Red Rowan

by Indiannahjones

With the Wild Hunt defeated and Empress Ciri on the throne, Geralt thought he and Yen would be free to retire to Toussaint and settle down... but it seems the ghosts of Geralt's past are intent on coming back to haunt him. Geralt/Yen, past Geralt/Shani. [Inspired by a letter found in Witcher 3 if Geralt took the alchemists' potion in Witcher 2.]

19. Aconite

The first watery mists of daylight seeped lazily between the leaves as the witchers began their journey through the sodden woods, the morning sun dappling the road with goose-egg white amidst the hoofbeaten path of muddied brown. Roach, alert as always, kept her tufted ears turned forward, unused to so leisurely a pace, and Geralt patted her neck reassuringly, wondering if she might be worried something was amiss because of it. She returned a soft, unconvinced bluster, and he grunted, before turning his eyes to the road again, watching as Li'l Bleater bumbled happily along beside Scorpion and Eskel on the path ahead.

The goat was tied securely to the warhorse's saddle with a loose knot of weathered rope, and she seemed pleased to just be along for the ride, completely unaware of where their journey might take them. Geralt found he almost felt sorry for the little creature, frolicking along cheerfully to her potential doom – but not quite sorry enough, he realized, to suggest they change the plan in any way.

"You doing okay back there, Geralt?" Eskel called, causing Geralt to blink, looking up in surprise. Turning around in his saddle, Eskel smirked, giving Scorpion's reins a light tug, causing the dusky stallion to toss his regal head. "We can slow down if you need to," he offered, his sarcasm now much more apparent in his tone. "I know you're an old man now. Living in a mansion, eating pâté. Wouldn't want to push you too hard after you've gotten so used to sitting around all day."

"Fuck off," Geralt growled back, letting out a low, gruff chuckle at the teasing. Eskel laughed in response, before turning back around again, clicking his tongue to urge Scorpion a little harder towards their destination. Li'l Bleater sped up as well, wanting to avoid getting yanked by the horse's strength, and Geralt grunted, allowing a small smile to linger as he coaxed Roach to match the pace of the horse in front of her.

Eskel was unusual, Geralt thought; he played a convincing façade of nonchalance, his half-asleep manner a tool he used to help him seem not so threatening to those who did not know him well. While Geralt's bold actions had earned him a reputation as one infamous thing or another in most circles, Eskel's name was not known nearly so far or so wide, and was often unknown altogether. Witchers were feared in most places, seen as forces of nature, but Eskel was more like quicksand than a hurricane – dangerous as any if you stepped wrong, but otherwise much better at blending in. Triss had mentioned to Geralt once that Eskel's magic far surpassed his own, though whether that was actually true, or simply an attempt to make him jealous, Geralt was never sure. In truth, he did not envy Eskel's magic, nor his ability to disappear off the map for long stretches of time; what he actually found he envied most of the other witcher was his collection of childhood memories.

Geralt had been trusted to the care of the druid Mousesack as barely an infant, and had been handed off only a short time later to Vesemir, with the intent of training him to become a witcher when the time was right. When he was old enough to start training, Geralt had met Eskel, another young trainee, and he and the freckle-faced boy had become fast friends, giving one another the strength to continue when it seemed the tasks would be too much to bear. Though the thought of death being always close at hand terrified the boys, Eskel would keep Geralt strong with stories of his mother, small tales and lilting lullabies sung in a soft, off-key, meandering tone. They were not much, but they were more than Geralt had – small tastes of a life before Kaer Morhen, small bits of normalcy, small pieces of warmth to cling to on nights when sleep refused to come. They were tiny comforts, but they were more than enough to get the tight-lipped towhead through the long nights, and eventually enough to pull him through when it was time for their traumatic Trials to begin.

Geralt paused as he realized just how long it had been that he had actually known Eskel, and how little the man had changed from the round-cheeked boy he had first met during his childhood years. Eskel had been slow-spoken even back then, sometimes mistakenly overlooked as being quiet or dull, underestimated in his mastery of the training, and likely greatly advantaged in that fact. Geralt had never been quite as lucky; he had been tough from the start, and by the Trial of the Grasses, he had grown all but impervious to the witcher concoctions, resilient to the point that the mutations did not take hold of him the way they were supposed to. Those in charge had never encountered anything like this, and so had decided to double down on the boy, applying additional mutations to ensure he became a proper witcher in the end. That had been the moment Geralt's hair had turned white, and the moment his and Eskel's stories had begun to diverge – his towards fame and glory, and Eskel's towards quiet anonymity.

The thought of his additional mutations made Geralt frown, taking a moment to consider them; they had given him further advantages, of course, but they had also drained him of additional measures of his humanity. Eskel could joke, and converse, and almost pass for human, if not for his unusual eyes, but Geralt could count the number of times he had full-on belly-laughed on one hand. Not only that, but he knew his resting knitted-brow stare unnerved most people he came across, and though he had learned to use that to his advantage, there had been some nights he wished he did not have to; nights watching Ciri and Yennefer bonding by the fire, laughing and sighing and exchanging emotions so naturally; nights where he wished he had a bit more of whatever it was that made them human.

The memory of Ciri made Geralt falter, and he looked up, frowning as he stared at Eskel for a moment. "Hey," he finally said, getting the other witcher's attention. "D'you know anything about… Sources?"

Eskel hesitated, before turning around, looking behind him in interest. "Why?" he asked. "Some reason you're thinking about them?"

Geralt shrugged, dismissive. "Just… a couple weird dreams," he admitted. "Got me thinking. Wondering about it. Remember you had a bit of experience in the subject."

Eskel frowned, sucking his scarred lip in thought, before he turned back around again with a pensive hum. "Hm," he said, clicking his tongue to his horse. "Know a little about 'em, I guess. Looked into it… back in the day. For Deidre. Wanted to know if she could even be a witcher, what with her… thing." He paused another moment, before shrugging, clearly trying to hide his discomfort on the subject. "Witchers aren't generally known for magic," he added, looking down at Scorpion again. "I wanted to know if it might affect something. Might… cancel out the Trials, or… mess something up."

"Triss says you've got a pretty strong chaos aura, yourself," Geralt noted, squeezing Roach's sides to coax her forward.

Eskel huffed, seeming less than thrilled with the thought. "Triss says a lot of things," he answered, frankly. "I'm sure she means well. But I'm not a Source. Never was. And even if I was once… wouldn't be anymore. Not after the Trial of the Dreams."

Geralt frowned at the end of his statement. "Trials cancel out Source powers?" he asked, surprised.

Eskel nodded, sucking his lip again. "As far as I know," he answered, honestly. "Mutations and magic can't coexist. Mutations suppress a lot of things—magic, emotions, fertility. Unpredictable things. Give us augmentations in exchange, but only things that can be counted on—slower heartrate, faster metabolism."

"Higher libido," Geralt added.

Eskel made a face, taking a moment to glance up before returning his gaze to Scorpion again. "Hm," he said, the noise oddly stiff. "Maybe for some. That one's a bit up in the air." Geralt paused at the strange response, taking a moment to look over at Eskel curiously, before his fellow witcher took another deep breath in, lifting his head to look out over the road ahead. "Either way," he said, moving the conversation along. "If any kid came into training as a Source, they'd leave as a witcher, with their powers nullified."

"So it's entirely possible for Sources to become witchers," Geralt observed, his frown deepening at the thought.

Eskel shrugged again, taking a moment to wrap his horse's reins distractedly around his fist. "I mean, I guess," he said after a pause. "But 'possible' doesn't mean it's easy. Source powers are strong. Probably be a lot harder to take to the mutations. Cause some unexpected side effects." He paused another moment, thinking about it, before he finally looked across at Geralt again, narrowing his eyes. "You're sure asking a lot of questions about Sources," he told him. "Wanna tell me what's really going on?"

"Just thinking about Ciri," Geralt admitted, letting his own gaze drop back to Roach again. "Her powers. Wondering if she'd even want to become a witcher. Would make life easier without her powers, but… don't know that she'd want to be stripped of them completely."

"Hm," Eskel answered, frowning a bit. "Your mother was a sorceress, right, Geralt?"

Geralt looked up in surprise at the question, having not expected his own mother to come up in conversation. "Yeah," he said, treading warily. "Why?"

Eskel grunted, turning his gaze to the road again. "No reason," he said, tapping his boots to Scorpion's sides. "Just thought about something. That's all."

The ride continued in silence, with only the sound of the horses' snorting and Li'l Bleater's mewling for conversation, until after a while, Eskel suddenly held out a hand, stopping the group from proceeding. "Ice," he said, pointing to a spot where a patch of crystalline white was spread out across the grass. It was only a small patch, no bigger than the goat, but it was fresh, barely starting to melt in the morning sun. Sliding down off his saddle, Eskel patted his horse's flank, signalling him to stay, before he moved over to kneel by the patch of ice, running his fingers over the frost and looking up towards the forest where the trail disappeared.

"It just passed through here," he determined, getting to his feet again and crossing back to Scorpion. "Forest's pretty thick. Better leave the horses, just take the goat. We can manage on foot from here."

Geralt frowned, unsure how Eskel could determine the beast was so close from only a patch of ice, before a faint, foul smell began to creep into his senses, causing him to wrinkle his nose, looking down to his saddle-bags. He knew that smell well enough, an unfortunate lesson from a life spent travelling, and he slid down from Roach's saddle with a huff, opening the bags and starting to dig for his provisions. The smell was twice as bad with the saddle-bags open, and he nearly gagged as he pulled a dripping grey sack from his satchel, tossing it aside into the grass as he looked down into the bag again, realizing nothing had been spared. His rations, fresh barely a week ago, had all turned rotten in the time it had taken them to stop, decaying in putrefied blacks and greens until they were barely recognizable as having once been food.

"Fucking thing," Geralt growled, emptying the rest of the rotten supplies into the grass and wiping his hands on his trousers. "Guess we got no choice now. Beast's in there, gotta kill it."

Eskel nodded, finished untying Li'l Bleater's rope from the side of Scorpion's saddle, before he gave a quick tug on her tether, prompting her to trot along beside him as they started for the forest. The trees grew close together here, just as Eskel had said, the canopy choking out all warmth and light from the sun, and Geralt could not help a certain chill of familiarity as he was reminded of the forest he had visited countless times in his dreams. This was not the same forest as that one, he knew – this was in Kaedwen, far away from Peter and Gaunter O'Dimm, but the stillness of the wood felt much the same, the crack of twigs under their boots amplified by the unnerving silence of the trees.

No birds sang in these woods, no squirrels chittered as they bounded from tree to tree; no deer pricked their ears from behind the undergrowth, eyes wide as they observed the passers-by. There was a quiet here beyond quiet, Geralt felt—this place was not a sanctuary, but a tomb.

"Don't like this one b—" he started to say, before he felt his foot sink through something soft, the sound of a snowdrift crunching beneath his boot sending a shock through him that stopped him in his tracks. Looking down to the ground, he stared at the forest floor in front of them, realizing for the first time that it was covered in snow, and he felt a sense of dread start to creep through him as he looked up slowly, staring across the landscape.

The forest ahead was completely covered, bundled down with a blanket of powdery white, and he felt his jaw clench as he took another step forward, hearing his boots give another crunch against the unnatural drift. It reminded him unsettlingly of the clearing from his dream, the frozen hollow where he had encountered an undead Jacques De Aldersberg, and he found himself distractedly searching the snow at his feet as he walked, as if expecting to see spoons in its depths. There were no spoons here, but the snow itself was definitely out of place, and Geralt let out a wary breath at the thought, watching as it collected in front of him in a cloud of mist.

"That's not right," Eskel muttered, giving Li'l Bleater's rope tether a wary tug as he walked. The goat lurched ahead a few steps at the prompting, before falling back behind her master's leg again with a weak nag. Eskel frowned at the fallen snow, crouching down to press his fingers into the powder, before he let out a low hum as he felt them sink in, picking up a handful to inspect it closer to his face. "Real snow, alright," he admitted, shaking the handful of ice from his glove. "Doesn't make any sense, though—it's the start of summer. Middle of the forest. Shouldn't be any snow on the ground."

"Said the creature sometimes left ice behind," Geralt pointed out, looking around at the snow-laden trees. "Possible it has some kind of… blizzard magic? Like the Hunt?"

"It's not part of the Hunt," Eskel shot back, standing again with a huff of frustration. He paused as he watched his breath hover for a moment, as if taken aback to see it so plainly, before he waved a hand in front of his face, dissipating the fog. "It's just… a fucked-up leshen," he insisted. "I told you. It's got antlers, and it hunts alone." He frowned at the blanket of snow, clenching his fist into Li'l Bleater's rope leash, before he let out another irritated snort, shaking his head as the cold nipped his ears and scarred cheeks. "Besides," he added after another moment. "If it was part of the Hunt, it wouldn't keep fleeing. Caranthir damn near broke my arm last time—he wouldn't hesitate to do it again, if he knew I was after him."

"Caranthir's dead," Geralt answered, letting out another huff of foggy breath.

"Is he?" Eskel asked, narrowing his eyes. "You saw his body after you two disappeared? Only way to make sure someone's really dead is to see their body. Preferably burn it, too."

Geralt took a moment, before shaking his head. "Lost track of him underwater," he admitted with a grunt. "Don't see how he could've survived it, though. Bleeding out pretty bad, last I saw."

Eskel nodded as Geralt explained, before looking up again towards the snowy wood, taking another step forward into the unsettling drift as he looked around for some sign of life. All sounds of the forest were silent in the snow, the birds and squirrels almost deafening in their absence, and Geralt could hear his heartbeat pumping in his ears as he looked around, knowing something was watching them, though he could not tell what. He hated this feeling of being watched, of knowing something was out there, but not sure what or where, and he steeled his jaw as he turned quickly on his heel, as if hoping to catch some glimpse of a creature too slow to hide.

It was foolish to assume the monster would come out of hiding so easily, he told himself; if it had successfully eluded Eskel for this many days already, it was not going to reveal itself without a fight. It was strange to think, then, why it would slow its pace now, when there were two witchers on its trail instead of one, and he felt uneasiness start to collect in his gut as the possibilities for the creature's identity began to multiply. Perhaps it really was part of the Hunt, and had only disguised itself as a leshen to fool its pursuers, but now that he had fallen into its trap, it had him right where it wanted him to finish him off.

Or perhaps it was something else, something far less corporeal, far more otherworldly than either were prepared for – something which was just waiting for the right mind to corrupt, and had found its perfect target in Geralt.

Geralt remembered his days on Skellige, helping the An Craite children with their feats for the crown, and he remembered, too, the hym which had attached itself to Jarl Udalryk, slowly driving him to self-mutilation. A hym would certainly fit the requisites of the creature Eskel had described, but it still begged the question of how it would manage to summon the snow, even in an effort to unnerve its prey. He also remembered, now that he thought about it, that hyms were specialized creatures which could not exist for long without a host, and though he did feel some guilt for his handling of O'Dimm's contract, he hardly felt it warranted possession.

Letting out another hard breath, Geralt heard the crunch of Eskel's boots behind him in the snow, before the sudden vibration of his medallion against his chest made him look up, startled to attention. It had been a few days since he had felt it humming, reacting as expected to the magic from his portal amulet, but now it seemed to have woken from some deep slumber, shaking until he could feel it bounce against his armour. Glancing back to Eskel, he noticed that the other witcher, too, looked on edge, likely reacting to his own medallion, and Geralt steeled his lips, gripping his silver chain and feeling the wolf's head shudder in his palm. Something was about to happen, he knew; he could feel the tension in the air, the still right before a fight, and he turned quickly on his heel as he heard the sudden sound of branches creaking from the forest in front of them—only to feel his stomach drop at the sight of what waited.

Eskel's description of the monster as 'tall and antlered' was the least that could be said about it, Geralt realized now. It was at least nine feet tall, not including its horns, and it towered over the witchers as it stared hungrily down at them, its haunted, sunken eyes taking them in with the eerie luminosity of an angler fish. Its head swayed unnervingly between the trees, skilfully missing each branch despite its massive size, its breath coming out in frigid puffs between its ragged teeth as its maw stretched wide and bloody. Its eyes were dead and milky, its body unnaturally stretched and thin, its arms hanging like tree limbs at its sides as it flexed its elongated fingers, sharp nails chipping the trunks around it as it moved.

Geralt gritted his teeth, feeling sick to his stomach at the sight, before he felt the nausea start to shift in his gut, twisting and churning until he realized it was no longer sickness he was feeling… but hunger. He felt an inhuman hunger, an unfathomable clawing in the pit of his gut, and he reached up to wipe a trail of saliva that had started to trickle down into his beard at the thought. He wanted something fresh, he realized; something warm, something still slick and runny with blood, and he grunted as he felt the knife of starvation twist again, making his hands shake until he could barely hold his sword. Letting out a hard breath, he looked down to where Li'l Bleater tugged in terror at her tether, before looking up instead towards Eskel, only to feel the ravenous sensation come back, more painful than before.

He wanted to bite into Eskel's neck—to rip out his throat with his teeth, like a beast—to sit in a dark corner, pulling out his intestines and devouring them, one by one. He wanted to feel the warm ooze of Eskel's blood as it ran down his chin— and he could do it, he realized. He could kill him out here, where no one would be the wiser, fulfilling his task to O'Dimm and sating his unbearable hunger at the same time. It would be so easy to do while Eskel's back was turned, distracted by the monster…

Shaking the disgusting thought from his head, Geralt turned to look up at the creature again, defiantly, clenching his fist as he felt his hunger grow even more painful in his attempt to resist. The monster seemed to realize what was happening, and he watched as its bloody mouth stretched even wider in delight, its mangled teeth reaching nearly back to its cervidaic ears, sending a shiver down his spine at the sight. He had never seen a creature like this, such an abomination of ice and demonic terror, and he took another step back as the monster swayed its head, drawing in a deep breath in of the witchers' scent. It had a mortal intelligence, Geralt saw – it knew it frightened them, and it was enjoying it – and he felt another chill run through him as he recognized at last what this horrific creature had to be.

He had heard legends about these monsters before, cursed spirits who drove men to unspeakable acts, but he had always thought them to be just stories, tales to frighten children not to venture into the mountains alone at night. Now, as he stared up at the beast before him, he realized the stories were only too true, and he watched as it took another step closer, feeling the pain in his stomach grow ever stronger as it closed in.

Eskel made a face as the creature moved, sucking saliva from his scarred lip as he took his own step back, and Geralt realized that Eskel was probably feeling the same hunger pains he was. This was what Eskel had been describing, back in the cave – the driving sense of hunger whenever he got close to the beast – but now that there were two of them in its sights, it saw no more reason to run. Now it had a reason to slow its pace, wanting to watch as the witchers tore each other apart, and it gave a low, gurgling growl as it leaned in closer, swaying and elongating its bony neck.

"What the fuck is that thing?" Eskel hissed, his breath collecting in a fog in front of him.

"Vendigo," Geralt growled, feeling another searing pain. "Don't look directly at it—it'll get in your head. Make you attack your allies."

"Didn't think they were real," Eskel admitted, shielding his eyes as the creature took another step closer, its long, misshapen legs nearly bowing as its clawed feet crunched in the fallen snow. "Thought they were just… made up. Extinct, maybe. Didn't think there were any in this plane."

"Not supposed to be," Geralt agreed, trying to think back to the stories he had heard. Vendigo were partially comprised of ice, which meant fire should theoretically drive it away, but the amount of fire the witchers could produce between them was hardly enough to kill such a beast. It was a powerful specimen, old and wicked as the forest, and it rattled off a chilling, clicking growl as it watched them, leaning forward its antlered head to better inspect its prey. It was so close now Geralt could smell its breath – rotten meat, the smell of putrefied corpses – and he gagged as he realized the smell was only making him feel hungrier than before. He could almost have stabbed it in its closeness, had he had the stamina to do so, but he felt his body ache as the beast moved another step nearer, hunger sapping at his muscles until he could barely move.

The vendigo gurgled at his reaction, before it started to reach out to him with a skeletal hand, its long fingers twitching like spider legs as it readied to take hold of him. He had no idea what would happen if it actually touched him – likely it would either eat him or possess him, neither of which sounded ideal – and so, baring his teeth, he turned, throwing up a hand and blasting a warding cast of Igni into its face. It was not a particularly powerful cast, and he knew it would do little to deter the beast, but the vendigo still squawked as it retrieved its hand, taking an affronted step back from the fire. It opened its ragged jaw, curdled blood dripping down its chin as it clicked and hissed, before it began to snarl, its bristly fur rising as it stared down at the witchers.

It had seemed almost humanly sleek before, but now they could see that it had a snow-white coat, and it puffed up its mangled frame, growing more menacing by the second as it towered over them, no longer hiding its stature. Tossing Li'l Bleater's tether aside into the snow, Eskel shoved the goat with his foot, and the little creature instantly took off, mewling into the woods as she bolted for safer quarter. The vendigo glanced over towards the goat as she ran, before turning its milky eyes back to the witchers, and Geralt drew his sword from his back, hearing the sound of metal on leather as Eskel did the same beside him.

The vendigo let out a growl, before its hand shot forward again, this time towards Eskel— now enraged, it seemed the beast had become inhumanly fast. Its slow, meticulous movements had deceived them into a sense of false comfort, but now they could see that the creature was much more deadly than it had first appeared, and Eskel swung at the grasping hand, only for his sword to glance off the creature's palm, sending a shaving of ice to the ground as the monster grabbed hold of him. Eskel shouted as he was picked up off the ground, holding out a hand to blast Igni up the creature's arm, and the vendigo shrieked, before starting to squeeze him, its knuckles popping through its ghostly flesh as it drew the witcher towards its jagged maw.

Geralt swung at the monster's bony arm, hoping to stop it, even to distract it for a moment, only to be disappointed as his sword glanced off its fur as well, shaving barely a sliver of ice as his blade bounced uselessly off its flesh. The vendigo leered at the second witcher, reaching across to grab at him as well, but Geralt jumped back from its ghastly reach, lifting a hand to cast Igni at the approaching claws. The vendigo bared its teeth, pulling back its hand to avoid the flame, and Geralt ran forward again, grabbing hold of the arm still holding Eskel and pulling down on it with all his weight. The vendigo let out a scream of protest as its arm was dragged down towards the snow, and it tried in vain for a moment to shake him loose, before finally reaching out to grab him with its free hand and starting to pull.

Its grip was tight, and Geralt could feel the wind being crushed from his lungs as it yanked at him, but he held on with all his might, feeling his arms start to burn as he gripped hold with a strength brought on purely by adrenaline. "Hack at it!" he shouted, causing Eskel to look down at him, still a bit stunned. "Can't hold on much longer—hack at it!"

Eskel seemed to understand, and he reached back, pulling his hunting-knife from his belt, before stabbing it down into the creature's wrist, causing the skin to chip and break as he hacked at it. The vendigo squawked as it felt the sharp prick, giving another frustrated tug on Geralt, this time finally managing to pull him loose and tossing him aside roughly into the snow. Geralt slid through the snow, but quickly jumped to his feet again, watching as Eskel rammed his knife into the vendigo's wrist, causing the beast to shriek as a small trickle of blood began to seep from the open wound. It was the smallest drip of crystalline crimson, rolling down into the snow in round, icy pearls, but it was still unmistakably blood, and Geralt huffed in triumph as the knife came down again, this time driving through to the bone.

The vendigo let out an ear-splitting scream as the knife plunged into its flesh, immediately dropping Eskel and turning to snap its attention to Geralt instead. He lifted his sword, but had no time to swing before the vendigo's injured hand came flying towards him, the bony face hitting him like an anvil and sending him flying back into the nearest tree. The vendigo was strong, unearthly strong, and he had not been prepared for such a hit, and he let out a strangled breath as he looked down, realizing his sword had been knocked from his grasp in the fray. It lay several feet away in the snow, and he felt his head spin as he tried to get up again, holding the tree to steady himself as he stared at his sword, too stunned to grab for it.

He could hear the vendigo moving behind him, and he looked over, only able to watch as it snatched up Eskel again, this time wrapping its massive hand around his head and lifting him into the air by his skull. Eskel let out a muffled shout as the monster picked him up, his legs kicking helplessly through the air, struggling as the weight of his entire body was lifted into the air by his vertebrae. He was going to die like that, Geralt realized – his neck could not support his body weight – and he quickly shook his head, clearing his vision as he grabbed angrily for his sword again.

Racing towards the beast with a yell, Geralt ducked as he heard Eskel's sword whistle through the air, almost catching his head with the blade as he tried in vain to fight back against the monster holding him. Geralt gritted his teeth as he watched Eskel swing again, realizing his thrashing was only making things worse, before he thought fast, sliding on his knees under the vendigo's arm and jumping to his feet to take a swing at its exposed belly. His blade made barely a dent in its hide, but it seemed to get the creature's attention regardless, and the vendigo barked in anger, taking a swipe at the white-haired witcher with its free hand. Geralt jumped back from its claws, blasting Igni at the attacking hand to ward it off, before lifting his sword to strike again, hacking at the creature's stomach like an icepick.

The vendigo let out a shriek of rage, lifting Eskel even higher, before tossing him aside into a nearby tree, and Geralt winced as he heard the sharp crack of impact as his fellow witcher hit the trunk. He wanted to see if Eskel was okay, but he knew he had no time to check, only watching in horror as the vendigo dropped to all fours, hissing as it lunged forward, pinning him in the snow. Its finger-like toes spread across his legs, its claws piercing into the leather of his trousers, and he lifted a hand to cast Igni again, only to have both arms pushed roughly back by one of the creature's massive hands. He was trapped now, he realized – immobile, helpless to do anything but watch as the beast leaned over him, squeezing his eyes shut as it stared into his face, its sunken eyes cold as death as they reflected his own.

He could feel the starvation returning, the same otherworldly hunger he had felt before, and he could feel something churning inside of him as it did, something that seemed to twist his innards until he swore they were being ripped out. Taking a ragged breath, he opened his eyes again, almost certain he was being eaten alive, only to look down, realizing in horror that the vendigo's hand was inside his stomach, past his armour. It did not seem to have made any cut or opening to get inside—if anything, it seemed to have shoved its hand in like a ghost through a solid wall. Geralt watched in terror as it twisted its hand, sending another wave of agony through him, and he screamed in pain as the monster balled its hand into a fist, gathering his entrails in its icy grip.

He could see darkness gathering in his vision, clouding at the corners until only a pinprick of light remained, and he shuddered as he coughed up blood, feeling it trickle weakly into his beard. He had not wanted to die like this – not now, not when Yennefer had only just started to trust him again – and he choked as he tasted more blood in his throat, feeling his eyes start to flutter as the vendigo leaned over him. He could see the last traces of daylight, the last flickering images before darkness consumed him, and he watched as the beast began to unhinge its jaw, moving forward to devour him, head-first.

"HEADS UP, FUCKER!"

The sound of Eskel's voice cut starkly through his haze, and Geralt opened his eyes again, looking up at the creature, watching as its head snapped up at the taunt, only for something heavy to come flying at it, smashing squarely into its face. The creature screamed as it bounded back off of him, shaking flaming glass from its eyes and fur, and a moment later, he felt Eskel's hand on his arm, pulling him roughly back to his feet in the snow. Geralt stumbled, still too dazed to stand, even as he felt his sword being shoved into his palm again, and he looked up sluggishly as Eskel began to brush him down, clearing broken glass and bits of burning cloth from his hair.

"You okay?" Eskel asked, out of breath, clearly having no time for small talk. Geralt faltered, before looking down to his stomach, running a hand across his bloody jerkin; he realized with a hazy start that there was no opening left from the monster's claws – however the vendigo had gotten inside, it had left no mark, apart from all the blood, and Geralt shook his head to clear it, realizing he would have to deal with the trauma of that later.

Looking up to Eskel again, Geralt took a step back as he found the other man's hand suddenly in his face, holding up another bottle of dwarven spirit with a piece of torn cloth stoppered into the neck. "Take it," Eskel insisted, shoving the bottle into his free hand. "Don't look at me. Look at the monster. Let's end this fucking thing."

Geralt took the bottle, looking up again as he heard the sound of something slithering in the snow, and he watched as the vendigo came crawling back, circling the two of them like a spider closing in on its prey. It was fast on all fours, disturbingly fast, and it hissed at them, opening its jaw impossibly wide to show its mangled teeth, before it leapt at Eskel with inhuman speed, knocking him down into the snow as it had done to Geralt. Eskel shouted, pushing back against its claws, kicking the beast as he tried to get up again, but the vendigo only shrieked, grabbing his face and smashing the back of his head against the ground. Eskel huffed, too dazed to move, and Geralt watched as a warm, red trickle of blood began to seep from his ear, before he gritted his teeth, pulling the cloth from his bottle of dwarven spirit and wrapping it around his blade.

Pouring the liquid onto the cloth, he tossed the bottle aside, holding the sword out at arm's length, before casting Igni on the blade, watching as it burst into a blaze of light. The vendigo did not even look up at the flaming sword, too preoccupied by its newest prey, and Geralt watched as it started to unhinge its jaw again, leaning in to start in on its disoriented meal. Running up behind the distracted creature, Geralt swung, feeling his sword connect – and this time, the vendigo screamed as the hot blade melted through its skin, searing a deep slice through its ribs. It whipped its head around to face him, leaving deep scratches along Eskel's face from its teeth, before it began to puff up to its full height again, lunging forward to grab Geralt around the waist with one massive hand.

"Ugly fuck!" Geralt shouted, grunting as he felt its grip squeeze around his stomach, and he swung his flaming sword at its face again, only to feel a sudden, crushing weight as its teeth snapped down on his arm, stopping him. He could feel them piercing through to the bone, nearly touching together as they drove into the meat of his forearm, and he screamed as his hand went slack with shock, dropping his sword into the snow. The vendigo pried its jaws free of his arm, clicking and hissing as it stared down at him in its grasp, and he looked down to where it had bitten him, realizing he could see frost and blackened skin through the holes in his armour. His arm was shaking, frozen, the cold seeping down until it reached his fingertips, and he felt his whole body give a deathly shiver as he looked up into the face of the vendigo again.

Frostbite. This thing could cause frostbite, and if he did not get some Swallow soon, he knew he would lose his arm. Throwing up his free hand, he began to cast Igni again, only for the vendigo to slap his arm aside – then, before he could react, it gripped him tighter, smashing his head into the ground like a broken toy. He could feel his head spinning as it lifted him again, blood dripping from his nose into his beard, and he looked up with blurry eyes as it began to unhinge its jaw, bringing his head forward to feast.

"GERALT—CATCH!"

The cry came out of nowhere, and Geralt looked up in time to see something flying towards him, fumbling as it landed in his arms before gripping the bottle to his chest with his one good hand. It was another of Eskel's cocktails, the kind he had used to ward off the creature in the first place, and Geralt looked up at the vendigo with bloody determination as he realized it, gripping the bottle like a would-be bomb.

"Choke on this," he growled, before shoving it forward, forcing the bottle down the creature's throat, feeling its teeth scrape against his gambeson as he pushed the cocktail down to its oesophagus. The vendigo gagged as the bottle lodged itself, its grip tightening around Geralt as it scratched desperately at its throat, causing a sharp pop as he felt two of his ribs break in its frantic, inhuman grasp. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he wound back, before punching the creature squarely in the throat, listening to the satisfying crunch of glass as the cocktail broke inside.

The vendigo let out a blood-curdling scream, dropping the witcher to the ground as it clawed at its throat, and, seeing his chance, Eskel ran forward, scaling its back and grabbing hold of its horns, wrapping his legs around its neck. Now in control of the monster, he forced a hand down, blasting Igni directly into its face, and the vendigo shrieked as it was doused with fire, before reaching back to grab hold of Eskel in an attempt to stop it. Geralt watched as it began to squeeze, baring down until Eskel began to scream in agony, the same sharp, deafening pops ringing out as his own ribs were crushed by the monster's inhuman strength. Eskel's Igni spell began to sputter, growing weaker as his face turned first red, then purple, and Geralt grimaced as he realized the vendigo had likely punctured one of his lungs.

Rearing back for momentum, the vendigo whipped forward, smashing its antlers into the snow, sending Eskel tumbling from its shoulders as it straightened again, its breathing ragged through a melted hole in its chest. The vendigo snarled, slamming its antlers into the ground again, barely missing goring Eskel as he rolled to one side—but the next strike was not so lucky, and Geralt winced as he heard the sickening squelch of horn through flesh. Eskel squirmed in pain in the snow, pinned in place by one of the beast's wicked prongs, and Geralt watched in horror as the same spread of frost blossomed out from Eskel's wound as from his own. The vendigo shrieked at the sight of the pinned witcher, before it reached down into his armour with its grisly claws, fishing around for a moment before starting to lift a pulsing red lump from his chest— his still-beating heart.

Eskel screamed in pain, and then choked, watching as the monster lifted the glistening heart, and Geralt grabbed his sword from the snow, holding it between his legs as he focused his energy on his non-dominant hand. Vesemir had taught them this, he remembered – had taught them to use either hand, in case of emergency – and he gritted his teeth, casting a stream of Igni on the blade until it began to glow red-hot. Grabbing the sword from between his knees then, he ran for the vendigo again, using its bent spine to climb its bony back, until he stood directly over its skeletal neck, feeling its muscles move unnervingly under his boots.

"GO BACK TO HELL!" he shouted, lifting the blade, before driving it down into the monster's neck, watching as it slid through easily, stopping barely inches from Eskel's face. The vendigo gurgled as the sword slid through, its jaw growing slack, mouth dangling open, before a stream of thick, curdled blood began to dribble from its maw, staining Eskel's face and the snow around him with viscous black. Eskel spat, shielding his face from the gore, and Geralt heard as the vendigo gave one last, rattling hiss, pulling his sword from its throat as it finally slumped forward, its head still propped up by its horns, lifeless eyes staring down into Eskel's as it breathed its last.

Jumping down off the creature's back, Geralt grabbed the heavy beast, dragging it off his fellow witcher, and Eskel shoved at the monster with his legs, hearing the sickening, slick sucking as its prong dislodged from his shoulder. He shouted in pain as the horn came loose, before looking down immediately to his chest again, only to realize that his heart was still inside him, with only the blood on his gambeson to prove anything had happened.

"All still there," Geralt panted, clapping an exhausted hand to Eskel's good arm.

Eskel looked up in shock at the assurance. "Thought the fucking thing was gonna eat me," he admitted, breathlessly.

"Would've, probably," Geralt answered, sitting down in the snow and starting to pull his potion-satchel around. "If it'd only been you. Good thing there were two of us. Just one… we'd've never been heard from again." Opening the flap of his satchel, he pulled out the doses of Swallow he had brewed the night before, thanking his good intuition that he had thought to make extra, in case of emergency. Pulling out the cork of the first one, he spat it aside, before jerking his head towards Eskel. "Take off your shirt," he told him. "Need to treat your wound. Stop the frostbite before it spreads."

"Never used Swallow to treat frostbite before," Eskel admitted, starting to shed his jacket with shaking hands. The gambeson was next to follow, and then the shirt underneath, and he groaned as he peeled it away from his flesh, hearing the sickly ripping noise of something frozen together being pulled apart. His entire chest beneath his armour was bright red, but his shoulder had begun to turn nearly blackish-purple with cold, and Geralt had to resist making a face as he grabbed up Eskel's shirt, using it to dab Swallow across his wounds. Eskel hissed, watching as the frosty wound bubbled, before it began to thaw, looking a bit better already, and he let out a weary sigh as he reached for the bottle, finishing it off in one gulp.

"Nasty wound," Geralt noted, pursing his lips. "Probably gonna leave a scar."

Eskel huffed, wiping his mouth on his forearm. "Pity," he said. "I was so pretty before."

Geralt grunted, handing him another bottle for his lung, before starting to shed his own armour, noticing that he barely felt the cold anymore – not a good thing, as hypothermia was often preceded by numbness. He winced as he stared down at his own wound, running a gloved hand along the ragged bite-marks, before he poured a dose of Swallow out onto it, starting to rub the liquid into the wound. The frosty wound bubbled and warmed, starting to turn from dead black to a sickly purple, and he hummed as he downed the rest of the dose, before reaching in his bag for another. It would take a while for a wound like this to heal, and without Shani's help, he was not sure how well he would do with it, but he only let out a sigh as he felt it starting to knit, itching a bit as he began to pull on his armour and gloves again.

"Should probably behead this thing," Eskel said, looking over to where the vendigo still lay, face-down in the snow. "Bring it to someone, so they can… I dunno. Document it, maybe. Seems pretty important."

"Should check if it's got one of those discs in its neck," Geralt noted, pushing himself to his feet again with a grunt. "But first, need to make a fire. Beast's skin is too tough for cold blades – gotta warm 'em first."

Eskel hummed, frowning as he stared at the vendigo, lost in some thought of his own, and Geralt turned, starting to scan the forest floor for twigs he could use to build a fire. It did not take long to find them, and he sighed as he began to approach the clearing again, before he suddenly stopped, staring in at Eskel still absorbed by the sight of the vendigo.

He could do it right now, he realized – he could take Eskel's head clean off, before he had a chance to react. Eskel was winded, and wounded, and paying no attention, and Geralt had his hunting knife at hand. It would be so simple to kill him out here, with no witnesses to see what he had done, and between the corpse of the vendigo and the corpse of the witcher, it would look to any like a fair fight. He paused at the gruesome thought, reaching back to slide his knife from his belt, feeling his fingers clench subconsciously around the grip—before he suddenly stopped as Eskel turned around, looking back with an expectant raising of his brows.

"Oh good," Eskel said, jerking his head towards the knife. "Got your knife out already. Come on, let's behead this thing." Geralt froze, realizing with a sudden sick feeling what he had been about to do, feeling his feet sink like anvils into the snow as he stared at Eskel, unable to move. Eskel made a face at his hesitation, before jerking his thumb in the direction of the corpse. "Come on," he prompted, more impatiently this time. "You made the killing stroke. You seem pretty eager to start. Let's go."

Geralt gritted his teeth, feeling his hand start to sweat around the grip of the knife, before he finally urged his feet to move again, walking over to kneel beside Eskel in the snow. Dropping his twigs into a pile between them, he lit them with a cast of Igni, before dragging the vendigo corpse towards him and pulling its grisly head into his lap. Holding his knife to the flame, he waited until the blade began to grow hot in his hand, before he began to saw at the creature's neck, finding it much easier to cut through than anticipated. Eskel watched in interest as he worked, folding his hands as he sat in the snow beside him, before he finally took a deep breath, seeming pleased that he could fill his healing lungs again.

"So, how about Lambert and Keira?" Eskel suddenly asked, causing Geralt to look up at the strange question. Eskel shrugged, seeming less concerned. "Just thought it was interesting," he admitted. "How they hooked up right after the fight at Kaer Morhen. Rode off into the sunset together… happily ever after, or something. Never took either of them for the romantic sort… more like one-night-stand types, both of them." He paused, thinking about it, before blowing a lock of shaggy hair from his face. "Maybe that's what makes it work," he added. "Neither expects too much from the relationship, so they're less likely to be disappointed if the other doesn't deliver."

"Bleak," Geralt answered, making another deep cut. "Maybe they just saw something in each other that sparked their interest."

"Their own reflection in the other's eyes, probably," Eskel returned, causing Geralt to give a snort of laughter in spite of himself. "Don't know much about Keira, but pretty sure that's the only thing Lambert would ever be attracted to." He fell silent, watching in interest as Geralt cut deeper into the vendigo's neck, before Geralt eventually gave a soft grunt as his knife struck bone, letting Eskel know he was halfway through his task. "A witcher and a sorceress… tale as old as time, I guess," Eskel continued, not seeming content to let the conversation lapse. "Just never figured on it being those two in particular. Guess there's someone for everyone, after all."

Geralt frowned, wondering if Eskel was trying to make some indirect statement about him and Yennefer, but he figured that if the other witcher had something to say about them, he would generally just come out and say it. Eskel had never been a fan of Yennefer, and had made no secret of that fact over the years, but it seemed, at the moment, he was content to simply let the statement hang, letting Geralt take it however he would. "All I can say is, thank Melitele nothing will come of that union," he added after another moment, huffing again. "One of each of them is more than enough to last this world several lifetimes."

"Sorceresses aren't all sterile," Geralt observed, his tone a bit more defensive than intended. Eskel looked up quickly, seeming surprised, but Geralt only looked down again, not wanting Eskel to see he had apparently struck a nerve. He knew why hearing that bothered him, but he was in no mood to talk about it, instead only pushing it from his mind, drawing another slice with the heated knife across the monster's stubborn vertebrae. "My mother was a sorceress," he said after a moment, hoping that might excuse his tone. "Use of magic just inhibits their ability to have kids. Limits it. More they use it to alter their appearance, more effect it has on… everything inside."

He pursed his lips at the thought, before pressing down, hearing the satisfying crack of splitting bones, wriggling his knife free as they finally splintered, letting his blade sink into the pasty white of the marrow. "It's possible to cause sterility," he added, moving his blade to the fire again. "But not a given fact. Always exceptions. Depends on who you ask."

"True," Eskel agreed, speaking slowly, his gaze never leaving Geralt's face. "But it wasn't Keira I was talking about. It was Lambert. You haven't already forgotten that other witchers are sterile, have you?"

Geralt paused, holding his knife in the fire, before he huffed, turning his eyes up towards Eskel in an indignant stare. "Something you wanna say, Eskel?" he asked, not even bothering to hide his agitation.

Eskel shrugged, staring down at the bloodied monster in Geralt's lap, his yellow eyes pensive in his mutilated face as he thought, taking a moment before answering. "Just thinking about… Deidre," he finally admitted, sounding oddly stiff as he answered. He was not a man of much talk, Geralt knew, but when he did talk, he was usually upfront about it. "Thinking about… that time in our lives. Before Ciri, or Yen, or… any of this, really."

"Deidre was a grown woman," Geralt returned, flatly. "She made her own choices."

"I know," Eskel answered. "Can't speak to the wisdom of those choices, but they were hers to make." Geralt wrinkled his nose at the jab, but chose to ignore it, returning instead to his strenuous task, and Eskel watched with detached interest as he sawed through the bone, his expression unchanging, only thoughtful. The cracking and squelching of bone and flesh might have made any lesser man sick to his stomach, but it hardly warranted even a tired blink from Eskel as he sat cross-legged, his scarred lips pursed in thought. "Did I ever tell you how I got this scar?" he suddenly asked, causing Geralt to look up in surprise. Lifting a hand, Eskel tapped the wound, his fingers lingering a moment over the puckered skin, as if still unused to feeling just how deep the disfigurement cut.

Geralt paused, observing the scar, his golden eyes trailing up its meandering length, trying to decide what kind of beast could have left such a mark with its claws or fangs. "A tale full of woe, I'm sure," he finally said, dryly. "Ugly as it is."

Eskel chuckled, a single, cynical huff, before letting his hand fall to his knees again. "A comedian," he observed. "Never took you for a clown, Geralt. Though I guess we all play the fool at some point in our lives."

Geralt grunted at the observation, drawing another slice against the bone with his knife, hearing the satisfying cracking that meant it was making its way through the other side. "Hm," he said, unsure how else he was supposed to answer. "No. Never told me. And didn't seem right to ask." Setting his knife aside in the snow, he took hold of the vendigo's head in both hands, before giving it a quick twist, hearing the satisfying snap as the skull was finally freed from the spine. A spurt of the creature's spinal fluid sprayed out onto his face, but he quickly wiped it off with the back of his glove, picking up his knife again to hold it in the fire before starting to saw through the much softer meat of the throat.

"Always figured you'd tell me in your own time," Geralt added, ignoring the squelching sound his work was making, watching as a pocket of blood that had pooled in the creature's throat was pierced by his blade, causing it to bubble out, spilling into his lap. "Over a few bottles of vodka, maybe. Sitting around a winter fire at Kaer Morhen."

Eskel frowned at the thought, his expression pensive, before his gaze began to slowly drift to a spot in the snow, staring at it for a long time as he tried to think of what to say. Geralt knew why Eskel was troubled, of course – winters at Kaer Morhen had been growing increasingly bittersweet for him, even before the fight with the Hunt had driven them away from its halls for good. Eskel had had nowhere else to go back then, which was why he had continued to return, year after year, but with the outcome of the Winter War now hanging over their heads, the fortress would likely never hear the sound of their collected laughter again.

"Never occurred to me to tell you then, I guess," Eskel finally answered, his voice low, almost distant. "Probably just… didn't think you'd be interested enough to know."

Geralt frowned, having not expected quite so cynical an answer from Eskel, but he supposed it was unsurprising, considering what the last year had taken from both of them. Still, the comment stung a bit, with the amount of history the two shared – from childhood, through to the Trials, and past, with years of winters spent staring into Kaer Morhen's fire, reminiscing stories of great victories and lost souls, enough to bond most as blood brothers. Vesemir had loved them both dearly, he remembered, trained them so well and bonded them so fiercely to their cause, that the thought that they had drifted apart in spite of all his hard work was somehow difficult to swallow.

"Anyway," Eskel continued, drawing Geralt back to the conversation. "Deidre was born under the Curse of the Black Sun. Born during an eclipse."

"Know what the Curse of the Black Sun is," Geralt answered.

"Right," Eskel said, giving an anxious nod, before rubbing his gloved hands together, trying to think of the best way to tell his story. "Either way, I had no way of knowing that would happen when I invoked the Law of Surprise. But once it did, I couldn't go back on it… not after I'd made her poor parents prepare themselves for months leading up to it. It takes a lot out of a person to prepare to lose their newborn to the witcher Path."

"That's the risk of invoking the Law," Geralt answered, his voice gruff. "No way of knowing what you'll get. Some sad fuck invoked the Law and ended up with Lambert."

Eskel snorted. "Poor bastard," he chuckled, shaking his head. "No witcher alive deserves that." Resting his hands on his knees then, he paused, his expression pensive as he watched his fellow witcher work. "I'm sure they would've been relieved to not have to give the girl up," he continued after a moment, sounding distracted by the thought. "But it would've reflected poorly on us. On our code. Couldn't go back on my evocation once I'd put it in place. So I did the only thing I could think to do, under the circumstances…." He paused again, taking another deep breath, his brows furrowing in a stony line, his yellow eyes darkening under their shadow as he pursed his lips, preparing to explain.

"I avoided her," he admitted. "I would take long, meandering routes to avoid ever going to see her as she was growing up. And then, once she was old enough to come to Kaer Morhen to train, I would always be away from the keep. I was always off taking missions, so I would never have to interact with her in person."

"Maybe you were just really bad with kids," Geralt suggested, trying in vain to keep the mood of the conversation afloat. "Know I wasn't exactly the world's best caretaker when I first brought Ciri to Kaer Morhen to train." It was almost the truth, he told himself; while his relationship with Ciri had had something of a rocky start, she had quickly become the light of his life, his freckle-faced ray of sunshine. He remembered days when the pale-haired youth would abandon her bed in the early hours, wandering Kaer Morhen barefoot and pyjama-clad until she came upon Geralt's bed-chamber. Upon finding her mentor sleeping, she would quickly – without asking permission, or bothering to wake him first – crawl up into bed beside him, putting her cold feet directly on his stomach to warm them.

Perhaps that should have been his first clue that the girl was more than he originally bargained for, but her personality and lust for life had always left little to be desired, in a child surprise. Most children torn from their homes at a young age to become witchers resented the life they were made to lead; they resented their School, and their teachers, and most of all, they resented their mentors, the ones who had dragged them onto the Path in the first place. Perhaps that was what made Ciri exemplary—her love for the life, her eagerness to learn, and she had excelled at her training, even knowing many others had died before reaching the stage she aspired to. Death was not uncommon with witcher training, unfortunately, but Geralt knew there were some – like Lambert and Diedre – who might have actually preferred death over becoming a witcher, had they been given any choice in the matter.

As it was, Eskel quickly shook his head, dismissing the lighthearted suggestion. "No, that wasn't it," he answered, grimly. "I was… well, I was afraid of her, Geralt. She had this… ability, to disrupt and stop magic from being used around her. All kinds of magic – sorcery, druidcraft, witcher magic… all of it. I should've trained her, should've helped her develop her powers, but…" He stopped, biting his lower lip, before he turned his gaze down to the ground again, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before starting to draw anxious lines in the snow, frustrated by his own guilty conscience.

"I was afraid," he admitted, honestly, and Geralt could hear the embarrassment he was trying so hard to hide from his voice. "I think she picked up on that, too, because she started to become… wild, in the absence of training. She was mean, Geralt. Unpredictable, with spurts of violence. Everyone told me it was part of her Curse, but… I've always been sceptical of curses, especially curses of birth. But there was something just wrong about her, Geralt."

"Hm," Geralt answered, giving a low grunt. "Puberty."

"No, that's—Geralt come on," Eskel returned, glancing up in frustration, but Geralt could hear a note of laughter in his voice as well, in spite of himself. "You know that wasn't it." Letting out another troubled sigh, Eskel slouched, leaning his elbows against his knees, staring intently at the nearly-severed monster head sitting momentarily forgotten in Geralt's bloody lap.

"One day, after she'd grown into a young woman… she asked for my help," he went on after a moment, speaking slowly, and Geralt could detect a hint of relief in his voice, as if getting this out in the open was somehow therapeutic for him. "I didn't know what she needed my help for, but I was afraid. Too afraid to find out—too afraid to ask. I was afraid of the girl I'd raised, the girl I'd stolen from her parents to pursue a Path she never asked for. I forced her into this life, and then, when she needed my help… I ran. I was too afraid of her to help her, so I ran away from her. Like a coward."

"Takes a brave man to admit when he's been a coward," Geralt pointed out, resting his knife thoughtfully against his knee. "Takes a braver man to see to it that he sets that cowardice right."

"I never said I was a brave man," Eskel answered, seeming annoyed at the words of wisdom. "I certainly wasn't then. I was afraid, so I ran away, and I hid. I went to an old mine just south of Kaer Morhen where I'd heard tell of a kikimora infestation. I went to clear it out. Following my witcher's instincts. Anything to take me away from the keep." Frowning down at the ground again, he dug his gloved finger into the snow, watching as a shallow mere of bloody mud began to pool around it, bubbling up like a freshwater spring. "In reality, I just wanted an excuse not to have to help her," he admitted, seeming more resigned to this fact than anything. "But Deidre… she found out where I'd gone. How I'd fled from her when she needed me most. Buried myself in my work so I wouldn't have to confront the problem I'd created—a problem that'd grown too large and frightening for me to face, even when I knew I should."

He paused again, taking another breath, his scarred lips thinning into a guilty line. "So she hunted me down… and she mutilated me," he finished. "Took her sword, and sliced my face wide open."

Geralt looked up quickly at the revelation. "On purpose?" he asked, startled. "Thought you'd gotten it protecting her, or in an accident. Slip of her powers maybe."

"No, she did it on purpose," Eskel answered, finally looking up again, allowing Geralt to take in the full extent of the disfiguring scar across most of the right side of his face. Geralt had seen his scar plenty of times over the years, but he had never paid it much mind, thinking it had been from some beast, like his, Lambert's, and Ciri's had all been. Now, he felt as if he were seeing it for the first time all over again, and he found he could hardly look away from the brutality of the damage as he stared at it this time. "I deserved it," Eskel added, frankly. "It was just dumb luck she didn't take my eye out while she was at it. But after that, she ran. She had to – you can't get away with attacking one of our own without the rest of us turning on you like wolves."

Looking down again, he let out a soft, bitter huff, trailing his bloody finger through the snow near his knees. "Maybe that's why so many people think of us animals more than humans," he observed, sarcastically. "But that was the last I ever saw of Deidre. Haven't seen her since. Thought, after forty years, I might have the courage… but I ran again, like I always do. Like I've always done, with her."

Geralt grunted at the end of his tale, his silver brow furrowing in a thoughtful line. "Sad story," he said after a moment, causing Eskel to look up in surprise as his bluntness. "There a point to all of this, or just trying to excuse why you didn't go see her?"

"There's a point," Eskel answered, sounding exasperated, as if he had been hoping for a more understanding response – he should have known better than to look for sympathy from a fellow witcher, Geralt thought, but he kept the comment to himself. In fact, he did feel badly for Eskel, especially considering his own role in Deidre's tragic tale, but he had no way of saying so without coming off as trying to one-up Eskel's story with his own guilty conscience. "I think you know what I'm trying to say," Eskel added, causing Geralt to look up again, frowning as he continued. "That nothing was ever solved by running from it. I think you're scared, Geralt. But I think you know this Shani thing isn't something you can just look the other way on."

"You—think I'm running away?" Geralt asked, surprised by the underhanded jab. Now it was his turn to be taken aback, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping back. It was not Eskel's fault he had no idea what was going on, he realized; he had had plenty of time to fill him in on the situation, but he had chosen to remain silent instead, unsure if he could go through with the thought of killing Eskel to fulfil his second task. To an empathetic soul like Eskel, knowing only what he knew of the situation, Geralt guessed it would very much appear that he was running away from something he had caused, and now had no idea how to handle – and for a moment, he could not help but feel a lingering prickle of guilt at the thought, at the idea that Eskel might see him in that sort of light, and have no problem believing it of him.

Picking up his knife again, Geralt held it to the fire, before making one last clean, frustrated cut, finally severing the head he had been working on all along from the rest of the vendigo's body. "Where was this attitude last night?" he insisted. "Analogy makes me think you've been stewing on this for a while."

"I've had some time to think on it," Eskel admitted.

"And this is what you think?" Geralt asked, frustrated. "That I'm running away from it?"

Eskel hesitated a moment at the question, his jaw working a few times behind his closed, scarred lips, as if attempting to practice his answer before knowing exactly what to say. "Well," he finally said, his breath clipped, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. "You're out here, and not back with your pregnant woman. Dunno about you, but to me, that says a lot."

Geralt snorted irately at the answer, his silver brow furrowing in distaste at the thought. "Don't call her my 'woman'," he objected, indicating towards Eskel with the hunting-knife. "Don't have a 'woman'. Yen is my wife, and Shani is just a friend."

"Huh," Eskel grunted, his own brow furrowing. "Do you generally fuck all your friends?"

"Only the women," Geralt answered, deadpan. "And only the ones Yen lets me." Kicking the headless corpse away from his lap, he let out a weary huff, wiping a stray splash of blood from his cheek. "You don't know what's going on," he told Eskel, looking up again. "Not your place to judge."

"Then tell me," Eskel pressed, digging his hands anxiously into the snow. "Tell me what's going on, Geralt. Because right now, I don't know what to think."

"There's this—demon," Geralt answered, sharply, speaking before he could stop himself. "Trying to hurt Shani and her baby, unless I can do something to stop him. Gave me three tasks to do—just two, right now, but—three, overall. Gonna be three eventually. Thought if I found you, might be able to… get help, figuring one of them out." He stopped, gritting his teeth, realizing he had said too much to go back on now, and any chance he might have had of taking Eskel by surprise was gone. He would never have been able to kill him anyway, he knew – Eskel was a friend, and he would never have been able to make the killing stroke, and he let out a long, agitated breath as he turned the vendigo's head around, staring down into its sunken eyes.

"First task was simple," he said. "Just had to kill a monster, bring back Vesemir's amulet. Convinced the demon to let me keep it… gonna give it to Ciri, if I ever see her again."

"And the second?" Eskel asked, sounding concerned.

Geralt took a deep breath as he thought about it. "The second… is the one I need help with," he answered, thinning his lips grimly. "Gotta kill or create a Wolf School witcher. But, only got three months to do it. No way I can train someone new, and can't… put Ciri through the last Trial. Not gonna do that to her."

Eskel frowned, taken aback. "That why you were asking about Sources?" he finally asked. "You were thinking about putting Ciri through the Trial of the Dreams?"

"Thought about it," Geralt admitted, letting out a guilty huff. "But… decided I can't do it. Can't take any chance of a normal life away from her."

Eskel nodded slowly, seeming to understand. "I get it," he said after a while. "That's why you didn't wanna tell me anything. Figured you could kill me instead, get your task over with."

Geralt paused again, before grunting. "Pretty much," he admitted, seeing no reason to deny the truth. "But… couldn't bring myself to do that, either. Like you, I guess. Unfortunately for me."

"And what about Shani?" Eskel asked, looking up again with furrowed brows. "How's she feel about all this? Gotta be stressful as hell for her."

Geralt faltered, taking another breath to buy time. "Shani… doesn't know," he admitted, haltingly. "Thought keeping it from her might give her peace of mind, but… almost feels too late, now. Not sure what to tell her."

"You could start by telling her the truth," Eskel answered, frankly, causing Geralt to look up in surprise at the retort. He had barely ever heard Eskel raise his voice, and he could not help feeling almost as if he were being scolded by Vesemir now. "What is she supposed to think if something happens to her baby because of this?" Eskel insisted. "The longer you keep the truth from her—the worse it'll be the end. For all of you – you, Yen, Shani… and whoever else you've gotten caught up in this nightmare predicament. Probably Dandelion. He always ends up right in the middle of your bullshit, somehow."

"Pretty bold words, coming from someone who ran away from his child surprise," Geralt returned, darkly.

Eskel scoffed, sitting up straighter in the snow. "Throw that back in my face all you want," he answered. "I'm not the one who fucked her and then vanished, making her feel even more like she was only good for being used. I'm not the one who pretended he was some kind of saviour for showing her basic kindness. I know where my faults lie with Deidre, Geralt – I'm not disillusioned enough to pretend I'm not at fault. But you—you said a couple nice words to her, then you fucked her and threw her away. Just like Shani."

Geralt bristled at the accusation, clenching his jaw as he stared at Eskel with wide eyes, before he picked up the vendigo's head from his lap, pushing himself to his feet and tucking his knife back into his belt. "Should've killed you when I had the chance," he growled, turning to head towards the edge of the forest. Eskel was quick to get to his feet as well, dusting the snow from his pants as he began to follow, bringing his fingers to his mouth in a sharp whistle to call his horse and goat to join him.

Eskel looked around for Scorpion as they neared the edge of the forest, before moving to collect him from where he had wandered off, leading him back to where Geralt had found Roach and watching as he attached the new trophy to her saddle. Thick, viscous blood dripped from the severed head as it swung freely at Roach's side, but Geralt hardly seemed to notice, shaking off any remaining blood from his hands before pulling himself up next into the saddle. He stared ahead as he shifted his weight, not wanting to acknowledge his fellow witcher after such a stinging accusation, but Eskel did not seem ready to leave, not yet finished with their conversation.

"I only want what's best for you, Geralt," Eskel told him, holding fast to Scorpion's reins. "You know that."

Geralt did not respond for a moment, lifting his head to look out over the still-wet knoll; the muddy indents of their horses' hooves had been all but obscured by the thick grass, shuddering forlornly in a northerly breeze, oblivious and silent to the bloodshed that had just occurred in the forest. The air smelled of death, and rain, but with no one around but the witchers to hear the vendigo's last expiring throes, he realized with a bit of solemnity that this event, too, would vanish to the march of time.

"Diedre didn't run away, Eskel," he finally spoke again, turning his golden eyes down to the other witcher. "Wanna know what really happened?" Eskel sucked his lip, his gaze flicking down momentarily, before he lifted it to Geralt's face again, his hand twisting anxiously in Scorpion's reins as he waited for him to continue. Geralt could tell that he wanted to ask, wanted to know what had become of his ward after she wounded him, but something was holding him back, something only Eskel knew, and Geralt did not care to learn. Roach snorted in the uncomfortable silence, tossing her head as she felt the cold drip of blood against her flank, but Geralt only pulled back on her reins again, steadying her as he prepared to continue his story.

"She reconciled with her brother," he said, watching Eskel's expression as he relayed the news. "Offered to renounce her title as princess. But he decided he'd rather rule with her, than in spite of her. Together they brought in the highest socioeconomic point in Caingorn's history to date." He could see a muscle move in Eskel's cheek as he spoke, knowing the other witcher was clenching his jaw as he listened, but his scarred face stayed firmly set, his brow furrowed, eyes never straying from where they sat.

"Hm," Eskel finally said.

Geralt frowned at the response. "You knew," he guessed.

Eskel paused, his gaze meandering to one side, before he finally took a deep breath, seeming to relax now that the worst of the news was over. "I did," he answered, matter-of-factly, though there was an odd, sad lilt to his tone as he spoke this time. "After she returned to Caingorn, she sent me a letter. Wanted to reconcile with me, after… what happened, I guess." Taking another deep breath, he wiped his hand absentmindedly on his trousers again, as if just remembering he had pressed his fingers in the dirt and wanting to wipe them off before continuing his journey. "She wanted me in her life," he added. "Considered our bond to be our shared destiny… some bullshit like that."

"And?" Geralt asked.

Eskel shrugged. "I burned the letter," he said. "Without responding."

Geralt frowned. "She wanted to reconnect," he observed.

Eskel nodded, letting out a weary sigh. "I know," he answered, sounding half-sad at the thought of what might have been. "I didn't. I'd ruined her life, and she'd ruined mine. Decided enough was enough." He paused, before taking another deep breath, puffing out his chest as he pursed his lips. "That's why… I gave up on going to see her," he admitted, his gaze straying to one side at the thought. "She'd given me a chance to be in her life again, and I… scorned it. Wasn't right to insert myself now. She's a person, Geralt, and I… hurt her. Badly. She trusted me, and I let her down. Don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that."

Geralt paused, thinking it over, before he finally let out a low, pensive hum. "Maybe… you could do something else," he suggested, feeling Eskel's wary gaze return to him as he spoke. "Maybe, you could… help protect Shani. Give someone else the help you could never give Deidre."

Eskel made a face at the proposition. "Trying to shove your responsibilities off on me?" he asked.

Geralt grunted, pulling back on Roach's reins again. "Don't have to do it if you don't want," he answered, bluntly.

"No, no," Eskel returned quickly, holding up a hand. "Never said that. Just… seeing what I'm in for." He paused, before taking another long breath, his mouth thinning again as he thought it over. "Probably expect me not to tell her about your demon," he added, looking up with another wary frown. "Wouldn't feel right keeping it from her, now that I know. Don't think I could lie to her about that."

Geralt ground his teeth, realizing he should have anticipated this from Eskel. "Tell her if you want," he finally said, after a moment of thought. "Feel like I should be the one to do it, but… can't stop you."

"You should be the one to do it," Eskel told him, sharply, causing Geralt to look down again with a frown. Eskel paused, before letting out a huff, reaching out to pet Scorpion's neck as he thought. "But… I can understand how it might be hard, facing something you have no idea how to handle," he admitted after a moment. "I can't really blame you for avoiding Shani's curse, after I… spent Deidre's whole life avoiding hers." He frowned again at the thought, his golden eyes pensive as they rested on Scorpion's face, before he looked up again towards Geralt, his mouth twisted in a worried gash as he stared up at his fellow witcher.

"I can't tell you how to finish your task," Eskel admitted, shaking his head at the thought. "Got no more idea about it than you do, now that Ciri's off the table. But…" He paused, sucking his lip, before he raised his brows, looking almost as if he was fighting himself to speak again. "Maybe… Lambert might have an idea," he added after a moment, causing Geralt to blink, surprised to hear the name. "Could ask him, at least. Couldn't hurt. Can't imagine he'd refuse to help with something like this."

Geralt shook his head at the thought. "Got no idea where he is," he admitted. "Triss says she hasn't been able to contact him."

Eskel nodded again, still looking pensive, before he let out a faint, almost conspiratorial huff. "I can understand that," he answered after a moment. "Seemed pretty peeved when I figured out where he was, truth be told. Promised I wouldn't tell anybody where to find him, but… figure I can make an exception, for this." He paused again, his hooded eyes lowering, resting his hand against his hip as he stared at the ground, before he took another deep breath in, resting his other hand against Scorpion's muscular shoulder. "Lambert and Keira are in Poviss," he said, looking up at Geralt on Roach again. "Gladsko. They settled down together, just like you and Yen. Got a little house, started a little business… whole village has sort of adopted them as their own."

"Poviss?" Geralt asked, frowning at the news. "That's… right next door to Kovir."

"Exactly," Eskel answered, grinning again. "Now you see why it was so funny Triss couldn't find 'em." Geralt faltered at the revelation, finding it hard to think that Triss had been barely a day's ride from Lambert the entire time, yet it had taken him coming all the way out to Kaedwin for any of them to figure that out. "Keira works as an herbalist there," Eskel went on after a moment, not seeming to notice Geralt's troubled expression. "An alchemist, y'know, making potions and such—and Lambert keeps the beasts away. Keeps the salt mines clear. General witcher work."

"Lambert works in the salt mines?" Geralt asked, drawn back again, trying not to sound incredulous.

At this, Eskel let out another laugh. "I know, right?" he asked. "Salty fuck fits right in." Patting Scorpion's shoulder, he pulled himself up into the warhorse's saddle, before letting out a huff of exhilarated breath, squinting into the midday sun. "Now… how am I supposed to meet up with the rest of the group?" he asked. "Should I head out towards the North, and they'll meet me there, or—?"

"No need," Geralt answered, reaching into his hip-pouch for the xenovox. "Got something here. Just need to let Yen know about it first." Eskel stared in interest as he raised the xenovox, and Geralt realized the other witcher had likely never seen one before; Geralt, himself had only seen one for the first time a year or so ago, so it made sense that Eskel might be taken aback by the sight of it. "Yen," Geralt spoke into the box. "We killed the monster."

The xenovox hissed for a moment, before Yennefer's voice came through. "And Eskel, is he…?"

"He's fine," Geralt confirmed. "Got some information. Sending him to travel with you."

Yennefer paused, before he heard her sigh, the sound clear as day through the xenovox. "Geralt, I don't… know if that's such a good idea," she admitted. "Our group is rather conspicuous as it is."

"Figured that," Geralt acknowledged, nodding in agreement. "Also figured, group's already big. Might as well have a witcher. Offer a little more protection. Maybe give you and Triss a break every now and then."

There was another pause from Yennefer, before he finally heard the soft sound of static again. "Alright, Geralt," she told him, still sounding a bit uncertain. "I'll trust your judgement on this one. After all, it is Eskel, and not Lambert. He's not nearly as objectionable, though he is a bit dour."

"Hey, Yen," Eskel smirked, leaning in towards the xenovox from his horse.

"Hello, Eskel," Yennefer returned, as if she had expected him to be listening the entire time. "Anyway, when should we be expecting him, Geralt? We just settled into a new safehouse, so now would be ideal."

"Now works fine," Eskel answered, nodding. "Got nowhere else to go."

"I'm pleased we could accommodate your plans," Yennefer told him, causing Geralt to snort at the dryness of her tone. "Have Geralt use his portal amulet for you, then, and we'll see you in Blaviken. That's where we're located, currently."

"Blaviken?" Geralt asked, pointedly avoiding Eskel's gaze as he said it.

"Yes, Blaviken," Yennefer repeated, sounding a bit cross. "It's a Redanian province, but it borders on the Gulf of Praxeda. The Gulf is the main export body for the ports of Kovir, where Triss says her most reliable safe-houses are. She wanted to scout ahead, to ensure they're empty, so we decided that Blaviken was small enough that we'd be able to go unnoticed while we wait for her to return."

"Tell Yen I have a question," Eskel said, indicating the xenovox with a jerk of his head. "Ask her if they've managed to get any provisions since getting to town. What they've been able to buy."

"Bread, fish, and eggs, mostly," Yennefer answered, frankly. "I can hear you just fine, Eskel. We're right near the water, but the trade ships haven't come in for a while. There really isn't much in the way of fresh produce here—just some travelling merchants and a tavern, really."

Eskel frowned at the news. "No red meat?" he asked, sounding disappointed.

Yennefer sighed again. "Unfortunately, no," she returned.

Eskel paused, sucking his lip, and Geralt could swear he saw the start of a smirk forming. "That's too bad," Eskel said, unable to keep the smirk from growing. "Sounds like that place could use a Butcher."