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.]

26. Bellflower

The sun shone in through the bedroom window, forcing Geralt to open his eyes as it reached him, but he quickly squeezed them shut again with a low groan, burying his head in his pillow and folding the sides up over his ears. Everything was awful this morning – the sun was too bright, the birds outside too loud, his heart beating like a war drum in his pounding head, and he took a deep breath into his pillow, letting it out in a long, exasperated sigh.

He could barely remember the night before; apart from O'Dimm and the new task, it was all a great, muddied blur, the result of finishing off the second bottle of vodka and Gull in a vain effort to settle his mangled nerves. He had no idea how he had gotten to bed, but he supposed it was a small grace he had made it here – that was not always the case when he drank, he knew, and he let out another long breath, not wanting to get up.

"By all means, don't stir on my account."

The voice was familiar, and Geralt sat up instantly, only to wince a moment later as his head gave another sharp throb, gritting his teeth as he bent double, holding his face regretfully in his hands. He groaned, taking in a deep, settling breath, before he finally sat up again, slower this time, squinting to the foot of the bed as he tried to make out the still-blurry shape of his morning visitor. Regis smiled as he came into focus, his tired eyes gentle as he took in the ragged witcher, and Geralt made a face as he rubbed his eyes, making sure he was not still hallucinating from the Gull.

"Regis," he finally said, the sound coming out as a hoarse croak, causing his stomach to churn. "What…" He stopped, thinning his lips, realizing speech was something he would have to wait for, but Regis did not seem to mind, only pulling his sling-bag around to rest it in his lap.

"You had a bit of a rough night last night," Regis informed him, folding his hands contemplatively atop his bag. "I'd expected to find you resting when I arrived, but… not so. In fact, you were downright belligerent. I could hardly get you into bed – something had clearly upset you, though it was difficult to discern what." He paused, reaching into his bag to pull out a small sprig of ginger, which he held out towards the witcher; Geralt frowned at the sight of the twisted root, but took it anyway, biting off a small piece to chew on. It was spicy and bitter, unpleasant on his tongue, but he found his nausea starting to subdue immediately, and he hummed as he stared up at the vampire, trying to decide what to say, now that he could speak again.

"Thanks," he finally said, uncomfortably. "Didn't mean to… make you have to deal with that."

Regis chuckled, retrieving his hand again. "I've dealt with much worse in my life than a few sodden friends," he assured him. "You're hardly the first I've had to put to sleep, and you undoubtedly won't be the last."

Geralt hesitated, his chewing slowing as he realized Regis had probably used his vampiric gift to put him to sleep; he had not seen him use that power in years, and had nearly forgotten he could do it at all. Still, he guessed it was something to be grateful for, as he would likely never have gotten to sleep otherwise, and he hummed as he swallowed the ginger, making a face as the bitter root went down. "Didn't think you'd be back so soon," he admitted, clearing his throat, his voice still strained. "How're things with Dettlaff? You get a chance to talk yet?"

Regis paused, his pensive brow furrowing, his warm smile fading as he looked down to his hands in his lap. "He was… willing to listen, just as Ciri said he would be," he admitted after a while, speaking slowly. "And, to my great surprise, he did not seem… well, at the very least, offended by the idea. He told me… Melitele, how do I explain it." He paused again, letting out an anxious breath, twisting his fingers together in a spiderweb until his knuckles paled, and Geralt frowned at the show of unease, wondering what could possibly have been said to upset his friend like this. "He told me… he's never really had an interest in anything besides women," Regis explained after a moment, meticulously. "And that… he wasn't sure if that would ever change, though he conceded that… if it did, for anyone, it would likely be for me. That being said… he wasn't quite sure if it… if he…"

He stopped again, biting his lip, causing it to pale as it pinched between his sharp teeth. "I'm terrible at explaining myself," he admitted after a moment, letting out an exasperated breath.

"Take your time," Geralt answered, patiently. "Not going anywhere. Happy to wait."

Regis hummed, thinning his lips, seeming to have difficulty putting his thoughts into words. "Well… suffice to say, Geralt, he was willing to think it over, but he needed some time alone for that," he explained after a while, frankly. "He said… he was not quite over what happened with Syanna, and everything surrounding that, but… he realized he could not stay mired in that state forever. That I'd made him realize… there were others who cared for him, and wished to see him get to a place where he was willing to accept love again." He stopped, taking another deep breath, clenching his hands restlessly in his lap again, his long nails scraping the embroidered symbols on the backs of his gloves as he thought of what to say next.

"I'm not quite sure what to make of it, truth be told," he admitted after a moment, letting out a harried sigh. "It likely won't pan out for us in the end, but… the fact that he was willing to listen at all makes me realize I've been much too harsh on myself these last few years. Ever since I lost my head that first time—literally, though I suppose figuratively as well—I'd seen myself as something of a… pariah, I suppose. An outside variable – accepted, but never truly… part of anything. Dettlaff was also something of an outsider, but he was loved in his nature, despite holding most of vampire society at arm's length… and I suppose I always considered him to be tolerating me, rather than… wanting me there, by his side."

Regis paused again, pursing his lips, his dark eyes searching the floor as he thought, before he finally took another deep breath in, seeming to know where he was going, now that he had started. "But it seems that isn't the case," he added, sounding much more hopeful now. "He said so himself – assured me of that detail, in fact. And even if this doesn't work out the way I hoped, it's still… heartening, to know he was willing to consider. That he sees me as someone for whom that might be a possibility – more than the sum of my mistakes, from which I've been trying so hard to escape. That he wasn't repulsed by the very idea of me wanting… something more, to exist between the two of us."

Geralt frowned, raising a brow. "Dunno why he would," he answered, honestly. "Said yourself vampires don't care about that kind of thing. Don't see why Dettlaff would be any different."

Regis sighed. "True, but—it's the principle of the thing," he explained, sounding flustered now, almost exasperated. "It's not about the fact that we're both male, but the fact that we're—friends, with such long standing. Romance can easily complicate a friendship, even ruin it, as it can anything else where a prevailing relationship exists. The fact that he was willing to risk our friendship at all for my sake means… much more to me than I can explain." He paused again, his dark eyes moving from the floor, to the bookcase, and then to his hands again, before he finally let out a weary sigh, sitting straighter as he turned to look over at Geralt again.

"Regardless," he said, moving the subject forward. "I shouldn't keep taking your time with this. I'm not the only one waiting for you to wake this morning – I was the first to arrive, but certainly not the last. Yennefer and Dandelion should be waiting in the breakfast-nook whenever you're ready to see them—"

"Yen's here?" Geralt asked, looking up quickly, only to wince again as his head gave another sharp throb. "Shit," he hissed. "Don't guess you've got anything stronger than ginger? Some White Honey should do the trick."

"Or perhaps some raw eel and ground bitter almonds," Regis suggested, grinning wryly at the rank-sounding remedy. "Some old-fashioned medicine to perk you up. Get you going the way lords and kings do."

"Rather get going the way a witcher does," Geralt admitted, sliding his legs cautiously out of bed. "Help me find my pouches, Regis. Gonna brew up a potion. Don't wanna be hungover when I see Yen."

"Probably for the best," Regis agreed, getting up from the edge of the bed to start looking for the pouches. "I imagine she'd be rather cross to assume you'd been making merry without thinking to invite her."

Geralt hummed, squinting up at the vampire, only to find Regis' usual impish smile beaming back at him, and he shook his head slowly as he set his feet on the floor, trying to convince himself to get out of bed. He had slept in his clothes from the day before, and the reek of sweat and liquor wafted out strongly as he moved the covers, causing him to grimace as the smell hit him, letting out a cough as he tried to wave away the foul aroma. "I'll ask Marlene to change out your sheets for you," Regis offered, holding out a hand to coax Geralt to stand, finally getting him out of bed. "For now, we'll do all we can to keep on Yennefer's best side. It's been months since you last saw her – you don't want to make a bad impression."

"I smell like death," Geralt answered, looking up to spot his reflection in Yennefer's vanity-glass. "Look like death, too."

"All easily fixed," Regis assured him, good-naturedly. "But first, it's most important to remedy feeling like death."

Geralt grunted, waiting until Regis had turned his back before he began to strip down from his sweat-soaked clothes, moving to fish something semi-presentable from the chest at the foot of the bed and pulling it on as Regis returned with his potion supplies. Taking the supplies with a nod, Geralt sat down on the floor, setting up his alchemy station, lighting the candle under the beaker and watching as the mixture bubbled softly, considering it in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Got a question," he finally said, breaking the quiet, wondering even as he spoke if he might be better off not asking. "Almost four hundred and fifty years old. Really never… felt anything, towards a man before?"

Regis hesitated, staring at the alchemy station, before he finally took a deep breath, raising his bushy brows. "I know you're unused to hearing this, Geralt," he said after a moment, speaking slowly. "But you're simply not my type. When first we met, perhaps, I might've found you intriguing… but now, fortunately, I know better." He paused, watching the potion simmer, before he looked up, his mouth half-curling in an odd, pensive smirk. "Not only that, but you exude an unmistakable impression of being solely attracted to women," he added, his faint grin widening. "Whether the interest ever existed on my part – which, it didn't – it simply wouldn't be worth my time to pursue the effort."

Geralt faltered, before letting out a short breath, scratching uncomfortably at his beard as he stared down at the beaker. "Didn't mean it like that," he said, quietly.

Regis gave a soft chuckle, taking pity on his friend. "I understand," he said, giving an assuring nod. "But to answer your question… no, not really. My attraction, as it stands, still falls mostly in the female camp. My feelings towards Dettlaff are… a surprising deviation. Which doesn't make them any less pertinent, nor any less legitimate—yet they are, as I said, a nonconformity. My expression and acceptance of these feelings does not mean I've suddenly become infatuated with the idea of sleeping with any man who'll have me." He paused, considering for a moment, before he lifted a hand, making a gesture as if to shoo away a pesky fly.

"Just because someone is attracted to a certain gender doesn't mean they're attracted to every instance of that gender," he added, sensibly. "Just as Ciri is not attracted to every man, nor every woman, despite having an interest in both – mostly men, from what she tells me. And just like…" He stopped, trailing off, making awkward eye contact with the witcher as he realized his mistake. "…Well," he said, lowering his hand to his lap again. "Like most, at least. Present company notwithstanding. Which is to say—no, I've never been attracted to a man before, and no, my attraction has never included you."

Geralt snorted, staring at the potion station, knowing he deserved the jab after asking such a question. "Can't help being a little insulted," he joked, dryly.

Regis smiled, his expression warm. "I wouldn't," he answered, honestly. "If you'll remember, my taste in partners has always been… a bit volatile. I tend to infatuate myself with those with explosive passions, and you… are just right to help balance that, as a friend on whom I rely."

Geralt hesitated, caught off-guard by his sincerity, finding it hard to know what to say for a moment. "Thanks, Regis," he finally answered, quietly, before lifting the beaker from the flame and giving it a thoughtful swirl. The honeysuckle had all but disintegrated into the dwarven spirit, giving it a warm, golden glow as he held it to the light, and he took a deep breath as he gestured to Regis with the vial.

"Down the hatch," he said, and swallowed it.

---

The White Honey took only a few minutes to take effect, and Geralt breathed in relief as he felt his nausea lifting, his headache fading out to nearly nothing as he splashed his face with the water-bowl set out by Yennefer's vanity. He had taken a moment to fix his hair in the mirror, but had turned Regis down at the suggestion of a haircut, not wanting to waste any more time getting ready before he could go out into the house and see his wife. Regis had followed his initial offer with the suggestion of a bath to dampen the smell of stale liquor, but Geralt had turned that down too, only compromising when the vampire had suggested herbs to mask the smell instead. Tucking a bundle of herbs in his belt-pouch, he had started to leave, before Regis stopped him again, offering him a mint leaf to chew on to mask the smell on his breath as well.

"She probably won't be fooled," Regis noted, giving a small smirk as Geralt made a face at the taste of the leaf.

"Don't expect her to be," Geralt answered, fairly. "Can't put anything past Yen."

Regis smiled, before stepping aside, allowing Geralt to pass him to the bedroom door, watching as the witcher made his eager way out into the brightly-lit front-room beyond. Yennefer and Dandelion were nowhere to be seen in the front-room, but he could hear the sound of voices coming from the breakfast-nook, and he turned, making his way towards the sound, only stopping as he reached the entrance to the alcove. He could not hold back a smile as he finally spotted his wife and best friend sitting at the breakfast-table together, and Yennefer instantly shot to her feet at the sight of her husband, running around the table to get a better look. Dandelion was quick to follow to his feet, holding his lute to his chest like a harbinger of good news, watching with delight as Yennefer threw her arms around her husband, jumping into his arms before he had a chance to realize her intention.

Geralt grunted, catching his wife clumsily around the waist, barely able to get out a laugh before she pressed her lips to his, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, as if afraid she might lose him again if she let go too soon. "Geralt!" Yennefer breathed, pressing her forehead to his, her lashes soft against his skin. "I missed you so much. I was so afraid I might never see you again. Never do that to me again."

"Pretty persuasive argument," Geralt answered, kissing her back, before gradually letting her dainty feet return to the floor. "Have to give it some thought. Might take a few more kisses to persuade me."

Yennefer smiled, reaching up a hand to cup his face, before her expression began to slowly waver, and she took a few short, pointed sniffs, taking a step back and moving her hand to his shoulder. "Geralt, you reek," she told him, giving him a quick glance over. "Have you been drinking?"

Geralt offered a tight smile at the question, taking her hand from his shoulder to bring it to his lips instead. "Last night," he answered, dismissively. "Had a rough day. Not making a habit of it."

Yennefer frowned, seeming unconvinced, but she did not pull her hand away, allowing him to press soft kisses across her slender palm and up the line of her wrist. "We'll discuss it later," she conceded, her manner softening quickly again as he rested her hand against his face. "I worry enough about you as it is when we're apart. I don't like you giving me more reason to worry."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Geralt answered, bringing her other hand to his lips to kiss it as well.

Yennefer wrinkled her nose, endeared despite herself by the way his beard tickled her hand. "You've gotten so scruffy," she told him, fondly. "You really must have Regis attend to you soon."

"Soon," Geralt agreed, too distracted to pay much attention, kissing her wrist and up the length of her forearm.

Yennefer laughed, retrieving her hand from him again, though she let the other one stay on his face where he held it. "Honestly, Geralt," she said, softly. "You're terrible. I never can manage to stay angry at you for long." Then, sliding her hand to the back of his neck, she urged him downward, pressing her lips to his in a soft, tender kiss, before she nuzzled her face against his, letting him breathe in the flowery scent of her perfume.

Regis smiled as he entered the breakfast-nook after Geralt, raising his brows as he watched their tender reunion, before he turned his attention pointedly to Dandelion, clearing his throat to get the bard's attention. "Dandelion," he said, causing the bard to look over with a start, having been captivated by the sight of kissing. "I was just about to head into the day-room. I wondered if you might do me the favour of joining me."

"Huh?" Dandelion asked, blinking a few times, still seeming lost in something of a daze. Then, realizing what the vampire was asking, he instantly perked up, flashing him a pearly grin. "I'd be delighted to join you!" he said, sliding his lute under his arm to rest against his back. "In fact, I believe I still need to regale you with the latest verses of the song I've been working on. I've decided to call it Red Rowan, after the female love interest. What do you think of that for a title?"

Regis hummed, his thin mouth stretching into a patient smile as he turned for the long hallway towards the day-room. "It's a start," he agreed, good-naturedly. "Though perhaps we can workshop it a bit before deciding." Then, holding out a hand towards the bard, he ushered the younger man along beside him, leaving the couple to their own devices, still wrapped in each other's embrace as the sound of Dandelion's chatter disappeared down the corridor.

Yennefer sighed, kissing Geralt's cheek softly, her dark lashes brushing his skin as she nestled her face against his. "We haven't much time for a reunion, I'm afraid," she said, quietly. "Who knows how long Regis can keep Dandelion occupied."

Geralt grunted, his breath warm on her face. "Regis can handle himself," he assured her. "Long as Shani's safe, got nothing else to worry about."

Yennefer hummed softly, moving her arms around his back to draw him into a warm embrace, burying her face in his shoulder. "She is," she agreed, sounding more tired now. "For the time being. We talked it over, and we agreed a travelling party the size of the one we had was too conspicuous. That's why Dandelion and I decided to come home early—with Triss and Eskel to protect her, we figured Shani would be safest in their care." She paused, her slender fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, not even seeming to mind the lingering smell anymore, and Geralt ran his hand adoringly through her raven hair, pressing a kiss to her head as he nestled his face among her tresses.

"It's incredibly fortuitous you sent Eskel to join the group rather than Lambert," Yennefer added after a moment, letting out a soft sigh. "Triss and Eskel get along relatively well, unlike Triss and Lambert."

"And Shani's okay being left in their care a little longer?" Geralt asked, kissing her head again.

Yennefer paused, thinking for a moment, before she finally leaned back again, looking up into her husband's face. "I don't think she minds at all, honestly," she answered, a small, impish smile starting to curve her lips at the thought. "Eskel and Shani get on incredibly well. He's plainly fond of her, Geralt—anyone can see as much." She chuckled, reaching up to tuck a lock of flyaway white hair behind his ear, seeming tickled by his baffled expression. "Were he not such a gentleman, I'd suspect he might've made his move already," she added, amusedly. "As it is, I've seen him shamelessly doting on her—rubbing her feet, carrying her pack for her. He's all but physically toting her from place to place at this point, he's become so devoted to assisting her."

Geralt frowned, confused by her assessment. "Eskel's good people," he said after a moment, still not understanding. "Probably just helping her out. Said yourself she's seven and a half months pregnant. Probably needs all the help she can get."

Yennefer rolled her eyes, letting out another soft laugh. "You're hopeless," she tutted, folding her arms around him again. "I don't know how you still refuse to see it. He's utterly smitten with her, only too shy or polite to say anything about it."

Geralt grunted again, still not convinced. "Don't see a point," he admitted. "Shani's pregnant. Can't really do anything."

Yennefer stopped short at this, staring up at him in bewilderment, seeming not to know which ignorant statement to address first. "You don't need to do anything in a relationship," she told him after a while, sounding almost offended by the thought. "And Eskel doesn't… do that, anyway. He's not like you or I. He's… a romantic. Nothing more, for the most part. As for Shani…" She paused again, trying to decide how to explain the situation to her husband. "She's still perfectly capable, should either of them wish to… do, anything," she said after a moment, twisting her lips a bit. "A woman's parts don't magically become stifled the instant she's with child. She can still use them however she pleases."

Geralt hesitated, taken aback, having to assess for a moment to ensure he had heard her correctly. "…Eskel's fucking Shani?" he finally asked, too stunned to stop himself. "Sent him out there to protect her—seven and a half months pregnant, and—instead he's fucking her?"

Yennefer blinked, surprised by his reaction, retrieving her arms to take a step back from him. "What difference does it make if Eskel's being intimate with Shani?" she insisted, affronted. "Not that he is, as I've just told you. Eskel isn't particularly sexual, unlike you and I. Even so—"

"Not about Eskel," Geralt admitted, making a face. "About Shani. About the baby." He paused, knowing exactly what his concern was, but finding it hard to say it out loud; he had already made so many uninformed assumptions about pregnancy that he almost hated to speak his mind on the subject anymore. He hated to make himself vulnerable in his lack of knowledge, especially in front of Yennefer, but he felt he at least had to mention this, if only to relieve his mind on the matter. "Couldn't that… hurt the baby?" he asked, folding his arms self-consciously at the question. "If they… y'know… fuck, like that? If they don't… go through the back to avoid it?"

Yennefer paused, her pink lips thinning, seeming for a moment too dumbfounded to answer the question. Then, taking a deep breath, she folded an arm across her ribcage, using the other to cup her cheek, looking exhausted. "A woman's womb, Geralt, is nowhere near anywhere Eskel's penis could touch—nor yours, size notwithstanding," she told him, sounding as if she could not believe she had to explain this to a grown man. "You needn't worry about Shani's baby. He'll be just fine, no matter what his mother decides to do with her spare time." Having said this, she paused again, considering, before she finally let out another tired sigh, folding her second arm to meet her first.

"Regardless," she said, moving forward. "I've been trying to tell you that Eskel and Shani are in no way physically intimate – at least, that I'm aware of. He's simply been doting on her like a schoolboy, and she's been enjoying it, for whatever it's worth. I don't know that either of them have any expectation that this infatuation will amount to anything but friendship in the end… but it's always nice to know Shani has options, should she wish to take them."

Geralt hummed, furrowing his brow. "Dunno," he answered. "If Eskel marries Shani, means he'd take over as the kid's dad. Might move the whole family to Upper Aedirn. Never see them or the kid again."

Yennefer hesitated, before making a face. "Jumping from infatuation to marriage is a long stretch, Geralt," she informed him, frankly. "Regardless, I hadn't meant to make you worry so. I only mentioned it because I thought it endearing." She frowned, her pretty brow furrowing as her soft lips twisted in a look of discouragement, before she finally unfolded her arms again, allowing her hands to rest on her hips instead. "I assume, because you're home and no longer in Skellige, that you've completed your third task," she observed, changing the subject.

Geralt held back a wince, his expression twisting. "…Kinda," he finally answered, unsure what else to say.

"Kind of?" Yennefer repeated, incredulously. "What do you mean, kind of? You've either completed it, or you haven't."

"Couldn't do it," Geralt answered, letting out a heavy sigh at the admission. "Couldn't sleep with her. Reminded me too much of Ciri. Couldn't even get it up without thinking of you."

Yennefer paused, seeming lost for words for a moment, her expression unusual, and difficult to read. "That's very flattering, Geralt," she finally said, sounding displeased, not sure how else to react. "I suppose I'm glad to hear that the mere thought of me gets blood flowing to your extremities, but that doesn't help us much here." She thinned her lips at the thought, considering, before she finally let out another agitated sigh. "So does that mean you have to go back and try again?" she asked, discouraged. "I don't know that we have time for that. You've already spent so long in Skellige, we've barely eight weeks left until the baby's birth—give or take."

Geralt shook his head, unfolding his arms again. "No," he answered, moving his hands to his hips instead. "Burned that bridge. Too late to try again. Tried to reason with O'Dimm, but he said it had to be all or nothing." He gritted his teeth at the memory, looking to the floor as he thought back to his conversation with O'Dimm, knowing there was more to tell, but not looking forward to having to admit it to Yennefer. He had wanted his reunion to be pleasant, tender, something that would give them both aches for days, and he ran a frustrated hand across his beard, trying to concentrate on anything but the scent of her perfume.

"Gave me another task, since I failed this one," he added after a moment, his voice lower. "Something to do instead. Said I tried to trick him out of two tasks, so had to do a fourth to make up for it."

Yennefer frowned, straightening slowly, folding her arms pensively over her chest again. "Doesn't that seem strange?" she asked after a moment, sounding more wary than frustrated at the thought. "I'm no expert in goëtia, of course, but that seems like unusual practices, even to me. Certainly it's atypical for a demon to substitute in a new task for a failed one, is it not? As far as I know, demonic contracts generally have parameters set in stone, with a pass-fail contingency clause."

Geralt shrugged, looking up at Yennefer again, still trying to keep his mind solely on the conversation; it was becoming harder the longer they spoke, though he knew it was important to her to talk about it. "Don't expect O'Dimm to play fair," he admitted, though he had to admit she had a point, and an obvious one—one he supposed he had been too drunk at the time of his conversation with O'Dimm to see. That was becoming a common theme, he realized – the demon coming to speak with him at times of distress, as if he knew the exact moments when Geralt's psyche was starting to wane, times when his judgement was at its worst, and he could get away with his schemes unquestioned.

Yennefer hummed, shifting her weight to one hip, causing her jacket to move ever so slightly with her, and Geralt swallowed as he noticed the delicate curve of her collar-bone peeking through from under the cut of her blouse. "What was the new task, then?" Yennefer asked, seeming not to notice his expression.

Geralt thinned his lips, trying to think of what to say, before he finally shook his head instead. "Sorry," he said, letting out a sigh. "Trying to think, but… you just smell so damn good, Yen. Been so long since I've seen you… makes it hard to think about anything else."

Yennefer furrowed her brow, seeming only half-surprised. "I'm sure it is, Geralt," she told him, frankly. "But you must get these tasks finished. There's barely any time left for Shani, and—" But her objection had no time to finish, as he moved forward, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss, moving his hands around her slender waist as he pulled her in, holding her tightly. Yennefer let out a soft protest as their lips met, her hands moving from her hips in surprise, before she reached up to cup his scruffy face instead, realizing she did not have the heart to resist. She kissed him back, just as fervently, her slender hands moving to run through his silver hair, her lips curving in a breathless smile as she felt his strong hands against her, hands she had missed so much.

"I love you, Geralt," she told him, breaking from the kiss for only a second before coming back for more, feeling as his rough hands moved down her slender form, finally coming to settle on her ass. She gasped in delight as she felt him pick her up, hoisting her onto his waist, and she wrapped her legs tightly around his abdomen, pushing his hair from his face as she kissed him, needing more. She could feel his strong hands digging into her thighs, holding her up against gravity as they kissed, insatiably, tasting the sharpness of his tongue on hers as she wrapped her arms desperately around his neck.

"Dandelion and Regis will hear us," Yennefer whispered, trying to catch her breath between kisses – every other word was punctuated by another, as Geralt kept catching her lips with his own, barely allowing her to speak.

Geralt hummed, kissing her neck, causing her to shudder as he pressed his body against hers. "Let them hear," he said, his voice a low growl. "It's our house. Should be used to it by now." He could feel her heart racing against his skin, her whole body reacting to the sound of his voice, her legs vibrating softly against his palms as he kissed her again, moving ever lower down her pillowy chest.

"Geralt, wait," Yennefer gasped, taking his face in her hands and lifting it, causing him to kiss her lips, catching the first thing he could see. "My lubricant, and—my cleansing decoction. Get them from the bedroom. I left them there when we departed for Blaviken."

Geralt grunted, moving to the front-room table, sitting his wife down gently on the edge, before he pushed the cups and plates aside, laying her back across the cloth and kissing her lips again, hungrily. "Don't move," he told her, his breath hot against her skin. "Be right back. Don't wanna forget where we left off." Then, with a rapacious smile, he turned for the bedroom, heading to retrieve what had been asked of him. It took him barely a minute to find what she wanted – the two vials were easy to identify by now – and he set them on the table beside Yennefer as he leaned over her again, straddling her to kiss her neck and breasts again.

"Your hands," Yennefer reminded him, breathlessly. "Clean your hands. I don't want an infection."

Geralt chuckled, grabbing the green vial and popping it open it to pour a few drops onto his hands, before he leaned down to kiss her again, using his now-clean hand to start to unlace her trousers. His other hand moved to her breast, caressing it over the material of her jacket, and Yennefer moaned as she felt his strong hand massaging her, reaching up to hold the back of his hand as he worked. She could feel her nipples growing erect through her blouse, and she bit her lip, taking a shuddering breath in, feeling as his other hand moved into her trousers at last, sliding down into her frilly underwear. Giving a soft gasp, Yennefer rocked against his fingers, leaning her head back against the table for support, only to feel as her husband leaned in over her, his scruffy beard brushing enticingly against her skin.

"You miss that?" Geralt asked, pulling down one side of her jacket to expose her breast, and Yennefer moaned as he closed his mouth around her nipple, sucking gently as his other hand worked beneath her. She had no idea what to do with herself, what to do with her hands, feeling her toes curl in her boots, and she wet her lips as she squirmed against the table, her dark hair fanning out in a wild mess behind her. Her hands shook as she moved them to her jacket, opening the buttons with a clumsiness uncharacteristic of her, before she pulled it open at last to expose her blouse, not even bothering to take it off all the way. That would require movement, movement she could not convince herself to do right now – not while he rubbed and fucked her, causing her to gasp as she felt his fingers slide up inside her.

"Geralt," she breathed, nearly begging him, feeling as her breasts heaved pleadingly against the restraints of her blouse, and Geralt leaned down to kiss her neck again, pressing up against her, letting her feel him hard against her leg. She gasped at the warmth of his cock against her thigh, pulsating eagerly as it waited its turn, and she let out another shuddering breath as he pushed her blouse up with his free hand, cupping her now-exposed breast in his palm. He rubbed and flicked at her sensitive nipple with his thumb, causing her to keen as she writhed into his touch again; she loved this, this wild agony, this pleasure and closeness they had been denied for too long.

Pulling his face down to hers again, Yennefer kissed him, messy and reckless, letting her teeth skate gently across his lip as he moved away, trailing kisses down her cheek and across her jawline. "You're so wet," Geralt growled in her ear, and Yennefer shuddered, her thighs trembling with the sound of his voice; it had been too long since she had heard him speak like this, felt the warmth of his wild breath against her neck. It had been too long since she had felt his strong hands on her, the scratch of his beard against her skin, and she gasped, her breath nearly staggering as a shock of adrenaline ran through her at his words.

She could feel a warmth coursing through her, the sensation of ecstasy nearly causing her to laugh in frenzy, before she heard her husband give a low hum, sliding his wet hand from her trousers at last. Abandoning her breast for a moment, Geralt knelt down in front of her, starting to slide off her boots, and Yennefer made a face as she felt him take them off, trying not to think of what fingerprints he might he leaving. She did not have long to consider, however, before she felt him starting to pull down her trousers next, letting them drop to the floor with her boots before moving on to her panties, sliding them down her slender legs as well.

"Put those in a chair, please," Yennefer instructed him, only to watch as he grinned widely up at her, doing as he was told, setting her trousers and panties aside carefully before kneeling in front of her again. She could feel his strong hands on her legs as he parted them, his fingers digging eagerly into the flesh of her thighs, and she let out a sharp moan and gasp as he went down on her, his face prickly and warm between her thighs.

She had almost forgotten how this felt, having spent so many weeks away from her husband's longing touch, but she was only too glad to be reminded, and she shifted her legs up and over his shoulders, straddling his face. She could feel his beard tickling the inside of her thighs, his breath hot and eager between her legs, and she let out a gasping laugh as she felt his hands move to grab her ass, leaving pink fingerprints in her skin.

"Be careful with that," Yennefer scolded him, letting out another breath as she leaned back, starting to massage her own breasts again, feeling as her toes curled with ecstasy against his back, her teeth digging into her lip as she moaned. His talented tongue sent a shiver through her, causing her hips to arch, her hands to squeeze, and she let out a strangled breath as she squirmed against the table, feeling her body quake with anticipation. Moving her hands to the tablecloth instead, she gripped it, sucking her lips between her teeth, having to resist the urge to press her knees together around his head in ecstasy.

"Don't stop," Yennefer begged him, breathlessly. "Please… don't stop. Keep going, Geralt." Reaching down, she ran her fingers through his hair, clenching her fists around handfuls of wild white, before she felt another spike of adrenaline rush through her at his prompting, making her body quiver with ecstasy. She could feel her legs shaking on his shoulders, her body reacting to every pass of his gifted tongue, and she gave a sharp shudder as something released inside her at last, wracking her body with pleasure. She could feel his hands squeezing her ass as she came, before he leaned back, seeming more than pleased with himself, moving her legs from his shoulders with a wild grin as he kissed up her body again, his beard glistening in the lamplight.

Peeling her jacket off her shoulders, Geralt tossed it aside with the rest of her clothes, before next pulling her blouse up and over her head, letting it fall to the wayside as well. "Gods, you're beautiful," he breathed, feeling his cock pulse hard against the lacing of his trousers. "Like something out of a dream. Can't believe you're really my wife."

"I sometimes find it hard to believe as well," Yennefer admitted, chuckling as she reached out, pulling him in again. Her lips pressed hard against his, smearing her face with glittering wet, and he grinned like an animal as he ran his hands through her dark hair, letting his mouth all but devour hers. Taking hold of the edge of his shirt, Yennefer pulled it up, tossing it over his head to the floor, before she next set to unlacing his trousers, allowing his cock to tent freely in his soft boxers as the fastening came loose. Geralt was quick to join her initiation, eagerly kicking off his boots as he leaned in to kiss her again, fumbling with the rest of his clothes until he finally managed to pull them all off, tossing them thoughtlessly aside towards the bedroom door.

Now free of his restraining clothes, Geralt picked up his wife again, balancing her on his waist, feeling her wet legs wrap around him as he held her up, starting to move away from the table. "Don't forget—" Yennefer began to say, but Geralt already knew what she wanted, and he quickly snatched up the two vials again, holding them awkwardly between his fingers as he pressed his hand against her back, supporting her. Yennefer wrinkled her nose as the cold glass pressed against her skin, but she found she could not mind at all, kissing her husband as he turned from the table again to begin walking further into the house.

"Where are you taking me?" she insisted, holding his face in her hands as she kissed him again, breathlessly; she could easily have looked, but the only thing she cared to see right now was her husband, and he, her.

"You'll see," Geralt answered, grinning into her lips as he returned her kisses, just as breathlessly, before he pushed open the heavy door of the trophy-room with his knee, shouldering his way inside.

The lantern-lights danced across Yennefer's skin as Geralt pressed her up against the wall, kissing her passionately, and she kissed him back just as zealously, holding on tightly, loath to let go again, even to see where she was. She managed to look up at last as their lips parted, allowing them both a moment to catch their breath, before she reached up to take hold of the two heads mounted on either side of her, gripping on tightly. "You're lucky I've enchanted these to stay up," she told him, biting her lip as he kissed her neck again, pushing up against her; she could feel his cock hot against her leg, wet and eager with precum as he gripped her thighs around his waist. "I had a feeling we'd wind up here eventually. I'm tired of things breaking on us. First the unicorn, then the swing…"

"Doesn't mean we can't still try," Geralt grinned, his voice a low growl. "See which ones can hold up to us." He kissed her neck again, and then her lips, taking in the sweet taste of her tongue, before he felt her gasp into the kiss, letting out a soft moan as she slid down over his waiting cock. She gave a small shudder as he entered her, pressing her shoulders back against the wall, her grip tightening around the leshen's antlers and griffin's mane on either side of her as she rocked her hips into his.

"Don't stop," she breathed, rolling her head back as he kissed her neck again, pushing up inside her; she could feel her hands shaking on the mounted heads, her body quivering with every touch, every thrust. He kissed her neck, her collar-bone, his wet beard brushing her ear as he buried his face in her shoulder, and she let out another shaking moan as he fucked her, each thrust more needing and fervent than the last. "Tell me about the leshen," she begged, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down her neck and between her breasts. "Tell me how you slew the monster. Your triumph against the beast. Tell me about my husband the witcher."

"Was a contract in Fayrlund, in Skellige," Geralt panted, thrusting up again, hearing her moan with pleasure. "Small village had a ritual to test its warriors. Sent 'em out into the wood to face the leshen." He pushed up again, pressing his body against hers, feeling her erect nipples against his chest, and he took a sharp breath to continue, nearly growling for air as he kissed her neck, readjusting his sweaty hands on her thighs. "Most who set out to do it were killed, but the leshen kept coming back," he added, breathlessly. "No one knew why. Turned out… it'd marked one of the villagers. Had her sent away, then killed the leshen. Made sure it wouldn't come back to kill again."

"My husband the monster hunter," Yennefer laughed, rolling her shoulders back as their bodies rocked in sync. "Tell me about the griffin next. Tell me how you bested the mighty creature."

Geralt looked up, taking a shuddering breath, meeting eyes with the griffin as he thrust again; that griffin, he remembered, had been his last contract with Vesemir, the last time he and the old witcher had hunted side-by-side. He had had no idea at the time that that contract would be one of the last times he saw his mentor, before the Wild Hunt came to Kaer Morhen and the old man was taken from him forever. Shaking his head, he pushed a swath of dark hair from Yennefer's shoulder, kissing her ear instead, trailing his way across her jaw to meet her lips and taking them in hungrily with his own. "Don't wanna think about that one," he told her, breathing heavily into the kiss. "Don't wanna think about monsters anymore. Only wanna think about you. Missed you so much, Yen."

He kissed her again, his hands secure on her thighs as he rocked up and into her, feeling her encompass him; she was warm, and wet, and beautiful, and he pushed up again, hearing her keen longingly into his ear. "Love you so much," he told her, his voice a low growl as he thrust again, breathing hot against her skin, and she gave another high-pitched moan in return, pressing back against the wall as he moved up inside her. He could feel her legs wrapping tighter around his back as he fucked her, feel her shudder against him, her body shaking with ecstasy, and he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her womanhood.

He could feel as she rolled her hips against his, holding herself sturdy against the mounted heads, though he could tell her arms were starting to shake with the effort, her palms growing pink and sweaty on their holds. He could feel her body trembling against him, her breasts heaving with sweat, though whose it was was impossible to tell, and he grunted as he pushed up inside her again, harder, faster, watching her bite her lip until it paled. He had given her this, he knew – given her his love, in the only way he knew how to show it – and he kissed her lips again, breathlessly, taking in the sweetest taste he had ever known.

"The fiend," Yennefer suddenly breathed, causing Geralt to falter, having not expected it.

"The what?" he asked, breathing heavily as well, too dazed to understand what she was asking.

Yennefer gasped, nearly hiccupping as she looked over towards the mounted head on the back wall. "The fiend," she repeated, more insistently this time. "I want to fuck against the fiend." Letting go of the mounted heads on either side of her, she pressed her hands gently against his shoulders, and he did as he was told, letting her slide off his cock with a shuddering breath as their bodies parted. She wavered as her feet touched the floor, her legs still adjusting to supporting her on their own, before she pulled him down to kiss her again, the wild spark in her eyes causing a warmth to shoot through him, collecting in his gut.

It had been too long since he had felt this way, weeks since the last time he had been intimate with Yennefer, but he swallowed the building feeling down again, not allowing himself to even think about coming before she said it was time. Instead, he bent, picking her up in a bridal carry, causing her to yelp in laughter as she was lifted off her feet, before he turned to start carrying her towards the fiend, watching as she lowered it down to eye level with a wave of her slender wrists. He could feel his medallion hum against his chest as the taxidermy creaked and wavered down the wall, until it finally came to stop in position with a deep groan, like the sound of a heavy wagon at rest. Yennefer smiled, her plush lips curling with cat-like contentment as she looked up at him again, proud of her work, only to give another surprised gasp as he flipped her to face the beast, holding tight to the front of her thighs as she gripped its massive antlers.

"Lubricate before you go in," Yennefer reminded him, looking back, causing him to groan, not wanting to stop. "I mean it, Geralt. I'd rather wait than do anything unprepared."

Geralt let out a heavy sigh, but he did as he was told, letting her down gently, before he headed back over to his desk, grabbing both potion vials and pouring out a sampling of both, applying them thoroughly. With everything taken care of, he returned to his wife, grabbing her up by the thighs again, hoisting her up to his waist and causing her to give a soft yelp of surprise as he entered her from the back. It had been months since she had last let him do this, and he gave a grunt of pleasure as he slid easily in, hearing her gasp and moan as she rocked her lithe body against the snarling maw of the fiend. The creature glared out at them from the wall with its three massive glass eyes, each easily the size of a grapefruit, watching as the witcher drove up inside his wife, pressing her breasts against the beast's coarse fur as he fucked her.

Yennefer shouted in pleasure as they gained momentum, her body rocking, legs shaking as he gripped her thighs, their movement causing the taxidermy to groan with the strain they were putting it under. She moaned in response to the noise, arching her back, feeling her body slide eagerly over his, biting her lip as she threw her wild hair back, rolling her shoulders to match his power. "Don't stop," Yennefer breathed, shuddering again as she felt him thrust up, harder than before, her legs giving a faint jerk against his palms as he pushed inside her, his beard dripping with sweat. He could feel sweat running down his body, dripping from the fangs of the wolf's head against his chest, trickling down the indents of his scars and across his wife's back as he fucked her, harder, faster.

"You like that?" Geralt panted, going in again, feeling his medallion leap against his chest as he moved; Yennefer gasped, the sound of sweat on sweat nearly deafening as their bodies met, causing her entire form to shake. Geralt gritted his teeth as he continued, looking up at the fiend as he drove into his wife again with a lustful growl, baring his teeth at the monster snarling back at him, knowing he was the one who had put it in its place. Clearing Yennefer's hair from the back of her neck, he pushed the raven swathe over her shoulder, tangled with sweat, before he leaned forward to kiss the glistening angles of her shoulder-blades, thrusting in again. Yennefer moaned, her shoulders rolling back, her thighs vibrating in his hands as their bodies met, before Geralt suddenly bit back a gasp and a hiss, feeling the building tension start to ache in the pit of his stomach again.

"Gonna come," he breathed, kissing her back again. "Need to turn around. Know you like it better that way."

"Clean off," Yennefer insisted, breathlessly. "Clean off, quickly. I want you to come inside me."

Geralt grunted, doing as he was told, sliding out carefully and allowing Yennefer a moment to compose herself, before he grabbed up the bottle of cleansing decoction again, giving his cock a healthy washing down. Once done, he returned to Yennefer again, catching her lips with his as she turned to face him, giving her barely a moment to catch her surprised breath before her mouth was filled with the taste of his again. Yennefer wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling as his hands moved to grip her ass, holding on tightly, before she looked up into his eyes, taking a sharp breath as she felt his wet cock against her stomach.

"Get down on the rug," she told him, breathlessly. "I want all the monsters to see."

Geralt grinned, obeying immediately, taking her hand and kissing it as he lay down on the rug in front of her, and Yennefer smiled down at him as she straddled him, sliding down over him again with a warm moan of pleasure. He could feel her encompass him, her hands on his scars petal-soft as she rocked her body with his, her dark hair wild and dripping with sweat as she rode him on towards orgasm. He could feel the pressure building, the white-hot knot in the pit of his stomach, and he hissed as he reached up to take her thighs, feeling them shudder under his sturdy palms. Yennefer panted, throwing back her head, letting out a soft, almost giddy laugh as she looked around the room, taking in the glassy eyes of the beasts on the walls as she moved her hands to her breasts again, massaging them eagerly.

She could tell as well as he could what was about to happen, and she bit her lip, her hips moving to the rhythm of his, before he finally felt a great tremor course through him, sending warmth through his body and up into hers. Yennefer gasped as she felt him come, felt the shudder and jolt of his body into hers, felt the heat of ecstasy inside her as Geralt let out a bark of pleasure, his shoulders growing rigid, and then relaxing. He could feel the aftershocks coursing through him, sending small sparks of pleasure through him as his body finally subdued, and he panted, staring dizzily at the ceiling as Yennefer draped herself across his chest, running her hands lovingly down his scars. Her hands were so small, he thought, so delicate, and he picked one up, bringing it to his lips to kiss it, watching as she smiled up at him, her hair falling in wild curtains across her face.

"I suppose you missed me during my time away," Yennefer told him, causing him to chuckle at the observation.

"A little," Geralt admitted, picking up her other hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

Yennefer let out a soft, fond titter, allowing him another moment to dote, before she pulled her hands back again, leaning in over him and kissing him again, gently. Geralt kissed her back, feeling her soft lips on his, the taste of her tongue in his mouth like sugar, and he grinned as she finally broke the kiss again, staring down intently into his golden eyes. "Don't ever leave me like that again," she told him, reaching up to brush a lock of white hair from his face. "I could hardly stand it, though I knew it was necessary. I never wish for it to be necessary again."

"Never leaving this spot, if I can help it," Geralt answered, running his hands lovingly down her soft thighs.

Yennefer chuckled, leaning in to kiss him again, gently, feeling as his hands moved up her thighs and over her waist, before she slid off onto the rug beside him, trailing her fingers across his chest to coax him up. "Come on," she told him, moving her hand to his face to run her fingers across his beard. "We've things to do, and we've already wasted enough time. Regis and Dandelion will be wondering where we've gone."

"They know where we are," Geralt answered, sitting up to join her, before pushing himself to his feet with a grunt. Then, reaching down, he pulled Yennefer to her feet as well, before drawing her in for another long kiss. Yennefer wrinkled her nose, unable to help smiling as she felt his lips on hers again, before she gave another soft, incredulous laugh as she felt his cock hard against her hip again, ready for another round.

"You're incorrigible," Yennefer told him, looking up disbelievingly into his smiling eyes.

Geralt chuckled. "I'm a lot of things," he answered, before tilting her chin up for another kiss.

They had barely managed to leave the trophy-room before they began again, fucking in the hallway, and then next in the breakfast-nook, until they finally managed to make their way back to the master bedroom. It was tradition to end up in their bed, and they had spent too long out of one another's embrace to resist it, and Geralt panted as he stared dizzily at the ceiling, feeling sweat pooling beneath him on the bed. His wet hair stuck to his neck and face, spreading out in damp feathers across his pillow, and he reached out a loving hand to Yennefer's dark waves, combing through them as she rested her head on his chest. He could still smell her sweet, floral perfume, drowning out the mingled scent of sex and sweat on the air, and he gave a low hum as he lifted a lock of her hair to his nose for a wistful whiff.

"You smell so good," he told her, holding her close as she slid her knee over his leg.

Yennefer chuckled, softly. "So you keep telling me," she returned. "If anyone else told me so, I think I'd be horrified. I suppose it's only a compliment coming from a witcher." She paused, seeming to think a moment, before she finally turned, moving her leg between both of his, folding her arm across his chest and resting her chin on the back of her hand, her expression thoughtful. "You never did tell me what your new task was," she reminded him, the observation taking him by surprise. "I'm not sure if that was intentional, but I do think it's important I know. It needs to be done, as little as we might like it."

Geralt frowned, trailing his fingers through her hair, wishing he could have avoided this conversation just a bit longer. "Guess there's no way around it," he said, letting out a sigh. "O'Dimm said… had to pick one or the other. Shani or the baby."

Yennefer faltered, her pretty brow furrowing. "What for?" she asked. "To send the other away?"

Geralt shook his head. "No," he answered. "Said I had to pick one to… live. Wanted me to kill the other."

Yennefer raised her brows, her lips drawing in concern, though she did not move from his chest. "Well, you can't do that," she said after a moment, her statement firm, as if she had already decided for him.

Geralt nodded, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in closer, kissing her head. "I know," he agreed. "Obviously I won't. Just… can't see any other way around it." He paused, resting his nose and mouth against her soft hair, breathing in her calming scent. "Wording was so specific," he added, quieter. "More than last time. O'Dimm's getting wise."

"Even so, he surely can't force you to go through with this," Yennefer insisted, reaching out to touch his medallion, hoping to distract herself. "What happens if you refuse?"

Geralt shrugged. "No idea," he admitted. "Willing to fight it to the end, though."

Yennefer nodded, picking up his medallion to turn it over between her fingers, inspecting it thoughtfully, before she finally let it drop back to his chest, running her slender fingers over a scar on his pectoral instead. "I know you are," she said after a moment, meditatively. "My only worry is that… if you don't choose, we may end up losing both. O'Dimm is vicious, Geralt, and evil. He has no qualms about hurting people – especially those you love." She paused, pursing her lips, her pristine brows drawing into a hard, anxious line, before she let out another long breath, her shoulders growing stiff against his hand as he held her close.

"If you had to do it…" she began, before trailing off, unable to finish the thought.

Geralt grunted. "Had to do it, I'd save Shani," he answered, frankly. "No question. Shani's more important."

Yennefer paused at his answer, as if having to take a silent moment to think it over. "I… don't agree," she finally told him, quietly. "I know you love Shani, Geralt, but… that baby is the most important thing in the world to her. She told me, while we were travelling, that if anything were to happen to her, she wanted me to save her baby. I think she would be heartbroken if anything befell it—especially if she knew we had any other choice." She stopped, quieting again at the thought, her violet eyes distant, seeming to ponder for a while, before she finally turned to look up at him again, as solemn as he had ever seen her. "I think, if we had to choose one or the other… I'd have to honour Shani's wishes and save her baby," she said.

Geralt frowned, realizing he should have known his wife would have a different point of view on the matter; Shani had asked the same of him some time ago, but he had not wanted to hear it then, and even less so now. "Don't agree," he answered, shaking his head. "Choosing Shani means Shani gets to live, Yen. Harsh as it sounds… might have another kid someday. Can't do that if she's dead." He huffed, leaning back against his pillow, staring up at the ceiling as he ran his fingers through his wife's soft hair, wondering if O'Dimm had known from the start that this would be a point of contention between himself and Yennefer. There was no way the demon could not have known, he realized, as everything he had ever done had only served to drive them further apart, and he gave a low hum as he wet his lips, realizing he was playing right into O'Dimm's hands by continuing to argue.

"Pretty sure… original offer's still on the table," he added after a moment, speaking quieter, unsure if that was the right thing to say. "Losing the baby now means… you could have your own. Know you always wanted that."

Yennefer faltered, seeming surprised, before she sat up in bed, looking down at him with a betrayed expression. "Not at the expense of Shani's child," she objected, sounding hurt. "I never wanted that—I told you as much, Geralt. I won't kill another woman's child for my own selfish gain. I'm shocked that you still think I might." She paused, looking down to her slender legs, tucking a lock of flustered hair behind her ear, and Geralt held his breath as he watched her, wondering if he had hurt her in a way she could not forgive. "There's nothing more precious to a mother than the health and wellbeing of her child – you know that as well as I do," she told him, softly. "And if it ever came down to a choice between myself and Ciri… I would expect you to choose Ciri every time."

Geralt set his jaw, realizing he should have known Yennefer would see reflections of herself in Shani's situation – and he knew she was right, that either one of them would gladly give their life to protect Ciri. Still, there was an undeniable difference between Ciri, a grown woman, and Shani's unborn baby, and he took a deep breath, reaching out to gently brush a lock of hair away from Yennefer's shoulder. Yennefer jumped, having been lost in thought, before she turned to look back at him again, her expression weary. "I know it's frightening to think about," she told him, speaking as if she had not taken a long pause to think about Ciri. "But we may not have a choice in the matter, Geralt. We have to consider how we might begin to adapt to a life without Shani."

She hesitated, turning away from him again at the thought, her violet gaze falling to the floor for a moment, before she finally took a deep breath, looking up towards the bookshelves, staring with an intensity Geralt had only ever seen from her right before casting a rigorous spell. "There's so much about raising a baby we don't know," she admitted, still quietly, trying to keep her voice from wavering. "We need to learn, and quickly, so we aren't taken completely by surprise. Not to mention everything else we'd have to deal with, if anything were to happen to her." She stopped, her pretty brow furrowing, before she turned to look back at Geralt again, her expression tense.

"What would become of her practice?" Yennefer insisted. "Not to mention her parents—or her friends, for that matter? We don't even know her last name, Geralt. I'm not sure how we're supposed to handle her affairs."

Geralt grunted. "Just proves my point," he said, bluntly. "Be better to save Shani. Less up in the air."

"You keep saying that," Yennefer insisted, turning to look at the bookshelves again, her expression solemn. "And I think you believe your logic. But how do you intend to get Shani to agree to losing her child?" She paused, thinking about it, before she turned to look back at him again, her violet eyes stark. "Or do you intend to do it underhandedly?" she asked. "In a way she might not realize has to do with you at all? How will you deal with the fallout of Shani losing her child so late into her pregnancy? Have you even considered that?"

Geralt steeled his lips, taking a moment to consider. "Milva miscarried while we were travelling with the hansa," he said after a while. "Only bled for a little while. Needed a few days' rest. Was over the whole thing in a couple weeks, at most."

Yennefer paused, before making a face, her expression half bewildered, half distressed by the thoughtless comparison. "Milva was only three months pregnant," she told him, sounding very much like she was trying to soften her rigid tone. "At nearly eight months, it's no longer a miscarriage. It's a stillbirth—born, but no longer living. Shani would be inconsolable to lose her pregnancy so late, I'm sure… not to mention the medical repercussions from a stillbirth. It's horrifying to even think about—forcing her to go through labour, just to deliver a child that's already dead." She stopped, her pink lips pursing, looking for a moment as if she were trying very hard not to be sick or cry, and Geralt felt his stomach twist, half at her expression, half at the thought of Shani losing her baby.

"It would traumatize her, and she might never recover from it – and neither might anyone else, including you," Yennefer added after a moment, quietly. "Are you truly prepared to deal with that? Holding your unbreathing child, knowing you were responsible for its death?" She paused again, her pretty brow furrowing, her expression twisting as her nose flattened in a sickened scowl, and Geralt felt his chest tighten at the sight, at the vivid thought of the lifeless child in his arms. It was truly horrific when she put it like that, and he knew that was exactly her intent, but he found he could not be angry at her when he knew she was only telling the truth.

"Are you so cold-hearted that you could truly make that choice, to trade the life of a woman's child for her own?" Yennefer asked him, gravely. "If you are, then perhaps you're not the man I thought. Perhaps I don't really know you at all."

"Not fair, Yen," Geralt answered, his teeth clenching sharply at the black and white comparison. "You willing to be the one to kill Shani so her baby can live? Ready to take a good friend's life, to save her child?"

"Yes," Yennefer answered, bluntly, turning her violet eyes up to him with a determined flash. "If it means her child can live, then I'm prepared to do it. I think she would want me to. I truly believe that."

Geralt hummed, the sound low and solemn in his chest. "Don't believe you," he told her, shaking his head. "How d'you intend to tell the kid what happened to his mother, when he's old enough to ask? Know he will."

"I'll tell him the truth," Yennefer answered, her expression never moving, though he could tell his question had taken her by surprise – he could see the tiny catch of her breath, the uncertain flutter of her lashes that meant she was speaking unprepared. "That his mother died bringing him into this world. That she was a dear friend, and a wonderful mother, and that she wanted nothing more than a chance for him to live a good life."

Geralt huffed, his gaze never leaving Yennefer's, waiting to see if she might flinch, might think twice and change her mind, but she only stared back just as determinedly, hardly even breathing as she waited for him to back down as well. "Can't do it," he finally said, letting out a hard breath as he looked down to the sheets, his expression drawn. "Can't condone killing Shani. Even to save her baby. Seems like the wrong decision."

Yennefer paused, continuing to watch him for moment, before she finally let out a quiet sigh, the rigidity of her posture softening, as if uncertain this was a victory she cared to win. "I suppose our opinions will never reflect one another," she admitted, her voice almost too quiet to hear. "But… I won't stay with a man who would kill his own child. Should you actually go through with killing Shani's baby, I will leave. My mind won't be changed on that." She paused again, allowing the finality of the statement to hang in the air like a bitter chill, before she finally took another deep breath, pushing herself out of bed and heading for the clothing-chest.

"We've wasted enough time," she insisted, the words sounding hollow, as if even she did not believe she could move on so quickly. "We should get back to our duties. Dandelion and Regis are sure to be worried about us by now."

"They know where we are," Geralt answered, still loath to leave the bed yet, though he knew there was no chance of Yennefer coming back. "Don't wanna end things with a fight. Just got back. Hoped we could have at least one peaceful day."

Yennefer paused, seeming to think for a moment, her movement slowing as she pulled her jacket over her blouse, before she turned to look back at him again, still buttoning distractedly as she let out a melancholy sigh. "I wish we could have any peace again," she admitted, flipping her hair out of her collar and onto her shoulders. "I wish we'd never gotten involved in any of this. Peace was all I wanted, when I moved out here. Now, we've only this." She frowned, her pink lips pursing, her violet eyes growing solemn as she looked to the floor, not wanting him to see her upset, before she smoothed her jacket with a soft huff, looking down to her still-bare feet on the bedroom rug.

"I don't want to fight with you, Geralt," she told him, looking up at him again after a moment, her voice soft. "But I fear these tasks will only continue, growing worse, until there's nothing left of us anymore."

Geralt hesitated, taken aback, before he quickly pushed himself out of bed, crossing to meet his wife; Yennefer seemed surprised for a moment, but she soon settled down again as he pulled her in close, embracing her. "Don't care what tasks I'm given," he told her, burying his face in her raven hair. "Not even death could separate us. Not permanently. Like to see O'Dimm find something stronger than that."

Yennefer faltered, seeming uncertain, before she finally took a step back, leaving his embrace. "I wish I had your confidence," she told him, giving him a sad, almost lightless smile. "But if he truly does force you to kill Shani or her baby for this… I'm afraid he might've already found it."

---

Yennefer had disappeared to the library after their reunion, claiming to have remembered something she wanted to look into for her research, which had left Geralt the rest of the day to catch up with Dandelion and Regis on their exploits. Regis had had nothing more to add, having already told Geralt about his time away before anyone else, but Dandelion was only too happy to fill the void, telling the witcher all about how he had added another few verses to his song. He had convinced his friends to listen – Regis willingly, Geralt a bit more reluctantly – but Geralt found he could hardly concentrate on the tune with his mind still so preoccupied with thoughts of Yennefer.

"So they travelled in troupe, to the edge of the sea – to Blaviken, a-waiting their next depart…" Dandelion sang. "When a scar-face'd lover—to the Wolf, like a brother—came to aid, and captured the rowan's heart. O'fate—"

Geralt faltered, lifting a hand as he felt his medallion give a sudden hum against his chest, and Dandelion stopped at the interruption, pressing his hand to his lute as he waited for some critique. "Is something wrong?" he asked, expectantly. "I admit I wasn't quite sure how to write Eskel into the story. He seemed like an important part, but I suspect listeners might be wanting a romance between the Wolf and the rowan."

"It's fine," Geralt answered, shortly. "Wolf's married. Rowan can do whatever she wants." He frowned, turning to look at Regis, who seemed not to have noticed anything was amiss, before he turned his attention back to Dandelion again, letting out a soft sigh as he waved a hand for him to continue. "Sorry," he said. "Thought I felt something. Yen's probably just casting another spell. Keep going."

Dandelion hesitated, seeming unsure, before he finally lifted his lute again, continuing his song, but Geralt found he could not concentrate on the words this time, still wondering what had caused his medallion to react. If it truly was Yennefer casting again – or perhaps opening a portal, or using her megascope to contact someone – he had to wonder what she was doing, or where she was going, that she would not think to inform him beforehand. The tune did not last for too much longer, as it seemed Dandelion had been waiting to hear what Geralt had been up to before continuing, but Geralt only shook his head as it finished, getting up from his seat, not ready to discuss it yet.

Dandelion frowned, exchanging a glance with Regis, before he looked up to Geralt again, muting his instrument. "Yen told us you were in Skellige," he offered, warily, clearly trying not to pry too deeply. "If you like, I can just… gloss over that bit, for now. Say you were looking for something in the isles to help us."

"Or perhaps," Regis suggested, astutely, "you could instead focus the narrative on the bard's travels with the rowan and her scar-faced lover. An audience cannot be invested in a romance about which they know nothing, after all."

Geralt had hummed at the suggestion, glad to have the focus off himself and his tasks for a while, before he turned to head for the door of the house, excusing himself from further talk of Dandelion's ballad. The night was cool as he left the manor, moving to sit on the portico bench just outside, and he lifted his head as he felt a gentle breeze blow across the property, stirring his snowy hair around his shoulders. He had not seen Yennefer all evening, not since the disastrous end to their otherwise perfect reunion, and he let out a long sigh as he looked down to his boots, wondering if their lives would ever be able to return to normal. He had had such high hopes for this reunion, hopes that had been ultimately shattered by O'Dimm's newest task, and he narrowed his lips as he stared at the ground, wondering if he was a fool to keep hoping things could ever get better.

"I deserve to be happy," he repeated to himself, feeling a pang of insincerity, even as he said it; before Yennefer, he had never considered a happy ending something he deserved, and even now, he found it difficult to convince himself. O'Dimm had said that he deserved nothing, which was what was commonly accepted for witchers, as he knew—but he found he could not accept that anymore, knowing what a life without happiness felt like. It felt like months on the road, riding through battlefields slurried with blood, looking for any sign of Yennefer; it felt like being pulled in every direction looking for Ciri, not knowing who would try to hurt her first. It was torment, too much for him to bear, and he realized that that was where his happiness had always lain – in Yennefer, and Ciri, and everyone else he cared for, everyone who made his life worth living.

He screwed up his face at the thought, realizing he had known that all along, though he had at times been loath to admit it; his happiness had always rested in those around him, even during his years most convinced he was better off alone. That was why he travelled with Dandelion, despite always telling the bard how much of a nuisance he was, and why he had leaned so heavily on Yennefer during his tasks, even knowing how much they might hurt her. He needed her to keep him stable, to keep him going when he might have given up on his own – he needed something to look forward to, something to come home to, even knowing he never came back the same man she saw leave. It was unfair to Yennefer, and in the end, he knew it was her happiness which ultimately suffered, and he let out a dark breath at the thought, wishing he could take back all the decisions he had made to get them where they were now.

He would never have gone to Skellige, he thought; never gone to Kaedwen to fight the vendigo with Eskel; never taken Ciri's contract, and so never been forced to deal with Gaunter O'Dimm again. He would never have written to Regis about the mula, because he would never have taken the contract to fight it – that, or the zeugl-cemetaur, or the very first alghoul, all those months ago. Pushing himself up from the bench, Geralt let out a grunt, looking over to the kestrel in the tree, noting that it had taken up its post on the branch, nestled in for a restful night's sleep. It was assuring to have Regis around, and Dandelion, though he knew his misadventures were as much a strain on them as they were on him and Yennefer, and he let out another tired breath, starting to turn for the house to head back inside.

"Master witcher?"

Geralt stopped at the voice, feeling a sinking sensation start to well in the pit of his stomach, before he turned around slowly to the garden again, where a figure now stood among the cobblestones, staring back at him. Rosie smiled as she rocked on her heels, shoving her hands in her pockets as she watched him in the moonlight, and Geralt wrinkled his nose in a scowl, having half a mind to ignore her and continue inside. She looked as she always did – chipper, eager to talk, her white stockings and shiny shoes so clean it was almost unsettling, her green velvet coat buttoned up to her chin, though the weather was too warm for such attire.

"You," Geralt said, making a face. "Thought you said you couldn't come around anymore."

Rosie shrugged, pulling her hands from her pockets again. "Normally I wouldn't," she agreed, unfazed. "But I managed to get away this time. My father's left me in the care of my uncle for a short while, and he's rather less strict about keeping me inside." She paused, considering him for a moment, looking first at his long hair, and then to his overgrown beard, before she glanced down next to the scars on his arm, taking them in for a bit before continuing. "My father doesn't like me leaving the house," she admitted, looking up to meet his eyes again as she spoke. "He says the world is dangerous outside. He's rather distrustful. Some people say he's unwell."

"Your father keeps you locked in the house?" Geralt asked, feeling his caution start to wane a bit at the news; no matter how annoying she was, he thought, there was no reason she should be locked up like an animal. Still, he knew much less about this girl than he might once have believed, he realized, and he could not help wondering if her father's decision to lock her up was based on something he did not yet know.

Rosie nodded, smoothing her coat. "For my own wellbeing," she agreed. "At least, that's what he's always told me."

Geralt frowned, unsure if he believed her. "Hm," he said after a moment, flatly. "Can't imagine."

Rosie hummed, her pink lips pursing, looking down to inspect her shiny shoes for a moment, before she turned her bright eyes back to the witcher, curiously. "Did you ever find out about those discs?" she asked, unable to hold in her enthusiasm any longer. "I've been ever so curious since you mentioned them. I do so hope you've managed to get them back."

"Got them back," Geralt answered, figuring there was no harm in telling her about them now. "Figure they're cataloguing plates of some sort. Some kind of experiments. Kind they did before you were born."

"So they're old, then?" Rosie asked, intrigued.

Geralt thought for a moment, before shrugging. "Dunno," he answered. "Haven't checked yet. Probably."

Rosie faltered, before her little brow furrowed, looking as disappointed as he had ever seen her. "You haven't checked their age?" she asked, indignantly.

Geralt faltered, having to hold back a dry snort at how solemn she looked in her childlike judgement. "Not that easy," he admitted, still unconcerned. "Never seen some of the numbers, but doesn't necessarily mean they're new. Could just be something I missed a while back."

"Hm," Rosie answered, nodding along sagely. "Well, if they are new, then they must still be doing experiments."

"Maybe," Geralt admitted, shrugging. "Could still be breeding hybrids, I guess. Not sure why they'd want to."

Rosie paused, thinking a moment, rocking pensively on the toes of her shiny shoes, before she finally settled down again with a jingle. "What kind of hybrids?" she asked, curiously.

Geralt thought for a moment. "Necrophages, mostly," he answered. "One insectoid."

"So, creatures with necrotized reproductive organs, then," Rosie concluded. "Apart from the one insectoid."

Geralt faltered, feeling something drop to the pit of his stomach at her unexpected answer. He had almost forgotten who he was talking to for a moment, having gotten so caught up in their conversation, but now, he furrowed his brow, unable to help his suspicion from starting to creep in again. "…How old did you say you were?" he asked, all warmth of before now gone.

Rosie smiled. "I'm six," she answered, brightly.

Geralt nodded slowly. "Big words for a six-year-old to know."

Rosie paused for a moment, before shrugging, reaching up to twirl her pigtail, seeming unfazed by his suspicion. "My father keeps quite a collection of books, master witcher," she told him, honestly. "I've nothing to do but read them."

Geralt frowned, giving a disbelieving grunt. "Can't imagine necrotized organs are a big part of his library," he noted.

Rosie paused again, chewing her lip, before she finally tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat again. "I wouldn't know the percentage," she admitted. "I haven't checked. You certainly ask a lot of questions, for a witcher."

"My job to be curious," Geralt answered, dryly. "Part of the witcher's creed."

Rosie let out a soft sigh. "I suppose," she agreed, seeming to accept it as truth. "So then, in your curiosity, you must have investigated further into the creators of these hybrids. If you've discovered the meaning behind the discs, then surely you must have followed up on them by now."

Geralt faltered again, before shaking his head. "Haven't had a chance," he admitted. "Been dealing with other things."

Rosie frowned, seeming both surprised and disappointed. "Things more important than hybrid monsters?" she asked, disbelieving.

"Yep," Geralt answered. "Small demon problem. Little more important. Don't expect a six-year-old to understand."

Rosie sniffed, turning up her freckled nose at the insult. "You'd think a witcher would know better than to summon demons," she observed, frankly.

"Didn't summon it," Geralt returned, indignantly. "Not that stupid. Wouldn't summon a demon."

"Then why is it your responsibility to deal with it?" Rosie insisted, rocking up on her shiny shoes again. "Unless you summoned it, it shouldn't be your concern. It's not your job to get rid of it."

"Still my job," Geralt answered, bluntly, feeling frustration start to creep up on him, despite himself. "Literally my job. What witchers do. There's an issue, we handle it, then get paid."

Rosie wrinkled her nose at his explanation. "Is it usual for a witcher to take so long on a single contract?" she asked.

"For this demon, yes," Geralt answered, blowing over the insult. "He's tricky. Dealt with him before."

Rosie frowned, seeming surprised now. "If you've dealt with him before, why deal with him again?" she insisted.

Geralt shrugged, folding his arms. "Didn't have a choice," he answered, bluntly. "Don't have time to explain it to a kid."

Rosie nodded, her expression solemn, not seeming to even mind that she had been insulted. "I see," she said after a while. "So that means you've done nothing, then."

"I—" Geralt faltered, feeling the irritation he had been trying to suppress starting to bubble up again, and he settled his hands on his hips, grinding his teeth as he stared down indignantly at the gutsy little girl. "Haven't done nothing—" he started to argue, only for her to look up quickly, her bright eyes sharp.

"It certainly seems you've done nothing," Rosie insisted, cutting over him before he could finish. "You haven't investigated the source of the plates, and you haven't resolved your demon problem. I thought witchers were much more proactive than this. I'm starting to be quite disappointed."

Geralt blanched, taken aback, totally lost on what to say; he had known from the start that the girl had a sharp tongue, but she had turned so quickly into Yennefer he had been entirely unprepared. "Starting to see why your dad's always in such a bad mood," he said, realizing he had no other answer – it was low, and juvenile, but he had no other recourse, and he refused to be browbeaten by a child.

Rosie huffed, smoothing the front of her coat again. "You needn't turn your failings on me, master witcher," she told him. "I'm only observing what you've told me. I'm not to blame for your lack of action."

Geralt scowled at her answer. "Starting to sound a lot like my wife," he observed.

Rosie paused, before looking up again. "I can see why she's always in such a bad mood, then," she returned, bluntly.

Geralt bristled, all calm he had been trying so hard to retain leaving him immediately. "Listen—why the hell are you even here?" he demanded, causing Rosie to falter, looking startled at his raised voice. "Why do you keep coming around here? What do you want from me? Who the hell are you, really?"

Rosie blinked, seeming too surprised to answer for a moment. "I told you," she finally said. "My name is Rosie."

"Know what I meant," Geralt insisted, sharply. "Tell me who you really are."

Rosie shook her head, looking confused. "I'm not sure what to say, master witcher," she told him, honestly. "My name is Rosie. I'm six years old. There's really nothing more to tell."

"Cut the bullshit, kid," Geralt snapped, causing Rosie to close her mouth instantly, her eyes growing wide. "Can start by telling me who the hell your father is. Or better yet—why you never mentioned you were born under the Curse of the Black Sun."

Rosie stiffened at the mention of the Curse, her little hands balling into fists around the edge of her coat. "I…" she stammered, seeming too stunned to answer. "I… don't see how that's relevant—"

"There's a reason your dad locks you up," Geralt insisted, cutting over her before she could speak again. "A reason he doesn't trust anyone. A reason he drinks. All the same reason, aren't they?"

"He says the world is dangerous—" Rosie began, but again Geralt cut her off, not wanting to hear it.

"That's a lie," he insisted, darkly. "Think the only thing dangerous around here is you. Sneak outta the house, just to bring me contracts that nearly kill me? Claim to love witchers, then go out of your way to make me look like a lunatic in front of my wife and friends?" He scowled, planting his hands on his hips again, feeling his face heat with anger as he continued, but Rosie did not respond, only standing perfectly still, her lips pursed in childlike anxiety. She certainly looked like a little girl, Geralt thought, frozen stiff in the spotlight of his ire – but he had seen enough in his life to know that even the most innocent-looking creatures were often the deadliest.

"Plant false information to make me question my sanity—there's no fucking cat at the butcher's, Rosie!" he insisted, throwing out a frustrated hand. "Or whatever your name is – I don't even know! Apparently Rosie isn't it at all! Starting to understand why your dad hates witchers – 'cause his kid is a fucking monster."

Rosie gasped, her eyes growing wide, seeming too stunned for an instant to know what to say. Then, after a moment, her lip began to tremble, and she sniffled, looking down to her little stockinged knees. Taking hold of the hem of her coat with one hand, she used her free sleeve to wipe at her pinkened face, unable to stop a pair of tears from skating down her cheeks, dripping down into the velvet of her coat. "I'm sorry, master witcher," she told him, softly, looking up again as another tear rolled down her rosy cheek. "I'm sorry… I was only trying to help… I shouldn't have interfered. I'm so sorry…"

Geralt faltered, feeling a sickening sense of guilt start to creep over him immediately at the sight of her tears, realizing he had let his anger get the best of him, as much as he had tried to hold it back. She was only a little girl, after all, no matter the circumstances of her birth, and he was so much bigger, so much older, that he had no excuse for the way he had acted. He had lost his head, urged on by stress, and taken it out on her – a child, barely out of her toddler years – and he let out a soft sigh as he took a step forward, holding out a hand to make amends. She had always seemed eager to take his hand before, he thought, even during times when he had not offered it to her, and he hoped she might see it as a gesture of peace and apology from his end this time.

"Rosie—" he began to say, causing her to look up quickly at the sound, seeming startled – and, seeing him closing in on her, she took a step back—

Threw open a portal—

And vanished.

---

The more Geralt thought about his encounter with Rosie, the more he became convinced he had imagined it – there was simply no way a six-year-old could open a portal and disappear through it like that, he knew. Even Ciri, as trained as she was, often had difficulty opening portals of her own; and even Yennefer, who had mastered the art of portalling barely out of Aretuza, had not started using them until she was at least into her teens. The idea that a six-year-old girl could wield that much power – and go completely undetected, he reminded himself – was simply too far a stretch for him to believe, knowing what he knew of the way things worked.

It all seemed like a strange dream now, a hallucination, one he found harder to justify the more he tried; she had set off his medallion when she portalled out, but even that seemed like a fading memory now. He had stayed in the garden for a good ten minutes after she vanished, sure she would reappear from the bushes and reveal she had used some sort of illusion to trick him—or perhaps some other mage would appear, he thought, revealing themselves to be the creator of the portal. But no such thing had happened afterward; there had only been silence, unsettling, unexplainable silence, and eventually he had been forced to head back inside, realizing he would not be learning anything else that night.

Geralt hummed as he reached up a hand to his wolf's head medallion, passing his fingers over it in doubt, before he let out another long breath, realizing he was only stressing himself out more by continuing to fixate. "What the fuck," he muttered, finding himself growing more vexed and confused the more he thought about it – though he realized it would certainly explain a few things, looking back on his last encounters with the girl.

Her ability to go from Beauclair to Corvo Bianco in barely any time at all could easily be attributed to her portalling abilities, as well as why his medallion had gone off right before he had come out to find her waiting in the garden those months ago. Of course, if there really was such a powerful magic-user living so close to Beauclair, then Fringilla would have snapped her up as an apprentice years ago—but she had not, he realized, nor had any other sorceresses of the Lodge, not even Yennefer. Not just that, but the girl had never set off his medallion during the times he had held her hand, or ridden double-saddle with her; she had been in close contact with him then, even touched his swords, and had never shown any sign of magic or monstrosity.

Geralt wrinkled his nose at the thought, allowing his hand to return to his trophy-room desk, before he let out another frustrated sigh, staring down at the discs spread out in front of him. They were in varying stages of disrepair, some blemished with sword cuts, others indecipherable with rust, and he furrowed his brow as he ran his fingers across them, trying to find any sort of discernible pattern. There were three in total – one from the cemetaur, one from the insectoid, and the third from the alghoul – and he grunted as he moved the first two aside, pulling the third to the front to focus on it. As Ciri had noted in the graveyard, this disc was almost completely intact, save for one obscured letter, the metal on that part having been dented in by a deep, diagonal cut where his sword had made contact.

"VA… something," Geralt read to himself, picking up the disc for a better look. "Experiment model two, Specimen one, Alpha version. Could be the first… or the only one, and I killed it." He frowned at the thought, moving the insectoid plate down to set it beside the cemetaur plate, unable to help remembering his conversation with Eskel in Kaedwen as he stared down at the battered discs. Eskel had made a comment back then which had seemed offhanded at the time, but looking back on it, Geralt could not help feeling his fellow witcher might have had a point. Whoever was making these plates had been using them to document something specific, something unique – something he and Eskel had been thoughtlessly slaughtering, as they might any other beast.

Running his fingers along the insectoid plate, Geralt hummed darkly, staring down at the ruined metal, before the sound of his trophy-room door opening behind him caused him to turn, looking to see who had joined him. The door inched tentatively open a crack, before the coiffed plume of a plum hat peered cautiously around the corner, followed by the hopeful face of the bard he had dismissed to Regis' care earlier in the evening.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Dandelion said, his voice quiet, as if afraid he might wake something in the room. "I'd simply noticed Yennefer and Regis had retired to bed, and thought you might be in the mood for some company." He paused, taking a moment to look around, his blue eyes moving captivatedly over the array of heads on the walls, before he turned his attention to Geralt again, sliding into the room and letting the door close quietly behind him. "You look hard at work," he noted, resting his lute under his elbow as he approached the bench. "What're these discs you're looking at? Belt-buckles, perhaps? Horseshoes, for a three-legged horse?"

"Cataloguing plates," Geralt explained, picking up the alghoul disc and handing it over for Dandelion to examine. "Found 'em in the flesh and carapace of different monsters. Trying to figure out where they came from."

"Inside a monster?" Dandelion grimaced, doing his best to touch the disc as little as possible as he turned it over. "Melitele's sake, Geralt—I don't understand how you can go digging around in those things the way you do."

"Not much digging to be done," Geralt answered, picking up the cemetaur disc next to examine it closer. "Found two from just cutting off heads. Eskel found the other one. Peeled right off, he said."

Dandelion set down the disc he had been examining, looking for a moment as if he might be ill. "I'll never understand witchers," he finally announced, gravely. "Thankfully I can write about you entirely from the safety of my own home." Taking a moment to compose himself, he took a deep breath, complete with theatrical hand gesture, before he finally settled down again, picking up the damaged insectoid disc next to examine it more closely. Lifting the disc to the light, he tilted it forward, then back, his boyish face creasing perplexedly, studying the weathered plate as if it held some great secret only he could understand.

"I can't make heads nor tails of this, Geralt," Dandelion finally admitted, setting the disc down again with a dispirited sigh. "I don't suppose you have some sort of… cleansing decoction we can use? Something to clean these up a bit, so we can examine them better?" Prodding at the alghoul disc, he ran his finger along the deep cut obscuring the letter, before he let out another restless huff, looking up at Geralt, who was still examining the cemetaur plate. "I can't imagine Yennefer wouldn't have something like that," he pressed, trying again to get the witcher's attention. "I'm sure she'd let us use it for this if you just ask nicely."

Geralt hesitated, before looking up at the bard, his expression twisting as he considered the question. "…Yeah," he finally answered, speaking slowly. "Yen's got something like that. But…"

"But what?" Dandelion insisted. "If she has it, I'm sure she'll let us borrow it."

Geralt grimaced, setting down the disc again, having to take a deep breath as he thought how to explain. "She's got it," he admitted after a while, still hesitant. "And she lets me use it, but… dunno if she'd let me use it for this. Only ever seems to have a small amount, and usually only uses it during… sex."

Dandelion faltered at this, seeming for a moment not to know what to say. "I see," he finally answered, clearing his throat. "Somehow, I'm not surprised to learn she's that meticulous. But surely if she knows how to make it, she'd be able to make more for the next time you… need it."

Geralt frowned, realizing he could not argue the point, before he finally let out a deep sigh, opening his desk drawer to dig around for the familiar green glass vial. Fishing it out, he set it aside on the desktop, before glancing up at Dandelion again, noting his surprised expression. "I suppose you don't want me to ask," the bard said, looking up at Geralt with knowing eyes.

Geralt shrugged, reaching into the drawer again to pull out a handkerchief, opening the bottle and tipping some liquid onto the cloth. "Could probably guess," he answered, stoppering the bottle again. "Yen wanted to do it on the fiend."

Dandelion hesitated, opening his mouth, seeming for a moment as if he had something to say, before he finally closed it again with a snap, only letting out a confounded huff.

Geralt ignored the bard's reaction, instead pulling the insectoid disc to the front to examine it, before he took a deep breath, picking up the dampened cloth and applying it to the rusted face, starting to scrub. It would take a miracle to clean this, he knew, but he supposed it was worth a try – but, after only a few minutes, he saw that the residue had begun to clear, the metal coming through dark and battered, but missing the layer of rust that had previously obscured it. Geralt hesitated, staring down at the disc, trying not to think too hard about how effective the liquid was, before he set the insectoid plate aside again, pulling the cemetaur disc forward next to start buffing it as well. Once finished with that, he moved on last to the alghoul disc, polishing it clean, before he placed it aside with the others as well, setting the cloth down last and staring at his work with a grim expression.

"You see!" Dandelion exclaimed, gesturing proudly to the discs. "My suggestion was a good one after all."

"Hm," Geralt answered, gravely. "Not sure how I feel, knowing I've been rubbing muriatic acid on my dick."

Dandelion faltered, before letting out a titter, picking up the green ampoule to examine it more closely. "Oh, don't be so melodramatic," he returned, dismissively. "It's more like rubbing vinegar on your penis. Completely harmless."

Geralt frowned, looking over at the bard. "You ever rubbed vinegar on your penis?" he asked, pointedly.

Dandelion huffed, looking up again. "Heavens, no," he answered, affronted. "I have far better self-preservation than that." Setting the vial aside again, he reached instead for the disc he had been examining earlier, lifting the plate to his face and turning it towards the light to better read the scoured writing. He frowned as he squinted at the text, still seeming to have trouble reading the abraded stamp, before he finally let out a thoughtful hum, as if deciding he had found something worth mentioning. "IDR," the bard concluded, holding the plate so close to his nose he might have scuffed it. "IDR…UL-Ex-IX-0001-VA…something. I still can't read the last letter."

"IDR?" Geralt insisted, reaching over to take the disc from Dandelion's hands. "Can't be right. Idarran of Ulivo's been dead for years. No way he could be making more monsters."

"I don't know anything about Idarran of Ulivo," Dandelion admitted, looking over Geralt's shoulder curiously. "But I remember you mentioning yourself you'd killed one of his beasties before. Perhaps Eskel simply found another, as yet undetected."

"Hm," Geralt answered, turning the plate to get a better look at the stamp Dandelion had been inspecting. "Don't think so. The IDR seems right, but the VA… that's new. Don't remember that from last time." He frowned, setting the plate down again, running his finger distractedly along the indented text, before he turned to his display of mementos from the Path, crossing the room to inspect it. "Been thirty years since I killed one of Idarran's experiments," he admitted, checking over each shelf before moving down to the next. "Almost forgot about it 'til I talked to Eskel. Still… that serial number feels off. Don't know why."

Crouching down to check the lowest shelf, Geralt gave a pained grunt as he felt his leg protest – his old injury had not bothered him in a while, not since Fringilla had healed the worst of the pain years ago, but his injury from the fight with the sorceress in his own home had been causing it to act up again recently. He huffed, gritting his teeth as he reached in, moving his hand gingerly along the display, until he finally felt his fingers close around a horseshoe-sized metal shape hiding away in a far back corner. Drawing the plate out gently, he stood to his feet again, letting out a long exhale – he was getting too old for this, he told himself, and he let out a disgruntled hum as he brought the plate back over to the table, holding it into the light.

"There," he said, setting the old plate beside the others. "IDR-UL-Ex-IX-0012-BETA. Idarran of Ulivo, Experiment model nine, Specimen twelve, Beta version. That's what the first one said." Then, looking over to the plate Dandelion had been inspecting, he pointed to its faded stamp instead. "This one's different," he observed, solemnly. "IDR-UL-Ex-IX-0001-VA… something. Still can't make out the last letter."

"So they're variations of the same model," Dandelion agreed, reaching up to stroke his goatee, thoughtfully. "Which means this new insectoid is probably a later experiment. A different version altogether – perhaps far more advanced." He paused, staring down at the plates for a moment, before his brow began to furrow, his lips drawing in a thin line. "But it doesn't make sense," he added, picking up the plates to inspect them side-by-side. "Beta is a scholastic classification used by the academics at Oxenfurt—adapted from a series of ancient runes, originating in Skellige. I remember seeing them used during my years studying at the academy – though never in my particular department, of course… however, I do remember Shani mentioning them whenever we discussed her studies into new medications."

Geralt frowned, having a hard time following. "Don't see the problem," he admitted. "Seems reasonable to me."

Dandelion scoffed. "It's not reasonable at all," he baulked, looking up at the witcher again, insulted. "You see, there was a whole rune alphabet for classifications at Oxenfurt, with each symbol carrying a specific meaning. Beta, seen here, means it's not yet ready for distribution – more advanced than the alpha version, but still not acceptable for general or widespread use."

"Hm," Geralt answered. "And VA?"

At this, Dandelion let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Well that's the thing, Geralt," he said, setting the discs down on the table again with a perplexed expression. "There is no V in the Oxenfurt rune alphabet. Whatever VA means, it's not a standard classification." He paused, staring down at the plates, his usually upbeat visage growing steadily more unsettled, before he looked up at Geralt again with a frown, folding his arms to counter the uncomfortable silence. "What does that other one say?" he asked after a moment, inclining his head towards the plate nearest Geralt's hand.

Geralt picked up the alghoul plate again. "VA… something, Ex-II-0001-ALPHA," he read. "VA, Experiment model two, Specimen one, Alpha version."

"Alpha, you see!" Dandelion exclaimed, pointing a scholarly finger in the air. "That one is a standard classification on the rune alphabet. But look at the letters in front—VA. The same letters as the one stamped IDR."

Geralt frowned, reaching out to pick up the insectoid plate and holding it up as well, comparing the two. Then, after a moment, he set them both down again, finding it hard to comprehend what he was seeing. "You're right, Dandelion," he agreed after a while, staring down at the plates with a grave expression. "This one has VA as the version, this one as the creator. These aren't Idarran's experiments." He hesitated, feeling a cold, unsettling chill run through him at the thought; if someone truly was producing new experiments, then that meant Rissberg's legacy was not as defunct as he once suspected. Someone was still using their studies, still creating unnatural beasts of their morbid design—still continuing the vile legacy of Sorel, and Ortolan, and worst of all, Idarran of Ulivo.

Geralt grimaced, moving the cemetaur plate distractedly down until it touched the other three, not even seeming to realize what he was doing as he stared down at the set of discs in front of him. "Whoever VA is, they leared Idarran's methods and evolved them," he added, darkly, still considering. "Used them to make their own experiments. Got no idea who VA could possibly be, though."

"VA… something," Dandelion mused, thoughtfully. "It could be an abbreviation of sorts."

"Could be," Geralt agreed, his expression hardening. "Could be anything, if that's the case. Rudolf Valaris was in charge of the Order of the White Rose before De Aldersberg… pretty sure he's long dead, though. Vattier de Rideaux was head of military intelligence under Emhyr, but… doubt he'd have the balls to do something like this."

"It could be Valdo Marx, the villain," Dandelion suggested, pursing his lips indignantly at the thought.

Geralt shook his head. "Doubt it's some bard," he answered, frankly. "Wouldn't have the necessary skill."

Dandelion huffed, smoothing his cravat. "Your dismissal of the complexity of bards borders on the offensive," he replied, woundedly. "But alright… if you must disparage my suggestion. It could be initials, then – V.A.… something."

"Var Attre," Geralt guessed quickly, before shaking his head again. "Nah. Got no reason to do this, either. Could be condensed – missing letters. Idarran's shortened to 'IDR'. Who knows what's missing in 'VA'."

"Perhaps," Dandelion considered, looking as deep in concentration as Geralt had ever seen him. "Or perhaps it's not simply one name at all. You said yourself it would take a wide range of skill to replicate Idarran's experiments. Perhaps it's multiple names, pressed together – one person V, one A, and so on."

Geralt hummed, staring down at the discs again, before he finally let out a tired sigh. "Maybe," he agreed, looking up at the bard again. "Don't think we're gonna figure it out tonight, though. Too many options, nothing to back them up. Take us all year just to go through all the 'V' names we know."

"And it could be someone we're unfamiliar with!" Dandelion agreed, letting out an exasperated sigh of his own. "Not to mention that we don't even know if the bastard's still alive. We could be chasing down a ghost!" He frowned again, thinning his lips, staring down at the discs as he propped his hands on his hips, stumped. "This really is quite a perplexing mystery," he admitted, sounding frustrated at the thought. "You really do get up to the most fascinating things, Geralt. I have no idea how you're going to crack this one."

Geralt grunted, staring down at the discs as well, feeling his heart sink as the statement settled over him. "Yeah," he agreed, letting out a tired sigh. "Got no idea either, Dandelion."