of a finely-carved chair, and for a moment Geralt was almost tempted to retrieve it, to lay it across the pillow beside him.
Letting out a hum at the thought of Yennefer, Geralt turned, glancing over at the xenovox on the nightstand, before he reached over to pick it up, resting it to his lips and pausing as he thought of what to say. He had expected his wife to contact him, but he had heard nothing from her all day, and he frowned as he let out an anxious huff, wondering if something could have gone wrong on her end. Yennefer was more than capable of defending herself, but travelling with Dandelion and Shani made their group that much more vulnerable, and he found himself wishing he had asked more questions about their plans before leaving so hastily through the portal.
"Yen…" he spoke into the xenovox, feeling a bit foolish, though he figured there was no one around to see him, if this was all in vain. "If you can hear me… hope you're safe. Let me know what's going on soon." He paused as he finished, considering if there was anything else to say, before deciding that was enough for now and letting out a soft breath as he set the xenovox aside on the nightstand again. He was finding it hard to think about sleep, still plagued with the worry the what lay ahead, and he settled down deeper into bed with a sigh, looking over instead to the books on the bedside table. He had brought them up with him, wanting to have everything he needed for the next day in one place, and he took a moment to scan over the titles, wondering if any might be of more use than the others.
Reaching for Yennefer's black-bound book on adaptive morphology, he gave a curious grunt, flipping to a page near the middle, where an illustration of a zeugl peered out at him, catching his attention enough to start to read. "Zeugls are hermaphroditic beasts, whose reproduction does not depend on the presence of a mate," he read the dry text. "Theories have been made that the species were originally dioecious, but a genetic mutation primed hermaphroditic variants for survival, as the aggressive nature of the zeugl made dioecious mating hazardous to perpetuation of the species… who reads this shit?"
Geralt frowned at the cramped typescript, flipping through to see how much was left about zeugls, before he let out a low groan as he realized just how much the author had to say on the subject. He was starting to wonder if Yennefer really enjoyed collecting these books for show, rather than actually reading them, but he figured he could at least make an effort to get through part of it, if only to be able to discuss it later with his wife.
"The cousin of the zeugl, the parazeugl, product of the ecological trials at Rissburg Castle, is relatively pacifistic by contrast, and habitually make their home in city sewers, clearing the trash and corpses from waterways," he continued, hating every word. "They have been known to procreate hermaphroditically, though they have also re-adapted to mate dioeciously, revealing a return to their original genome variation by learned behaviour and selective mutation. While dioecious reproduction generally works as effectively as hermaphroditic in parazeugls, their altered genomes have been known to rarely produce unspecified supplementary mutations, both in variations seen in offspring and in adaptability of dioecious functionality…"
Geralt stopped, staring at the text, realizing the words had started to become a giant, inky blur, before he closed the book again, rubbing his eyes, wondering how Yennefer did not manage to fall asleep in the first few sentences. Just one page of the book was too much for him, and he tossed it spitefully aside onto the floor, curling up in the empty bed and deciding that whenever he saw a zeugl next, he was going to put his boot through its brain.
He did not even remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, it was morning again, and he squinted as the first strains of sun filtered in through the tower window, bathing the room in a pale, watery light. The room seemed smaller in the daylight somehow, not as empty as it had the night before, and Geralt yawned as he swung his legs out of bed, rubbing his eyes and getting up to start the new day. He had brought only one set of clothes with him, his armour, and he grunted as he began to pull it on again, still sluggish from a night where sleep had been so fleeting, he was still having trouble registering it. Sleep was precarious anymore, with the threat of bad dreams always looming overhead, but he figured it was a gamble he had to take, if he was to get the rest he needed for the road ahead.
Geralt yawned again as he pulled on his boots, securing the buckles to make sure they stayed put, before he pushed himself up from the bed, collecting his books and starting to make his way down for breakfast. He made flatbread this time, softer and more filling than the hardtack of the evening before, and he sat down at the end of the long banquet table as he ate, looking over the great hall and breathing in its nostalgic scents. There were memories here – chemical smells from the alchemy station across the hall, mixed with the smell of White Gull and vodka, and he paused as he remembered their last night here together: Lambert parading around in Vesemir's old hat; the three of them trying in vain to contact the Lodge, only to end up scaring some noble instead.
He chuckled at the thought, running a hand along the table to collect the dust from its surface, before he lifted his hand again, only to realize with a start that it had come away clean. Someone had been here – someone who had taken the time to clean up after themselves – and, looking up again, he noticed for the first time that the mugs from their last night together had been put away as well. The long table had been wiped down, as if someone had cleared up after a meal, and the fireplace nearby sat black and sooty from logs recently burned, still chipping away into charcoal.
Geralt frowned at the haunting scene, the echoes of life existing in these walls barely days before, and he got up, turning to head towards the living-quarters to see what else had been disturbed in his time away. It was no great surprise that the fortress had become a squatting-place for vagrants in the absence of witchers; it had sturdy walls, and a roof overhead, and a fireplace with which to warm cold hands. There were cooking supplies in the kitchen, the same ones he had put to use himself, and there was still plenty of vodka left over from when men of combat roamed these halls.
Opening the door to the sleeping-quarters, Geralt frowned in at the rows of beds along the walls, noting that most of them still seemed untouched from the last time he had checked in on them. The beds were still messy, undisturbed from the way their last inhabitants had left them, sealed over with a layer of dust that made them look almost ghostly in their slumber. Only one bed was not the same; its covers were clean, neatly tucked up to its straightened pillow, with the candle beside it on the worn nightstand melted nearly halfway down its wick. Geralt approached the table slowly, noting the shape of a hand that had passed over its dusty surface, before he turned to the bed, picking up the pillow to take a whiff of who might have slept there.
The scent was familiar, he realized – not the stench of a vagrant, but the smell of evergreen sap, mixed with the faintest reek of goat's fur, still clinging to the pillow like burrs in a thicket. He hummed, setting the pillow down again, passing a hand across it to smooth it to the way it had been, before he turned back to look out the door again, wondering what had prompted Eskel to come back after vowing so determinedly to stay away. It seemed he had not stayed long – from the things he had touched, Geralt guessed he had stayed a day, maybe two at most – but there was still enough of his presence here to make him think his stay had likely been recent. If he had been here in the last week, then that meant his scent might still be fresh enough to be trackable, but Geralt frowned as he remembered the last time he had tried to track down Eskel through scent, alone.
A man who smelled like the forest, as Eskel did, was nearly impossible to track through the trees, but Shani had mentioned Li'l Bleater travelling with him when she had run across him, so perhaps the scent of his goat companion would make him trackable this time as well. Geralt let out a huff at the thought, sitting down on the bed in exasperation, before realizing the longer he spent procrastinating, the longer it would take to catch up to his fellow witcher. That was assuming it was still possible to catch up at all, and he hummed as he pressed a tense hand to the pillow, as if hoping to judge how far behind he already was by the measurement of its warmth.
"Damnit Eskel," Geralt breathed, unsure what was frustrating him more at the moment – the thought that Eskel had proven him wrong by returning to Kaer Morhen, or that he had not stuck around long enough for them to cross paths. Balling his fist into the pillow, he grunted, before standing again from the well-made bed, turning for the door and starting to make his way down towards the courtyard to saddle up Roach.
With Eskel's trail still relatively fresh, and the smell of Li'l Bleater's fur to follow, finding Eskel was turning out to be much less of an impossible task than Geralt had feared it might be. Grabbing the books from the banquet table, he shoved them under his arm, making his way out to Roach, packing them into one of her saddle-bags and ignoring her protests as she blustered at the added weight of the books. She whinnied as Geralt climbed into her saddle, stamping her hooves against the courtyard to show displeasure at such a short rest, but he only patted the side of her neck, before clicking his tongue and pulling on her reigns.
They had a good lead now, and the sooner they started on it, the sooner it would pay off, he knew – and as long as it did not start to rain, there was no reason he would not catch up in no time.
A toll of thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, its warning throes echoing at the edge of the wood, and from somewhere deeper into the forest, an animal chittered, disturbed by the shift in air pressure. It had been three days since their journey began, with the smell of goat fur still lingering among the trees, pungent and fresh where the little creature had scratched its itchy back against the bark. They had not managed to catch up to Eskel yet, but Geralt felt his pace was a good one, even so, and he figured it would only be a day or two more before they came across the witcher's camp. That was, of course, unless it rained, and they lost the only trail they had, and he looked up as a wind rustled through the trees, the chill breeze whistling as it caught the edge of a cluster of leaves.
"Hm," Geralt grunted, squinting against the dreary sky. "Wind's howling."
A second gust followed a moment later, this one bringing with it a soft, stinging mist, a shift that caused Roach's ears to prick, and then flatten, as if sensing something on the wind only she could understand. Geralt lifted his head to the breeze, smelling the heavy scent of incoming rain, before he blinked as the first icy drop fell onto his face, skating down into his scruffy beard. "Damnit," he swore, wiping the droplet away with a gloved hand. Then, giving a quick jerk on Roach's reigns, he turned her head towards the cresting hill. "Come on, girl," he prompted, giving her sides a squeeze. "Let's find shelter before it really starts coming down."
Whatever hesitation the rain might have had in starting to fall, it seemed Geralt's attempts to avoid it had been all it needed, and he growled as it began to drive down against his back, soaking him through to the core. Shelter in the forest was not as easy to find as it had once seemed to the travelled witcher, and the woods only seemed to be growing darker, deeper, and emptier the longer he continued. Once or twice he thought he spotted a cave, but on closer inspection it had turned out to be merely a shadowy outcropping, or on one occasion, the home of a creature with a much more senior claim. The wind bayed angrily in his ears as he continued his ride, the squall moaning like a tormented spirit, whipping the branches covering their path in a vengeful gale as he pressed on through the forest.
A knife-like sheet of rain drove down against his skin, soaking through his armour and freezing him to the bone, and he shivered, pushing his wet hair from his eyes as he urged Roach on through the muddying wood. He had never paid much attention to the rain back when he was still on the Path, when nature was more a friend to him than any construct of mankind's making – but after a few months of the homey comfort of Corvo Bianco, with the crackling fireplace and melodious tinkling of the tiled roof, he found that facing the elements head-on once more was much less pleasant than he remembered.
He was not alone in this change of attitude, as it seemed even robust Roach now found the weather too much to take, as he could feel the mare shivering under him as he clasped his boots to her sides, urging her on towards the promise of shelter. He found the motivation to find shelter for Roach's sake a lot more pressing than for his own, and he pulled again at her reigns, steering her on through the driving downpour.
It was only a little bit further down the path before the form of a large cave began to take shape, a streak of lightning above the trees throwing the rock formation into sharp detail. Sliding off Roach's back, Geralt pulled on her reigns, shielding his eyes from the battering rain, until they finally ducked into the dry mouth of the cave, shaking their hair out like wet dogs from a bath. The rain would let up eventually, Geralt knew, and when it did, they would continue their journey, but the thought of trying to pick up a scent trail after a heavy rain was not one he was looking forward to. He let out a frustrated hum at the thought, before running a reassuring hand down Roach's forehead, petting her velvety nose and causing her to snort softly in appreciation.
"Come on," he told her, letting out a sigh as he took her reigns again, tugging gently on her lead. "We'll set up a camp a little further in. Make a fire, dry off a bit. Get some warmth." Roach gave another snort at the suggestion, though Geralt was sure she could not understand him, and he smirked at the thought as he turned, starting to lead her deeper inside the cave.
It was a well-maintained cave, from what he could tell, likely the home of some creature or another at one point, though the scraping and snarling that usually came with active monster nests was nowhere to be heard. It was possible the monsters were asleep, though with the rain as loud as it was, that seemed unlikely, and he kicked aside a mushroom that had been trampled loose, wondering how long ago the cave had been abandoned by its previous tenants. He would meditate for tonight, he decided – there was no use trying to sleep, with the storm as loud as it was – and though he had grown used to the appeal of sleep, he knew witchers could technically go for long stretches without it. Sleep was a treat, when he could get it; he enjoyed his soft covers, and curling up with Yennefer, and he felt his heart cinch at the thought of his wife, realizing she had not contacted him the whole time he had been on Eskel's trail.
The thought of Yennefer was almost enough to distract him from the sudden scent of something cooking, but he stopped quickly as he noticed the unexpected smell wafting over the still cave breeze to meet them. Someone was already here, he realized – someone with a campfire, and tools for cooking, which meant either a bandit troupe waited ahead in the cavern, or something much more sinister, like a rock troll. Geralt had dealt with rock trolls before, and had seen what ingredients went into their stews, and he held up a hand to signal Roach to stop, drawing his silver sword and continuing soundlessly forward towards the smell.
Whatever was up ahead, it had not heard the witcher and his horse approaching yet, and he hoped he might be able to deal with it before it had a chance to gain the upper hand. Perhaps, if it really was a rock troll, he would be able to reason with it to share its fire – but if it was bandits, he was less sure they would be willing to share their shelter. The corridor leading to the interior cavern was a short walk, and Geralt tread softly as he approached, watching as the light from the mysterious campfire threw long, flickering shadows across the stony floor. Gripping his weapon, he stepped out into the larger grotto, holding his sword at the ready to strike at any aggressors waiting ahead—only to be met by the sight of a goat, who immediately shrieked, darting as fast as its little legs could carry it towards a dark corner of the cave.
The man by the firepit jumped to his feet at the sound, letting out a swear of concern and surprise, before he drew his own sword from its scabbard on his back, ready to take down any who might try to harm his companion. The red of his coat was unmistakeable in the firelight, as was the deep, rivered scar across his cheek, and Geralt quickly relaxed his posture at the sight, stowing his sword again as he realized who it was.
"Eskel?" he asked, too surprised to say much else. "How—what're you doing here?"
"Geralt," Eskel huffed, relaxing his own posture, before sliding his sword back into its scabbard as well. "Damnit, man, you nearly gave me a heart attack! Can't just sneak up on a guy like that." Clicking his tongue for the goat, he turned, starting to search for his startled friend, before a tiny, wary bleat echoed back from the shadows, followed by the bowed head of the little furry creature. Li'l Bleater was not a pygmy goat, but she was still smaller than Geralt remembered; perhaps the runt of some litter that Eskel had grown attached to, unable to help feeling some camaraderie towards the underdog.
Eskel reached out for her as she meandered back into the light, petting her little domed head and soft, attentive ears, before he settled back onto his seat by the fire, looking up at Geralt with a dissecting stare. "Join us by the fire," he said, nodding his head to the stone seat across from him. "Figure Roach's out there somewhere, too. Bring her inside. Don't want her getting sick from the rain."
Geralt nodded, before pressing his fingers to his teeth, giving a short, sharp whistle to alert his horse, and a moment later Roach appeared at his elbow, nudging his shoulder to let him know she had arrived. He patted her velvety nose, before moving to sit by the fire with Eskel, noticing the other witcher's own steed standing a few paces away, nearly obscured by shadow. Scorpion was a sunning specimen, and well-behaved, much mellower than Geralt might have expected a warhorse to behave, but with Eskel as his rider, he supposed it made sense that the horse would be calm unless provoked, much like his master.
"Guess you're surprised to see us out here," Eskel observed, letting out a low huff. "I'm a little surprised to be back here, myself. But this is where the Path led us, so… here we are."
"Three days away from Kaer Morhen," Geralt noted, not bothering to skirt around the point. "Know you stayed there a day or so. How I picked up your scent. Thought you said you'd never go back again."
"Didn't think I would," Eskel answered, seeming unfazed at being called out. "But the trail I'm on led me past there, and I figured… a bed's a bed. Even if it's tough and dusty." He paused, before opening his gloved hands in thought. "Plus, got to have a talk with Vesemir, which… was nice," he added. "Didn't think I'd get a chance to go back, see the old man. Not much for conversation anymore, but… still."
"Hm," Geralt returned, nodding. "Sounds reasonable."
Eskel huffed again. "Thanks," he said, sarcastically. "Guess it's good to know I have your approval."
Geralt frowned, but said nothing, only allowing an odd silence to fall between them, listening to the drumroll of rain from outside, interrupted by the soft, simmering bubbles of Eskel's stew-pot. Li'l Bleater mewled quietly at Eskel's side, rubbing her ear against the witcher's leg, but even the goat could do little to quell the awkward silence that had fallen between them at their exchange. Folding his hands against his knees, Geralt stared intently into the fire, trying to think if there was anything he could say, or if he should simply let the silence stand. "Thought it would take longer to catch up to you," he admitted, figuring there was no harm in continuing the conversation. "Figured, with your usual pace, you'd be two, three days ahead by now. Didn't expect to find you here."
"Usually, I would be," Eskel agreed, seeming to have forgotten the awkwardness of before. "But something about this hunt's got my head all… weird. Every time I get close, I get this… pain. Like… inexplicable hunger. Feel like I have to stop and hunt for something or my stomach's gonna collapse in on itself." He paused, his scarred brow furrowing, staring intently into the fire as he pressed his lips together. "Don't think it has to do with the beast," he admitted, shaking his head at the thought. "Villagers said it was a leshen, and leshens can't do that. And I can't think of anything else with that kind of—I dunno, psychic power? Starting to think it might just be nerves. Something keeping me from catching up, seeing what it is."
"Though you said it was a leshen," Geralt countered.
Eskel shrugged, seeming less concerned. "That's what the villagers said it was," he answered, fairly. "But some of the information they gave me didn't make sense. That's why I took the job. Wanted to see what it really was." He paused, looking away from the fire, frowning again as he thought the situation over, before he suddenly took a deep breath, as if realizing something for the first time. "Plus… my food kept spoiling," he added, sucking his lip as he remembered this strange detail. "Thought it would stay fresh, but whenever I got close, seemed to… wilt. As if something was causing it. That one I do think has to do with the creature, but—dunno what can cause that, apart from a pesta. Had to stop tracking to hunt for food, or we would've starved. Not much to hunt in these woods, but… made do with what I could catch."
He stopped again, pulling his stick from the stewpot, as if reminded suddenly of his meal, before he peered down into its depths, checking to see if his concoction was finished. Seeming satisfied with his creation, he reached back into his rucksack, pulling out two bowls Geralt recognized as coming from Kaer Morhen, before he dipped them into the pot, ladling out two servings of hot, lumpy-looking stew. "Here," he said, offering one across to Geralt. "Take it. Made enough for two." Geralt paused, before reaching cautiously for the stew, unable to help a strong suspicion that he had been given Li'l Bleater's bowl. "Don't have any utensils," Eskel added, settling back on his rock with a grunt and lifting his bowl. "Just have to drink it like soup. Can't keep track of a spoon out here to save my life."
"Fine by me," Geralt answered, darkly. "Had just about my fill of spoons." Then, lifting the bowl to his mouth, he tipped it back, letting the warm stew bubble down his throat. He realized as he drank that it was not half-bad for witcher stew, though still nothing compared to Marlene's cooking back home; witchers were known for being skilled alchemists, but many never bothered to learn any real culinary skills. Geralt, himself had been known to eat raw meat, drink raw eggs for nutrients, and eat raw onions like apples, and even Ciri had begun to pick up on some of these habits towards the end of their time together. The practice had driven Yennefer mad, and she had done everything in her power to teach it out of their daughter, but even now, as empress, Ciri would sometimes hint in letters how she would ask her meat to be cooked so rare it still ran red with blood.
Taking his bowl away from his lips, Eskel passed the back of his glove across his mouth, wiping away any remaining stew before setting his bowl in his lap, fixing Geralt with a curious stare. "So," he said, causing Geralt to look up again. "I answered your question. Now what're you doing out here? Pretty far from the comfort of home."
Geralt faltered, frowning for a moment, before quickly clearing his expression again, wondering if Eskel already knew more about his life than what the other witcher was letting on. "On a trail," he finally said, deciding that vagueness was the best response. "Led me through here. Just passing through. That's all."
"A trail, huh?" Eskel asked, tapping his thumbs against the sides of his bowl. "Does this 'trail' at least pay well?"
Geralt shook his head. "No," he said. "Just… something I need to do."
Eskel nodded, seeming content with the brief explanation, before his scarred brow furrowed over his yellow eyes, the dim light of the flickering firepit making them look like sunken pits in the craterous square of his face. "It's been a while since we've had a chance to catch up," he commented after a moment, making Geralt look up at the remark.
"Hm," Geralt grunted, turning his bowl between his fingers. "Guess so." Another silence fell over them, with Geralt listening as the wind gave a wicked howl from outside, before a sudden crack of thunder shook the cave, causing the loose pebbles on the floor to shudder with the sound. The rain continued to drive overhead, muffled against the stone roof of their dry haven, and from somewhere in the half-light beside Eskel, Li'l Bleater gave a soft cry, frightened by the sound of the storm. Her cry was met with a huff from Roach from somewhere behind Geralt, closer to the mouth of the cavern, and Scorpion's ears flicked attentively at the sounds of his fellow animals, his dark eyes fixed squarely on the fire, as if hoping for an invitation to come closer to its warmth.
Eskel tilted his bowl towards his mouth again, before wiping his mouth on his sleeve, setting his bowl in his lap again. "Guess I'll have to start," he said, letting out a sigh. "After the fight with the Hunt, I travelled to Lormark. Like I told you. Wanted to get a feel for the political climate up there. Figured Upper Aedirn might have a more friendly outlook towards witchers… might not feel like such an outcast out there."
"No such thing," Geralt answered, darkly. "No place that's 'friendly' towards witchers."
Eskel took a deep breath, staring at a spot on the far wall, as if expecting to find his thoughts etched somewhere on its stones. "You're right," he answered, his scarred brows creeping slowly upward, as if reacting with a mind of their own. "When I got there, I learned that the Imperial army had conquered all the Northern territories up to the Pontar. Including Upper Aedirn." He paused again, before looking up, returning his solemn gaze to Geralt, and he frowned for what felt like the first time, his gnarled brows knitting in the middle of his blemished face. "Saskia's independent realm… it's gone," he said. "Doesn't exist anymore."
Geralt faltered, feeling his heart skip a beat. "And Saskia?" he asked, trying not to sound too anxious. It had been years since he had last seen Saskia or Iorveth, though admittedly he had made little attempt to catch up with them; he had been too caught up in his own quest to find Ciri and keep her out of the hands of the Hunt to remember to keep track of other things. Still, he had last left Upper Aedirn with the confidence that Saskia's wisdom and Iorveth's resourcefulness would work out for the best, so it was disheartening to hear that, in less than a year's time, Saskia's efforts towards reconciled peace had been warred to the wayside.
Eskel shook his head. "I'm not sure," he answered, looking down again to the stew in his lap. "I heard rumours the dragon slayer was traveling with Iorveth and the Scoia'tel, but I was never able to verify that for myself." Picking a dandelion from his stew, he shook the broth from its soggy petals, before holding it out for Li'l Bleater to sniff, and then take, chewing happily on the mushy flower. Eskel smiled as he watched the goat eat, endeared by how contented the little animal was by so small a gesture, before he looked up at Geralt again, his expression turning solemn once more at the thought of Saskia.
"But, finding no comfort in the North… I decided to return to Kaedwen," he continued, wearily. "I knew I could at least find some work here. Go with what you know, they say. Familiar landscape, familiar political climate… familiar faces to be found while out wandering in the wilderness. However ugly they may be." Geralt looked up again at the last comment, having been distracted by the happy goat, and Eskel smirked back across at him, knowing full well the irony of his punchy joke. "It worked, for a while," he added after a moment, giving Geralt no time to respond. "I got a job as a farmhand. Not much to do, but I liked it that way. But… things never turn out the way we expect, I guess. So… now I'm here. That's my story."
"That why you were in the Kestral Mountains three months ago?" Geralt asked, narrowing his eyes across the fire.
Eskel hesitated, seeming surprised to be asked. "Huh?" he returned. "What makes you think I was there three months ago?"
Geralt shrugged. "Shani," he answered, swirling his soup thoughtfully in his bowl. "Told me she ran into you there. That what you were doing there? Being a farmhand? Not much farming to be done in the Kestrel Mountains."
Eskel paused, thinning his lips, seeming strangely uncomfortable to answer. "Not… three months ago," he said after a moment. "Back then I was just… travelling. Just passing through."
"Hm," Geralt grunted. "Weird place to 'pass through'."
"Don't see how it's much of your concern," Eskel snapped, shortly. Geralt faltered at the venomous answer, taking a moment to stare across the fire at his fellow witcher, and Eskel looked mortified by his own outburst, before letting out another sigh and dropping his gaze to the floor. "I was… thinking about visiting Deidre," he admitted, his voice quieter now, all hostility gone. "Y'know… check in. See how she's doing these days. But… I lost my nerve, like a coward." He paused, sucking his scarred lip, his fingers gripping his bowl until the pads turned white, before he took another deep breath in, lifting his head to continue his story.
"While I was travelling through, I caught wind of a village being plagued by some monster they couldn't identify," he said after a moment. "They'd been looking for a witcher, and when I came along… I couldn't turn them down. Couldn't let them die like that. So I took up my swords and went after the beast, and—"
"Wrote to Triss about it," Geralt interrupted. "About the plate you found."
"…Yeah," Eskel agreed, seeming a bit taken aback. "Guess she told you about that, even though I asked her not to. Didn't tell her what kind of creature it was, though. Thought she might not believe me if I tried."
Geralt grunted. "Understandable."
Eskel frowned again, not expecting so sympathetic an answer. "It… wasn't like anything I'd ever seen," he explained, seeming hesitant to continue, though clearly wanting to tell someone about it. "Maybe you've seen something like it. I don't know. It was… big. Some kind of giant bug. Like… a centipede mixed with an idr, though I'm pretty sure idrs're supposed to be extinct. It was bigger than a normal roach hound, though, and longer, with razor-sharp mandibles and huge pincers. And it was smart, too—nearly faked me out at least once. Had to adjust my strategy to finally kill it."
Geralt thinned his lips at the description, remembering how Yennefer had scolded him for his guess of a necrophage, how she had guessed that Eskel's monster might be something different – an insectoid, just as it had turned out to be. From the way Eskel told it, the beast sounded almost like a mix between a krallach and a myriapodan, though such an abominable hybridization was impossible, he knew – just as his cemetaur-zeugl hybrid had been supposed to be. He resisted the urge to hum darkly at the thought, only gripping the edge of his bowl more tightly, before he looked up at Eskel again, waiting for him to continue his story.
Eskel seemed not to notice Geralt's subtle shift in expression, only faltering at the thought, making a face of his own, his scarred lip twisting as he wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant memory. "It didn't seem to have a master, that I could tell," he added after another moment, thoughtfully. "Not sure anyone could have tamed something like that, anyway. And while I was taking it apart, I found that… plate, embedded under its carapace, in its soft flesh. No idea how it got there, unless it was wounded with it and the carapace grew back over it." He paused again, chewing his lip, before finally shrugging, seeming to give up the thought.
"After fighting that monster, though, and finding that plate… got kinda curious, I guess. To whatever end," he admitted. "Heard about another contract for an unidentified monster – well, leshen – and I've been chasing it ever since."
"So what do you think it is?" Geralt asked, unable to hide his interest.
Eskel frowned, thinking it over. "No idea yet," he admitted, honestly. "All I know is, it's more mobile than most leshens. All the leshens I've ever come across have found a home in a wood and stayed there. This one seems to move around a lot, almost as if it's… hunting. Looking for something." He paused, making a face at the thought, his broad nose wrinkling a bit in the firelight. "I haven't seen any crows or wolves," he added. "And I keep losing its trail, then picking it up again. It's been hard as hell to track. Doesn't leave much behind, apart from some broken branches and… ice."
Geralt narrowed his eyes at the mention of ice. "Don't think it's a part of the Hunt?" he asked.
Eskel shook his head. "Definitely not," he said. "I've seen it—it's big, but not a hound or a horseman. Just a tall, shrouded… thing. With antlers, like a leshen. Can definitely see how they mistook it."
"And you think this 'leshen' is another one of these creatures?" Geralt asked, reaching into his hip-pouch to pull out the plate Triss had given him.
Eskel twisted his lips at the thought, reaching across to take the plate from Geralt's hand, before he let out a low, pensive hum, turning it over to stare at the back. "Never really got a good look at this," he admitted, turning it over again. "Got no idea what it could be. Guess you didn't have much luck either, huh?"
"Ciri thinks it's some kind of cataloguing system," Geralt answered, shrugging at the thought. "Might be someone's trying to document these monsters. Keep track of anomalies."
"And we keep killing them," Eskel put in, handing the plate back across the fire again. "That's gotta piss them off. Though it's their own fault, letting them run free like that." He huffed at the thought, as if realizing something, before he sat back again, taking a pensive breath in. "So, Shani…" he said, causing Geralt to look up, warily. "Said she mentioned me… seems like a real nice gal. Smart, too. She isn't married, is she?"
"Not that I know of," Geralt answered, taking another sip of stew.
Eskel nodded. "Hm," he said. "Probably not interested in witchers, though. Couldn't blame her if she wasn't."
Geralt shrugged, wiping broth from his beard. "Can't speak to that one, either," he answered. Setting his bowl in his lap, he turned his gaze to the fire, taking a deep breath as he thought of how to steer the conversation away from Shani; it was not that he did not appreciate Eskel's interest – Shani was free to be with whoever she chose, of course – but the thought of pairing her with another witcher felt unjust to her, somehow. She had expressed to him before how witchers led lives she could not abide to conform to, and the thought of another disappointment in a life already full of stress was more than he could fairly put on her.
"Life after the Hunt… been rough for me too," Geralt said after a moment, the words forming slowly. It took fighting himself to get them out, despite every instinct telling him to keep them inside; such intimate sharing was still unnatural to him, though he knew Eskel only meant well in his desire to bond. "Yen and I… we took a break," he said, letting out a hard breath and thinning his lips at the thought. "Ciri was gone being empress, and we just… couldn't find the same spark as before. Thought some time apart would help us not feel like… something was missing. Do us some good. Clear our perspectives, for when we eventually came together again."
Eskel nodded, listening as he spoke. "And?" he asked, swirling his bowl with one hand.
Geralt sighed again, less from the discomfort of sharing, and more from the uneasiness of knowing what was coming next. "While Yen and I were separated… met up with… an old friend," he said after a moment, haltingly. "Pretty sure you know her. But we'd had sort of a history together, so… didn't take long to fall back into it."
Eskel narrowed his eyes, setting his bowl on the ground and reaching to pet Li'l Bleater's neck as she meandered in to investigate. "Come on, Geralt," he pressed, jerking his chin at the other witcher. "Don't get shy on me now."
"Fine," Geralt grunted, making a face. "Was Shani. Met up with Shani."
Eskel faltered at the name, before frowning, his scarred brow furrowing over his yellow eyes. "Shani, the field medic?" he asked, reaching back to scratch behind Li'l Bleater's ears.
Geralt nodded, before shrugging again. "Practicing privately now," he said. "Got her own clinic and everything."
"Impressive," Eskel answered, leaning in again, intrigued. "So, what happened with Shani?"
Geralt sighed again, the sound becoming almost second nature to him now. "Invited me to go to a wedding with her," he said, doing his best to simplify the story. "Had an… interesting evening, guess you could say. Then…" He stopped, trailing off again, before he screwed up his face, letting out a frustrated breath. "Then, things got… intimate," he admitted. "Ended up spending the night with her."
"You old dog!" Eskel laughed, slapping his knee, causing Li'l Bleater to jump in surprise. Reaching down to the goat again, he scratched behind her ears, his gaze not moving as he grinned widely across at Geralt. "No harm in having a bit of fun with an old connection," he added, good-naturedly. "Besides, you and Yen were on a break. Said so yourself."
"Yeah," Geralt agreed in a bleak monotone. "Would seem that way. Except, somehow… Shani got pregnant."
Eskel faltered, his expression wavering, as if unsure if this was some sarcastic tall tale, or simply a very strange joke with a punchline funny only to the one telling it. Then, finally, he seemed to decide it was a joke, and he gave a forced, languid laugh, causing Geralt to frown at the reaction, having expected anything but that. He guessed it was inevitable Eskel would not believe him, considering what they all knew about witchers, but he still could not help feeling a bit taken aback by such a flippant response. "Very funny," Eskel told him, petting Li'l Bleater's soft head as he spoke. "Told you I was interested in her, so you're trying to keep me away. I get it. She's your backup plan."
"Not my 'backup plan'," Geralt answered, making a face. "And not joking. Shani's pregnant, and it's mine."
Eskel wavered at the answer, still seeming unsure, before he finally scoffed, letting his hands fall back to his knees. "Well, that's… impossible," he insisted, still not seeming quite sure what to believe. "No witcher can get a woman pregnant. Even you, Geralt, try as you might. And I know you try." Geralt did not react to the jab, only keeping his expression firm as he stared across the fire; he knew Eskel had no reason to believe him, but he had no reason to lie about something like this. He was a changed man now, as Dandelion had said – responsible, mature, and making efforts to correct his past discretions – but even so, he understood how something like this could be hard for anyone to swallow, especially someone like Eskel.
Shaking his head again, Eskel sat up straighter, his hand fidgeting against his knee as he thought, seeming not to notice the telltale habit giving away his mounting stress and confusion. "Whoever the father of Shani's baby is, it's not you," he said after a moment, his expression firm. "It can't be. It just can't. Everybody knows witchers are sterile, thanks to the Trial of the Dreams." Another silence followed as Geralt stared back at him, saying nothing, only allowing the reality of his story to sink in – until, slowly, he watched as Eskel's expression began to change, shifting between confusion, frustration, hope, distress, each conflicted emotion amplified by the longing shadows thrown over his face by the firelight.
"…Aren't they?" Eskel asked, his voice quieter now, as if hardly daring to hope.
Again, Geralt said nothing, only sitting perfectly still, listening to the rain beating against the cave, the wind yawning as it whistled over the rocky mouth, the distant sound of thunder cracking as the storm rumbled through the forest outside. Eskel did not even seem to notice the weather, his expression growing distant as he stared at the fire, before he pressed his hands together in his lap, seeming almost reminiscent of a half-aware prayer. After a pause, the sound of something sliding across the floor got his attention, and he looked down to where Li'l Bleater stood, watching as the goat eagerly licked the last dregs of stew from the corners of her bowl.
Letting out a huff at the distracting sound, Eskel leaned down, picking up the nearly-clean bowl, before resting it in his lap again, ignoring Li'l Bleater's cries of protest. It seemed he was too distracted to pay much attention to the goat's complaints, and he turned his attention up to Geralt again, still stunned, but slowly starting to come around.
"So then, could I—" he started to say, but Geralt quickly cut him off with a shake of his head.
"No."
"So then, how—" Eskel started again, but again Geralt cut him off.
"Don't know," Geralt answered, frankly. "Shani says it was a potion. Took it a few years back. Fucked with my mutations somehow, but… nobody can quite figure out how."
"Do you know what kind of potion it was, at least?" Eskel asked, undeterred by Geralt's surly attitude.
Geralt sighed, tilting his stew bowl distractedly, causing the last dregs to collect to one side. "No," he said. "Just random chance. Something I got from a couple crackpots on the street. Shani said they were researchers from Oxenfurt, testing their potions on the townsfolk. Testing an academic theory."
"So there's no way it could be replicated?" Eskel asked, causing Geralt to look up in surprise at the question, before he squinted across at his fellow witcher, unable to help curiosity from gnawing at him at Eskel's interest. Eskel's eyes immediately widened, and he quickly looked down to his bowl again instead, seeming to regret allowing the words to escape him and reveal his thoughts on the matter. "Just… curiosity," he said, quieter, starting to pick cold stew from the edges of the bowl, hoping his sudden preoccupation might help him to not look quite so invested.
Geralt did not respond, only stared across at Eskel for a while, observing him, hoping he might catch some glimpse, some clue, something that might let on to him what Eskel was thinking about all this. He wondered, faintly, if Eskel had ever expressed to him some desire to be a father; he could not remember him ever mentioning it, but he also knew his memory was not what it used to be.
"Listen," Eskel suddenly spoke again, breaking the uncomfortable silence with a deep breath. "Why don't you… come with me tomorrow. Help kill the leshen. Not that I need the help, but… could use the company." He paused, staring across at Geralt, before an awkward smile began to work its way over his scarred face. "This work can get lonely sometimes, with only animals around to talk to," he added. As if in response, Scorpion gave a low huff, pawing at the stone floor from his spot in the shadows. Letting out a soft chuckle at the sound, Eskel reached down, scratching behind Li'l Bleater's ears, and the goat gave a grateful chirrup, rubbing her head against her master's leg.
Geralt grunted, watching as the goat nudged Eskel's knee, signalling for more affection. "Seem like pretty good company to me," he observed. "Roach is the best listener I know. Great at keeping secrets, too."
Eskel snorted, running his thumb distractedly over Li'l Bleater's velvety ear. "Figures you'd say that," he answered. "Always did prefer animals to people."
Geralt shrugged. "Animals are honest," he said. "And they're simple. They have needs, and they express them. Not like people. People lie. Far as I know, animals are incapable of lying." Setting his bowl aside at his feet, he stretched, flexing out his weary back, realizing for the first time since sitting down just how much of a growing ache riding all day had left in his spine. He had gotten used to the discomfort of riding for days at a time back when he was still on the Path, but since settling down at Corvo Bianco, it was an unpleasant shock to return to the hard-leather wear and tear of a long day's ride.
Eskel hummed, thinning his lips. "Didn't answer my question, though," he pressed after a moment. "Will you come with me to hunt the leshen? Even let you keep the trophy, 'long as I can take credit. Need the coin for our travels, and I figure… you seem to be doing pretty okay."
Geralt opened his eyes at the offer, one at a time, lazily, like a cat, before he stared across the fire to where Eskel still sat, one hand propped against his knee as he waited for an answer. Looking between Eskel and his goat, Geralt paused, considering the offer, before he finally let out a tired sigh, realizing that, if nothing else, it might give him a chance to ask Eskel some questions – about the Trials, about Lambert, and, if fate came down to it, about his tasks.
"Hm," he grunted, the faintest hint of a grin curving his solemn lips. "Guess that's fair. Goat's gotta eat, too, after all."
Following their supper of hodgepodge stew, Eskel had slept for the rest of the night, curling up next to the supper-fire with one sturdy arm wrapped around his faithful goat. Li'l Bleater had spent the night curled by Eskel's head, allowing him to rest his weary face on the soft fur of her back, her tiny tufted tail flickering every so often as she dreamed of sweetgrass and sun-bleached oats. Geralt had watched them for a bit as they slept, having never seen a witcher so closely bonded to his pet; as much as he respected Roach, she was just a horse, one who would be replaced by whatever horse came after. He wondered if his refusal to get attached to his steed was part of his inability to empathise due to his witcher mutations, or if Eskel was the unusual one here, growing so fond of his goat he went so far as to share his meals with her.
It was strange to think, then, that within hours, Li'l Bleater would be used as bait for a creature that could very well kill her – but Geralt figured that was how these things worked, whenever one became bonded with a witcher.
Growing tired of watching Eskel sleep, Geralt had decided to spend the rest of the night in meditation, and he had set out his travelling alchemy kit to boil a few philtres' worth of Swallow as he gave his eyes some much-needed rest. He could feel his heart slow as he meditated, the sound of the horses' velvety breath helping him keep a steady rhythm, and he listened as the rain outside poured, and then faded, counting the heartbeats until morning.
It was only when the first sounds of dew-speckled songbirds reached his ears that he opened his eyes again, his slitted pupils taking a moment to adjust to the darkness of the cave as he looked around to see if anything had changed. Eskel and Li'l Bleater were still fast asleep, though he noted that the goat had moved at some point during the night, having grown tired of being used as a pillow and moving to instead sleep curled at Eskel's side like a dog. Her head was tucked up under his chin now, one of his arms wrapped around her little furry form, and Geralt grinned as he stood up from his meditative kneel, tamping out what remained of his brewing fire.
Bottling up his finished potions, he picked up the tiny cauldron and stand he had used to make them, moving over to rub Roach's silky nose, waking her and stashing his supplies back in her bag. No sooner had he finished putting his supplies away when his ears were pricked by a soft, metallic squealing coming from his hip-pouch, and he quickly fished the xenovox out, bringing it up to listen for anything Yennefer might have to say. It had been more than half a week since he had heard from her, and though he knew she could handle her own matters, he had started to wonder if his device had somehow broken as a result of the portal amulet's shaky magic.
"Yen?" Geralt asked, breathlessly. "You safe?"
Another soft crackle came from the xenovox, before the line began to clear. "Yes, Geralt, we are," Yennefer answered, sounding relieved. "It was a bit touch-and-go there for a time, but we're much better now. Shani had never been through a portal before, so we had a bit of a scare once we'd reached the other side… everything is alright now, though." Geralt frowned, taken aback, wondering what kind of complications might have arisen as a result of the portal— he knew it always made him feel unsettled whenever he was put through one, so for someone like Shani, human and six months pregnant, it had to be hell.
"We just… have to be more sparing with portal magic anymore, it seems," Yennefer added, letting out a soft sigh. "It would be so much easier if we had a fixed point of refuge, but the safe-houses are the best we can hope for, at the moment."
"Where are you now?" Geralt asked, running a distracted hand down Roach's mane.
"We're in transit," Yennefer answered, still sounding flustered. "It shouldn't take long to find someplace to stay, however. We're only a bit behind schedule, unfortunately, as… well, this whole plan really did count heavily on our ability to use portals." She paused, before taking a sharp breath, seeming determined not to let the situation drag her down. "And what of you?" she asked, sounding more optimistic. "I assume your search is going well."
"Found Eskel," Geralt agreed, looking up to where Eskel still slept. "On the trail for a leshen, or… something like it. Figure I can ask about Ciri along the way."
"A leshen, or something like it?" Yennefer pointed out. "Please tell me this isn't another of your bizarre contracts."
"Not mine," Geralt answered, shaking his head. "Eskel's. Killed plenty of leshens before, though. Should be fine with two of us." He paused, hearing the silence from Yennefer's end, before he took a deep breath, bringing the xenovox closer to his lips. "Know how it sounds, Yen," he told her, honestly. "But figure, if we kill it, we can learn more about these anomalies. And if it kills Eskel while we're fighting… task'll be complete. Won't have blood on my hands."
Yennefer paused, allowing another moment of silence, before she finally sighed, sounding resigned. "Alright, Geralt," she told him, still unconvinced. "I suppose I can't stop you from… whatever it is you're doing. But please, do try to make it out alive. I could always remarry to Eskel, but it simply wouldn't be the same."
Geralt snorted. "Eskel's not so bad," he said, looking up to his fellow witcher again. "Think he's more into redheads, though. 'Least, from what I can tell. Might be a bit of a tough sell."
"I'll be sure to report back to Shani and Triss, then," Yennefer answered, giving a soft laugh at the information. "But please, in all honesty, do take care of yourself. It's been too long already. I need to see you again soon."
"Soon as I finish this task," Geralt promised, raising the xenovox to his lips to kiss it. "Need to see you again soon, too. Gonna do everything I forgot about last time." He grinned, hearing the assuring sound of the xenovox crackle, and then fall silent, before he tucked the trinket back in his hip-pouch, deciding it was time to finally rouse Eskel. Moving across to his fellow witcher, he slid his boot under the man's sleeping ribs, starting to nudge him insistently until he heard Eskel groan in protest. "Get up," Geralt told him, shaking his shoulder for good measure. "Come on. Time to go."
Eskel groaned, looking up and squinting as his cat pupils adjusted to the cave light again. "Is this how you wake Yennefer, too?" he croaked, still not entirely awake.
Geralt grunted, getting to his feet again and crossing back to Roach. "No," he said. "That usually involves my dick."
"Most things with you do," Eskel agreed, not bothering to stifle a yawn. "Frankly, I'm starting to feel a bit left out."
Geralt grinned. "There's still time," he answered, amused. "Now come on. Time to hunt that leshen."