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.]

27. Valerian

The morning sun was already streaming through the windows of the master bedroom when Geralt opened his eyes, and he squinted them irritably against its rays, holding up a hand as he groaned, getting out of bed. It was later in the morning than he usually woke, and he glanced over to look for Yennefer beside him, only to let out a grunt as he realized his wife had gotten up before him without bothering to wake him.

Pushing himself out of bed, he crossed to the clothing-chest, dragging out his clothes for the day, before groggily starting to pull them on, wondering if Yennefer might still be upset at him from the day before. She was not known to forgive slights lightly, and never one to back down in a challenge of opinions, he knew, and Geralt hummed low in his chest as he yanked his boots on, wondering if he could possibly avoid more conflict today. He had wanted at least a few pleasant days at home before the darkness of the real world pulled him in again, and he let out a soft sigh as he pushed the bedroom door open, only to stop as the smell of lunch hit him immediately.

Lifting his head, he tracked the scent through the front-room, following it back to the breakfast-nook, only to pause as he reached the entryway, leaning against the frame to watch his wife enjoying her apple juice. It was her favourite, he knew, and with the large wine and sparkling cider economy of Toussaint, it was easier to attain these days—far easier than back when they had first met, all those years ago in Rinde. He remembered that meeting perfectly, and Yennefer as well – hungover, half-dressed, her hair in wild, careless curls across her face, draped like a painting over the sheets of another man's bed, with only one request of the witcher.

She had not even noticed him at first back then, mistaking him for the lover who had left her in such an untidy state, and it was only after he brought her her requested apple juice that she realized she was dealing with someone new, someone much more interesting. That meeting had been fate – a fate brought on by djinn magic, as Ciri had pointed out, but fate nonetheless – and even now, the sweet smell of apple juice brought back fond memories of how much he had loved her, from very first sight.

Yennefer looked up quickly as she finally noticed him in the doorframe, lifting a hand to cover her mouth as she swallowed her last sip down. "Geralt," she said, sounding surprised to see him. "I hadn't intended to wake you. I wanted to let you rest."

"Didn't wake me," Geralt assured her, heading into the nook and dropping down into a chair one away from her. "Just woke up. Something smelled good. Thought you might've started on lunch without me." Finding an empty plate for himself, he began to pile fresh pasta onto his dish from one of the serving-bowls, topping it off with cream sauce and grabbing a fresh apple to save for afterward. "Lunch looks good," he noted, reaching out to grab a few pieces of bread and cheese to pile on his plate as well. "Marlene keeps cooking like this, even my metabolism's gonna have a hard time keeping up."

"You had a visitor drop by this morning," Yennefer informed him, seeming to ignore his comment about the food. "He arrived quite early, while you were still asleep. I told him you were resting, but he insisted on waiting for you."

Geralt frowned, setting his full plate in front of him. "Why didn't you wake me?" he asked. "Seems important."

"I didn't wish to disturb you," Yennefer answered, honestly. "You got to bed quite late last night. You needed your rest."

Geralt hummed, taking a bite of pasta, allowing himself a moment to swallow before responding. "Witchers don't really need sleep," he noted. "We can just meditate. Serves the same purpose."

Yennefer sighed, becoming suddenly very interested in straightening her utensils, her lips growing thin at the thought. "Most don't," she agreed, sounding anxious. "But I've seen the strain you put yourself through regularly, Geralt. A few months travelling with Shani is enough to convince me of the merit of rest, even for a witcher." She paused, staring down at her plate, before she looked up again, her brow furrowing in concern. "This visitor wouldn't give us his name," she said, moving back to the topic of before. "He only told us he knew you from years past, from when you fought together against the North. He refused to divulge more than that until you woke. He had no interest in speaking to myself or Dandelion, and when I told him you were resting, he retreated to Shani's bedroom to wait for you up there."

She paused, making a face, as if remembering just how strange the interaction had been, before she finally let out another soft, harried sigh, picking up her juice for another sip. "I've no idea where you find such acquaintances, Geralt," she admitted, shaking her head at the thought. "He was most unpleasant, though we tried to be as hospitable as possible. Which was a chore, as he smelled as if he'd rolled in something dead."

Geralt grunted. "Got nothing to do with you," he assured her, reaching to pour himself a glass of wine. "Pretty sure I know who you're talking about. Just how he is with people he doesn't know." Taking another bite of pasta, he washed it down with a sip of wine, before he folded together a piece of bread and cheese, realizing for the first time just how hungry he really was. He had slept through breakfast, and with his heightened metabolism, it felt like a hole had been punched through his stomach in its absence, and he shoved the piece of bread unceremoniously in his mouth, sitting back to give himself time to breathe.

"Regis up?" he asked, trying not to show his food as he spoke, though Yennefer's face told him he had failed.

"He's been up for a while as well," Yennefer answered. "He went to the library to fetch something, but he should be back soon."

"And Dandelion?" Geralt asked, picking up his wine for another swig to wash the bread down.

"In the garden," Yennefer answered, simply. "He felt slighted, and so went out for a breath of fresh air."

Geralt nodded, waiting a moment until he had finished chewing and swallowing, before he sat up straighter in his chair again, reaching for his fork to finish his pasta. An uncomfortable silence fell across the table between them, with Yennefer's gaze staying fixated on her hands in her lap, and he could not help feeling a slight tightening in his chest as he stared across at her, watching her for some emotion, some indication of how she was feeling. Yennefer, he knew, was incredibly good at faking indifference, a defence mechanism learned from years of emotional trial, but he found her expression oddly strained this morning, as if even she were having a hard time convincing herself.

"Didn't mean to upset you yesterday," he finally said, breaking the heavy silence. Yennefer stiffened slightly at his admission, but said nothing, only staring down at her own empty plate as she listened. "Really hoped I wouldn't have to bring it up until later," Geralt continued, not sure he was heading in the right direction. "Missed you while we were apart. Hoped we could have a moment of respite before… getting back in again."

Yennefer paused, saying nothing for a moment, before she finally lifted her gaze again, her violet eyes settling on her husband for a while as she took a deep breath in, considering. "It's not your fault," she finally said, sounding as if she were trying very hard to stay impassive; there was a stiffness in her voice now, he noticed, something impersonal, almost unsettling in its trained detachment. It was if she were talking to a stranger, rather than the man who had shared her destiny for twenty-odd years, and Geralt made a face as he waited for her to continue, his fork stilling on his plate, his appetite quickly subsiding.

Yennefer took another deep breath, her gaze shifting slowly to one side, as if trying to decide how to continue, before she finally let it out again in a thin sigh, her plump lips pursing in a stern line. "No," she corrected herself, the amendment taking Geralt by surprise; he watched as she looked up to meet his eyes, letting him see the gentle hurt in them, unmasked and incredibly tired. "That's not entirely true," she continued, frankly. "Though I sincerely wish it was. In truth, none of this would have happened if not for your actions. As much as I wish I could say otherwise, this is your fault, and I do blame you for it. As I should."

"Hm," Geralt answered, frowning at the bleak turn of conversation. "Not the reaction I was hoping for."

Yennefer hesitated, seeming disappointed with his response, though not entirely surprised by it. "And this is not the outcome I was hoping for when I agreed to settle down in Toussaint," she returned, her tone unchanging. "But here we are now, and that's all to be said on the matter. It serves no purpose to dwell on that which we cannot change."

"Trying to change it," Geralt answered, his lips hardening in a thin line as he leaned back in his chair again, frustrated. "Doing all I can to get out from under O'Dimm. Dunno what more I can do, Yen. Can't change the past."

Yennefer hummed, her violet gaze dropping again, before she reached out to straighten her utensils again, distractedly. "I'm not asking you to change the past," she told him after a moment, speaking quietly, as if unsure the conversation was even worth continuing. "I'm simply tired of acting like our current situation was inevitable. You can't blame me for no longer having the strength to pretend. I'm sure, one of these days, this will all be in the past as well, and we can look back on it as a trial we had to endure… but we've not yet finished enduring it, and I am so tired, Geralt. I am tired of being made to endure."

Geralt frowned, not sure what to say, wishing he had kept his oblivious comments to himself, before he slowly reached across the table to his wife, resting his hand gently atop hers and stopping her in her nervous straightening. Yennefer paused as she noticed the hand on hers, staring down at it for a long while, unsure how to react, before she finally looked up again past Geralt, retrieving her hand to her lap as a polite smile returned to her face. "Regis," she said, her brighter tone returning, causing Geralt to turn around in his chair to see the vampire. "I take it you found what you were looking for? I apologize, I've not had a chance to rearrange the library yet. I hope it wasn't too difficult."

"No trouble at all," Regis answered, patting a book tucked under his arm. "And I apologize, myself, if I've returned at an inconvenient time. I can leave again for a while, come back later."

"No—please," Yennefer returned quickly, getting up from her seat to move around the table towards him. "We were just finishing up with lunch, and Geralt was about to head up to see his visitor." She smiled, turning her gaze down to Geralt, who still sat obliviously in his chair, but he only took a moment to register before pushing himself to his feet with a grunt, recognizing his cue. "He's waiting up in Shani's old bedroom," Yennefer continued, indicating with her dainty hand in the general direction. "I haven't seen him come back down again, so I assume he's still up there, awaiting Geralt's arrival."

"I see," Regis answered, attentively, raising his bushy brows at the sudden influx of movement. "I admit, I'm most curious about this visitor as well. I'd like to accompany you to see him, Geralt, if you wouldn't mind."

"More the merrier," Geralt answered dryly, turning a knowing look to Yennefer as he pushed in his seat, but he found her gaze fixed intently on the staircase, making a clear point of not meeting his eyes. He huffed, brushing down the front of his shirt, before he picked up his wine glass to finish it off, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist and setting the empty glass down again, pointedly. "C'mon," he said, waving a hand to indicate for Regis to follow behind him, before he turned away from the nook, heading in the direction of Shani's bedroom.

He could see Regis tense as he passed, seeming unsure for a moment which spouse to attend to first, before the soft sound of a book being set on the table reached the witcher's ears, followed by the shifting of fabric close behind him. It was barely another second before he found the vampire at his elbow again, his dark eyes soft and curious, but Geralt kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead, letting nothing on as he climbed the stairs towards his waiting guest.

"You seem upset," Regis noted, not waiting for Geralt to give the first cue. "You needn't confirm nor deny, but clearly something happened in my absence. You needn't elaborate on it, if you don't like."

"Hm," Geralt answered, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. "Too intuitive for your own good, y'know. Get you in trouble one of these days. If it hasn't already."

Regis huffed, the sound half amused, half bewildered by memories not worth sharing. "You'd be surprised where my intuition has gotten me," he agreed, tiredly. "Or perhaps you wouldn't. I can't say for sure."

Geralt grunted, saying nothing, keeping his attention on the stairs as he continued upward, but he found he could not shake the feeling of Regis' eyes on the back of his head, boring into his skull. "Perhaps I could speak to Yennefer once we've finished with your guest," Regis continued after a moment, not willing to let it go. "See if there's anything I can do to assist – though I doubt anything I could do would be more effective than anything done by her husband. A woman is not complex, Geralt—she needs only be respected in her feelings, and allowed to have them. You can't say in thorough conscience that you feel Yennefer is any different in that regard."

"Didn't say she couldn't have feelings," Geralt argued, barely mumbling his response, his voice low. "Just don't think it's fair not to recognize how hard I'm trying to make things right. 'S all."

"Fair and realistic are not always synonymous," Regis returned, his brows furrowing wisely at the thought. "Just as you still hold reservations towards Dettlaff, though his actions were in what he believed at the time to be good conscience. He, too, was tricked into performing unspeakable acts by someone who cared nothing for his personal well-being—yet, as justified as his actions may have been in his own perspective, they were still indefensible to those he harmed. Wouldn't you say?"

Geralt wrinkled his nose at the comparison. "Not married to Dettlaff," he returned, flatly.

Regis sighed, adjusting his bandolier strap. "You know good and well what I'm talking about, Geralt," he told him, annoyed. "The fact of the matter is, these tasks O'Dimm has set for you have upset Yennefer greatly—as was his intent, I'm sure. But no matter how much you may dislike doing them, you've still done them, and Yennefer now has to live with that. The fact that she's supported you thus far in spite of everything speaks much more plainly to her character than the fact that she's having a hard time processing it." He paused, thinning his lips, watching as Geralt's foot stilled on the next stair up, giving the witcher a moment to stare down guiltily at his boots as he allowed his friend's wisdom to sink in.

"I'd simply allow her to feel her feelings, and not try to fight her on them," Regis continued after a moment, his voice softer this time. "She's not wrong, after all. And you know she still loves you. She wouldn't still be here if she didn't."

Geralt hesitated, feeling his hand clench tighter around the railing as he stared down at the polished steps, before he finally let out a soft grunt, lifting his head to continue climbing. He could feel Regis watching him, expecting something, or perhaps having already gotten the answer he expected, but he pushed the conversation to the back of his mind as he rounded the last stairs to the top of the landing. It did not take long for him to spot his visitor, standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, and Geralt felt his heart give a strange leap at the sight of the surly, half-covered face awaiting him.

Iorveth looked much the same as he had the last time the witcher had seen him, several years ago in Vergen; the only thing he could tell was notably different was that his hair was longer, coming down in a dark sweep from the back of his red headwrap. He was dressed in forest leathers, strapped with ammunition and a quiver of long-feathered arrows, and his dour expression was exactly the same as Geralt remembered, though perhaps even more dour in having been made to wait. "Witcher," Iorveth greeted him, curtly, not bothering to uncross his arms as he spoke. "I informed you I would be stopping by. I expected you here on my arrival. I don't take kindly to being shouldered off."

"Didn't shoulder you off," Geralt answered, doing his best to stay amicable on his part. "Just happened to run into my wife first. Fifty-fifty chance. Funnily enough, she lives here too."

Iorveth snorted, not seeming to find it funny at all, before he next turned his eye to Regis. "And who is this?" he asked, looking the vampire up and down. "Another wife you've yet to introduce me to?"

"Happily unmarried," Regis returned, pleasantly, offering Iorveth a quaint smile, though one that clearly showed his pointed teeth. "But pleased to make your acquaintance, regardless. Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy – a friend of Geralt's, as are you, I presume."

Iorveth frowned, his thin lip curling, before he looked back to Geralt again, ignoring Regis completely. "A vampire," he observed, his tone flat. "How very altruistic of you, witcher."

"Nothing altruistic about it," Geralt returned, frankly. "Regis is just a good friend."

Iorveth hmphed, unconvinced. "For a man who hunts monsters, you certainly keep strange company," he noted, dryly. "First a dragon, and now a vampire. Your collection of unusual beasts never ceases to confound me."

Geralt hummed, noting the way Regis had stiffened beside him at the comment; Regis was good at keeping his composure, Geralt knew, but he still did not want to push him any further than necessary. It had been a bad idea to bring him here, though he knew there was no way either of them could have guessed that from the start, and he gritted his teeth as he stared pointedly at Iorveth, hoping he would be able to keep the peace. "Regardless," Iorveth continued after a moment, not seeming to notice at all the reaction his statement had caused. "That's nothing to do with why I came. I did have a point in coming here, and it wasn't for socializing." He paused, pursing his lips, seeming to take a moment to think of how to word his reasoning, before he finally took a breath in, narrowing his eye to the faintest green sliver.

"The Scoia'tael," he began, speaking slowly, "have been steadily losing ranks since Princess Cirilla took the throne. With her actions towards lightening restrictions on nonhuman rights in Nilfgaard's provinces, there's been less need for the cooperation of guerrilla forces to attain access to said rights—and thus, less need for the cooperation of guerrilla forces altogether." He paused again, one edge of his refined nose pinching in a wrinkle of disgust, before he let out a sharp breath through his nose, turning his gaze to the bookcase past Geralt's shoulder. "We'd hoped she might continue our particular alliance once she took power," he continued, speaking through gritted teeth. "But it seems she has other, more pressing matters to attend to – such as pushing for laws which would necessitate more transparency in magical organizations, in exchange for more legal rights for magic-users."

Geralt frowned. "Never mentioned that to me," he noted, cocking a wary brow at the elf's open resentment.

"Puh," Iorveth answered, spitting out a breath. "Perhaps she thought it below your interest, witcher. I'm no psychic. It's a noble cause, undoubtedly, but unfortunately one which has made it nearly impossible for the Scoia'tael to get any sort of audience with her."

"Hmph," Geralt answered, dryly. "Not sure what you expect me to do about it. Got no sway over Nilfgaard's politics."

Iorveth clenched his jaw, his patience thinning. "But Cirilla is your daughter," he pointed out, sounding annoyed he had to explain it. "And as much as I know witchers prefer to avoid politics, I'd hoped you might use your sway to talk some sense into her on our behalf." He paused again, making a sour face, clearly trying to find a way to tread lightly on the matter, before he finally let out a breath from between his teeth, finding it impossible to soften his words. "It's strange, I know," he acknowledged, warily. "An elf, asking help from a witcher on a matter to do with nonhuman rights. Even stranger, asking you to lobby on behalf of the Scoia'tael… but you're my last resort. The only one I know who can actually gain an audience with the empress."

Geralt narrowed his eyes, turning the request over. "Let me get this straight," he finally said, speaking slowly. "Want me to ask Ciri to stop all edicts towards lessening restrictions on nonhuman rights… so nonhumans will be desperate enough to fight for your rebel cause?"

Iorveth glowered, wrinkling his nose. "It's like you don't listen at all, witcher," he said, disgusted. "Positive incentive is much more effective than negative. What ass would request to backtrack rulings which benefit us?" He scoffed, gritting his teeth again, clenching his jaw so tightly Geralt could see a muscle twitch in his sallow cheek. "What I ask," he corrected, as if speaking to a child, "is a chance to confer with the empress to discuss an updated contract of allyship. The Scoia'tael are still an extremely effective force, and a boon towards Nilfgaard's objectives, but we've no incentive to continue cooperation when our previous motivations are in the process of being nullified."

He paused, allowing another moment to let his explanation sink in, before he finally relaxed his jaw a bit, unclenching his fingers from where they had been digging into the leather of his sleeve. "What I ask, witcher, is that we be able to renegotiate the particulars of our cooperation with the crown of Nilfgaard," he continued, still speaking slowly, though sounding gradually less annoyed. "Everyone benefitted from our partnership during the War, but it seems that now, Cirilla would be just as content to let our organization lapse. She's an idealist, one who undoubtedly hopes the tentative peace she's been lobbying towards will mean that eventually there will be no more use for forces like ours… but there will never not be war with Nilfgaard. That's simply a fact. And unfortunately, Cirilla seems intent on trying to placate first, and prepare for the inevitable later."

Geralt hummed, not liking the implication that some great harm was just waiting to befall his optimist daughter. "Ciri knows what she's doing," he assured the elf, firmly, in no mood to hear more criticism. "Been putting more thought into it than she lets on. Trust me. She's no fool. Doing exactly what she means to."

Iorveth frowned, not seeming to believe him, before he finally gave another huff, turning to look at him again. "You know her better than I do," he admitted, still sounding unconvinced. "I trust you'll be there to catch her when she falls. In the meantime, however, I hope you'll give my request some consideration. For the sake of all the Scoia'tael."

Geralt thinned his lips at the request, not liking the idea of being the one to bring such things to Ciri; she was already busy enough as it was, and he had no idea what her plans were for Nilfgaard, apart from what he had been told. She had clearly been busier behind the scenes than even he had had the privilege to know, and he let out a thin breath through his nose, hating the thought of adding more strain to her already-crushing list of responsibilities. "Can't promise I'll have a chance to talk to her anytime soon," he admitted, deciding it was technically the truth. "Haven't heard from her in a while. Not since she passed through Toussaint. Not even sure she's back in Vizima yet."

He paused, taking a moment to consider, his brow furrowing darkly as a sudden thought occurred to him, before he finally looked up at Iorveth again, sucking his lip as he considered how to frame his question. "Speaking of not hearing from people," he said, causing Iorveth to look up again, seeming annoyed Geralt had managed to turn the question around without first offering a satisfactory answer. "Haven't heard from Saskia in a while. Any idea what happened to her? Heard Upper Aedirn fell to Nilfgaard, but haven't heard anything since."

Iorveth hesitated, before pursing his lips, raising his one visible brow as he stared at the witcher. "And why would I know about Saskia?" he asked, speaking slowly, as if suspecting some ulterior motive.

Geralt shrugged, folding his arms to match the elf. "Figured you two were close," he admitted. "Got the impression you might've even been together, at one point. Figured you might know where she is. What she's been up to. Better than me, at least."

Iorveth hesitated again, before his face began to slowly distort, looking as if he had eaten a handful of dirt. "We have never been together, witcher," he answered, bluntly. "Saskia is, and always has been, only interested in dwarves."

Geralt faltered, choking back a snort of surprise, before quickly lifting a hand to try and cover his reaction with a cough. "Sorry," he said, trying not to smirk, though he could see Regis was making no such effort. The vampire was clearly thinking the same thing he was, remembering their days travelling with Zoltan Chivay and his band, and the idea that Saskia might find such ruffians sexually appealing was a bit too much for either of them to handle. "Didn't know," Geralt added after a moment, clearing his throat as he returned his arm to his chest. "Got the wrong impression. Never been good at reading people. Didn't mean to offend."

Iorveth frowned, looking even more perturbed than before. "I'm not offended that she didn't wish to sleep with me, witcher," he said, annoyed. "I don't judge my allyships by who will fuck me. I've more important things to concern myself with."

"For the best," Regis agreed, still grinning. "That method has never worked out well for Geralt."

Iorveth looked up at this, seeming surprised, before a short, dark chuckle escaped his lips. "He is rather promiscuous, isn't he?" he asked, a small smirk turning the corner of his dour mouth.

Geralt hummed, not liking the thought of the two finally finding common ground in ganging up on him, and he cleared his throat again, louder this time, hoping to distract them back to the topic at hand. "Had another question," he said, causing Iorveth to look over again, his dark brow furrowing attentively. "Not sure you can help with this one either. Been hearing rumours lately about some… shift, in the Spiral. Wondered if you'd picked up anything about that in your travels. Some mention, or reference."

"A shift in the Spiral?" Iorveth repeated, wrinkling his nose again. "Why on earth would I have any knowledge of that?"

Geralt shrugged again. "Dunno," he said, trying to stay judicious, though he could not help wondering if Iorveth had always been this disagreeable; he knew their reunion had gotten off to a bad start, but he could not help the feeling that the elf was being intentionally trying. "Been travelling a lot more than I have. Plus, you're still in contact with the Scoia'tael. Might be some still loyal to the old ways." He paused, waiting for some reaction, but Iorveth only stared back at him, hardly even blinking. "Figured one of them might've heard something," Geralt added, still trying. "Triss says she heard about it first from Ida Emean aep Sivney. One of your sages."

"An elven sage," Iorveth corrected. "Not one of mine. Nor one of my men's, directly."

"Maybe," Geralt answered, starting to get annoyed. "But someone's been messing with the gates between worlds, regardless. Trying to summon things, open portals. Causing irreparable harm. So I'm told."

Iorveth paused, pursing his lips again, before his expression began to gradually mould into something more curious. "Summoning, you said?" he asked. "If that's the case, I might actually have some idea of who you could be looking for. I can't be certain, however." He frowned, lifting a gloved finger to rest against his lips as his harsh gaze fell to the floor, before he took another deep breath in, considering, finally letting it out again in a long exhale.

"I don't know anything about shifts in the Spiral," Iorveth admitted, speaking slowly, as if still formulating his answer. "But there is someone I've been dealing with recently… one Hector Krafft Ebbing, alias Martin. A renegade general and former medic in service to the Empire, whose relevance in active service stopped when the princess took the throne. That didn't stop his personal agenda, however, and he's been a persistent thorn in my side for years." Pausing again, he narrowed his one visible eye, his thin lips drawing in a taut line as he thought, before he turned to sit on Shani's bed, crossing his booted ankles in front of him as he pondered.

"During the War, he went against Emhyr's orders—or so I've been informed, though who knows what tales are true anymore," he continued after a moment, thoughtfully. "Emhyr could never be trusted to his word, even when his word benefitted him, personally. Regardless, sometime during the War, Martin took it on himself to unleash a variant of the Catriona Plague across the North. Its influence spread as far as Mahakam, and killed several of my men who happened to be in its path."

"Shani mentioned something about that," Regis acknowledged, lifting a thoughtful finger at the mention of the Plague. "About an unusual spike in cases among nonhumans at the start of the War. Was his influence the cause of that?"

"A direct cause," Iorveth acknowledged, not even seeming to mind the interruption this time. "We were able to find a cure for it eventually, with some help from old acquaintances – Roche, Thaler, and Vincent Meis. Meis was a guardsman on the side of the Empire, but even he didn't wish to see his enemies fall to the Plague."

"Remember Meis," Geralt agreed, nodding. "Helped cure his lycanthropy curse. Hope he's doing okay."

"I've no idea how he's doing, witcher," Iorveth objected, looking up again, as prickly as before. "I don't make a habit of making house calls, this exception notwithstanding. Regardless, Martin was well-known for dabbling in goëtia, and he was suspected of involvement in other dark arts as well, particularly during his time serving in the War. But when his plan to spread his Catriona variant ultimately failed, he disappeared off the map completely—likely in shame." He paused, thinning his lips again, tapping his finger against his jaw as he thought, before he finally let out another sharp breath, seeming to decide he had given as much information as needed.

"If someone is summoning demons and looking to disrupt planar order, I'd bet good money it might be him," Iorveth added after a moment, darkly. "He already tried once to wipe out all nonhumans on this plane. If he is looking to open gates to other worlds, I don't doubt he's trying to find a new plane for humans to exist by themselves."

Regis frowned, his bushy brow furrowing. "That seems… incredibly short-sighted," he noted, doubtfully. "Even if this Martin character does succeed in thinning the veil between the Spheres, the only thing he will accomplish will be another Conjunction. Allowing a flood of dangerous beings from other worlds into this one, likely killing everyone in the process, human and non-human alike."

"I never said his plan was a good one," Iorveth shot back, turning his dissecting eye to the vampire again. "I only said it's what I suspect, from the information you've given me. Which is a sight better than what you had before." He stopped, seeming irked again, before his one visible brow furrowed, and he turned his attention back to Geralt instead. "You mentioned something about a Shani," he noted, causing Geralt to frown, surprised to hear her name. "I know I've heard that name before, but I can't place where. What's your involvement with this person?"

"Shani's a field medic," Geralt answered, frankly. "And a friend. Helped me out a few times over the years."

Iorveth nodded, narrowing his one visible eye. "Thaler's woman," he acknowledged. "Yes, I remember now. She's done some spy activity herself, if I'm not mistaken. Are you certain you can trust her?"

Geralt faltered, resisting an incredulous snort, but Regis did not hold back, giving a soft chuckle in response. "Shani's certainly in no position to be spying on us," Regis answered, drolly. "She's about seven months out of her prime."

"A good spy never retires," Iorveth argued back, folding his arms, unconvinced by the assurance. "Perhaps she's better than any of you give her credit for. Convincing you she's of no threat is page one of the spy's handbook."

"Shani's seven and a half months pregnant," Geralt explained, causing Regis' wry smile to spread even wider as he spoke. "She's in a safehouse in the middle of nowhere with Triss and Eskel. Doubt she's got much spying to do out there."

Iorveth faltered, before his thin lip began to curl, one side of his nose flattening in a scowl. "In the middle of nowhere?" he asked, sounding slighted. "That's no place to put a pregnant woman, witcher. If you'd simply asked, I could've provided assistance—I've connections with the gangs of Novigrad, you know. Sanctuary with the King of Beggars would certainly have been safer than sending her into the wilderness to fend for herself."

"Not by herself," Geralt countered, having to ignore the knowing look he was sure Regis was giving him – if any of this got back to Dandelion, the witcher was sure he would never hear the end of it. "With Triss and Eskel. Know you know Triss. She can handle herself. I'm not worried about Shani."

Iorveth huffed, considering for a moment, before he finally shrugged, turning to look away towards the bookshelf again. "Thaler's personal affairs are not my concern," he conceded, now sounding indifferent. "His poor choices, and hers, will be punishment enough. A child is only a liability in the long run." He paused, taking another moment to think, before he finally stood from the bed again, brushing his leathers down, as if trying to get the smell of Corvo Bianco out of them. "This reunion was not what I expected," he admitted, looking up at Geralt again, as blunt as before. "I'd hoped you might have more to tell me of the state of the world. I'd figured your retirement a clever ruse. It seems I was mistaken."

"Not totally mistaken," Geralt confessed, giving a weary grunt. "Been a lot more active in my retirement than I'd like. Don't see why you have to leave so soon, even so. Welcome to stick around."

Iorveth thinned his lips at the offer, looking to Geralt as if he had been invited to eat rocks instead. "I've no intention of staying any longer than necessary," he answered, bluntly. "My presence here has already put us both at risk. Complacency would only give my enemies more time to discover my location."

"Not surprising," Regis agreed, giving a soft chuckle at the elf's surly answer. "I don't imagine you'd be very happy sleeping here, regardless. From what I know, Squirrels are most comfortable in trees."

"And bats are most comfortable in belfries," Iorveth shot back, turning on his heel again to sneer at the vampire. "Which only raises the question of why you haven't gone and found one, so you could do us all a favour and hang yourself in it." Regis blinked, surprised by the answer, but Iorveth only huffed, turning back to Geralt again. "I'll keep an ear to the ground for news about Saskia," he told the witcher, sounding only mildly less agitated than before. "If any information crosses my path, I'll send it along. I admit, I… had expected a better outcome from Upper Aedirn."

"Had nothing to do with Saskia," Geralt noted, his expression growing solemn at the thought. "She did everything right. Only wanted the best for her people. Emhyr just couldn't stand having something he couldn't control."

Iorveth let out a low hum at the mention of Emhyr. "That's true," he agreed, stiffly. "Emhyr was a bastard. But he was a bastard who knew how to get things done. For all his treachery, it can't be said he didn't achieve exactly what he set out to do." Brushing another piece of invisible dust from his jacket, he adjusted the strap of trophies across his chest, before he looked up to Geralt again with a knowing eye, his expression hardening in a look of austerity. "Look out for yourself, witcher," he told him, gravely. "I'll return again when the need calls for it. I expect to find you here at that time."

"Can't promise anything," Geralt answered. "Still got a couple things to take care of."

Iorveth huffed again, his expression unchanging, before he glanced over to Regis, as if expecting one last retort – but, getting nothing, he only turned back to Geralt again, giving him a last, stiff nod before heading for the stairs. Geralt watched as the elf disappeared, not bothering to move to accompany him to the door, knowing he would only find it more insulting to be treated like a houseguest than left alone. As the last of Iorveth's footsteps finally faded out, Geralt gave a soft grunt, looking up at Regis again, only to find the vampire smiling.

"I like him," Regis said, giving a genial chuckle. "He seems like a decent fellow."

Geralt paused, not sure how to respond, before he finally let out a long breath, crossing to sit on the bed where Iorveth had left. "What d'you think?" he asked, resting his elbows on his knees. "About what he said. About Ebbing trying to find a new world for humans."

Regis hesitated, thinking a moment, before he crossed to the bed as well, sitting beside the witcher. "It's a plausible lead," he admitted, raising his brows, as if trying to convince himself as well. "But there's something in the details that seems… not quite right. Not quite in keeping with our current situation." He paused, his greyish brow furrowing, as if trying to decide how to word his next thought, before he finally narrowed his lips, letting out a sharp exhale through his nose. "Perhaps…" he said, speaking slowly. "If you knew someone with additional knowledge on the subject – such as, possibly, a workable understanding of multiplanar theory… we might be able to find more assistance there. But, for now, this seems like our most credible lead."

Geralt hummed, not liking where this was going. "Know one person," he admitted, reluctantly. "Don't like the idea of asking, though."

Regis looked over at this. "Who?" he asked, curiously.

Geralt frowned, thinning his lips, having to all but fight himself to answer. "Back when I was chasing down Dettlaff, came across this… book," he began, taking a wary breath. "In Anarietta and Syanna's childhood room. The Land of a Thousand Fables. It was a microcosm, a constructed plane, created entirely from scratch by the mage Artorius Vigo. The book was a focus—when paired with an activation phrase, it'd portal the speaker to a different world." He paused, watching Regis' expression, looking for some confirmation, some spark of understanding, something to let him know his explanation made sense, though he barely knew what he was talking about.

"Like summoning a demon, but—reversed," Geralt added, clumsily. "Best way I can think to describe it."

Regis nodded, seeming to understand perfectly. "Fascinating," he agreed, sounding enthused by the thought. "And you say this spell works to transport anyone who utters the correct activation phrase to another plane of existence?" He paused, considering for a moment, his sharp tooth pinching the edge of his lip, before he finally furrowed his brow, his thin lips pursing as he took a deep breath. "I had no idea that kind of magic had the propensity to exist," he admitted, sounding impressed. "With the proper reverse-engineering, it could almost work as the hypothetical summoning method we discussed with Yennefer after leaving my worldgate."

Geralt faltered, feeling a bit short-sighted that he had not recognized the parallel before, but Regis only tilted his head, waiting for the witcher to continue his explanation. "I suppose that's who we'll be speaking to, then?" he asked, reminding Geralt where they had been in the conversation.

Geralt blinked, before shaking his head, still dazed. "No," he admitted. "Artorius stopped upkeep on the microplane more than twenty years ago. Figure he'd only do that if he died. Without him, only one left to consult would be—"

"Fringilla Vigo," Regis acknowledged, gravely.

Geralt nodded, folding his arms at the thought. "Don't have any other choice," he admitted, reluctantly. "Don't really wanna deal with her, but figure she's the only one who might know anything about this." He paused, his expression twisting, staring down at his boots as he sought to gather his nerves. "Don't guess I could convince you to come with me," he added after a while, looking up again, hopefully. "Help me talk to her. Make sure she doesn't… try anything."

Regis took a deep breath, considering, before he finally looked over at his friend again, thoughtfully. "I'd be more than delighted to join you, Geralt," he informed him. "Though I can't help but suspect your request is less about my own eloquence, and more the sake of vigilance on your part. Merely an abundance of caution—mindful of the fact that more blood flows to your penis than your brain whenever you converse with a pretty woman." He paused, allowing a moment to pass, before he finally smiled, offering a knowing chuckle at Geralt's visible discomfort. "You needn't worry," he assured him, shaking his head. "I'll make sure Miss Vigo stays to the topic at hand. I rather enjoy spending time at your marital home, after all, and I'd be remiss if I didn't do my part in helping you keep it."

"Thanks," Geralt answered, dryly. "Good to know you've got my best interests at heart."

"Your assumption of my motivations is not my responsibility," Regis returned, before giving him a wide, impish grin.

---

The sound of lute music was wafting from the breakfast-nook as Geralt exited the master bedroom, dressed for the city, and he exchanged a knowing look with Regis as he adjusted his swords across his chest a final time, restlessly. They both knew the conversation that awaited them with Yennefer was one that could go very badly, if not handled with care, and Geralt let out a low hum at the thought, only to be met with a reassuring smile from his friend.

Regis had not bothered to change his clothes for their visit to the palace, though that was not unusual for him; even ten years on from the hansa, he still wore more or less the same attire he always had: his dark alchemist's smock over a smart jacket and trousers with polished boots, all accentuated with a worn leather sling-bag smelling strongly of herbs and pipe-smoke, to mask his vampiric essence. Regis looked, as he usually did, like a tax collector, a thought which still made Geralt smirk a bit to this day, though he supposed the nondescript attire did help his friend to not seem so threatening to those who might otherwise look twice. Regis had mentioned only a few months prior that people were now warier than ever of vampires in their midst, and if dressing like a civil servant helped him to blend in and feel safer, then Geralt felt he had every right to do as he pleased.

"Shall we?" Regis suggested, not even seeming to notice his friend's fixation on his attire, before extending a hand towards the breakfast-nook, indicating for Geralt to go on ahead. Geralt grunted, offering a short nod in return, before taking a deep breath as he turned to lead the way, trying to think as he walked what he could possibly say to have to answer as few questions as possible.

The tune coming from the breakfast-nook was the same song he had heard played a thousand times over the last few months, but he could not help wondering, as he approached, if the lyrics he was hearing now were new, or simply ones he had been too distracted to register before. Regardless, the music stopped as he and Regis rounded the entryway, with Dandelion looking up first, intrigued by the prospect of company, but Yennefer took another moment to lift her head, looking first at Geralt, and then at Regis, as if expecting the worst.

"Heading out," Geralt announced, trying to sound assured, though he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice. "Back in a few hours, hopefully. Shouldn't take more than a day."

Yennefer frowned, setting down the book she had been poring over, the same one Geralt had seen Regis carrying with him earlier that day. "And where are you going this time?" she asked, pointedly. "I thought you might stay home for a while. You've only just returned, and so have I."

"Just going into Beauclair," Geralt answered, indicating with a jerk of his head towards the front door. "Need to talk to someone. Following up on a lead."

Yennefer hummed, folding her hands on the table. "And what lead is it that you're following up on?" she asked.

Geralt shrugged, finding it hard to stay ambiguous. "Something about a man called Martin," he answered, honestly. "Tried to spread a plague during the Third Northern War. Iorveth suspects he might've been involved in goëtia. Wanted to consult someone, see if his theory makes sense."

Yennefer pursed her lips, clearly not believing him, her hands stiff against the table as she stared up at him, intently. "You're being intentionally vague, Geralt," she told him after a moment, causing his stomach to drop. "You know I despise when you do that. Don't make me read your mind to see what you're actually up to."

Geralt let out a huff, realizing he should have known it would be impossible to get anything past Yennefer. "Going to see Fringilla Vigo," he admitted, pursing his lips at the unpleasant name. "Figured she might know something that could help us. Her uncle Artorius had experience creating alternate material planes."

"Fringilla Vigo?" Dandelion perked up at the name, pressing his hand to the bridge of his lute to mute it. "Does that mean you'll be heading to the ducal palace? If so, I'd be delighted join you!" Geralt opened his mouth to object, but closed it again as he watched Dandelion rise from his seat, realizing it would be useless to try to dissuade the bard from accompanying them to the palace. He had no idea what Dandelion's relationship with Anarietta was like these days, except that the bard claimed they had reconciled over old wounds, and he let out a huff as he looked over at Yennefer again, trying not to look like a man saddled with carrying rocks.

Yennefer frowned as his gaze met hers, her eyes not moving from his face, even as Dandelion left her side to join him. "I told you," she said, her voice still rigid. "I'm not comfortable with you going to see Fringilla Vigo. After your last visit to Toussaint—"

"Not going alone," Geralt assured her, raising a hand to stop her. "Got Regis coming, too."

Regis smiled, pressing a hand to his heart. "I promise I'll return him in the same condition I found him," he agreed, good-naturedly. "Suffice to say, Miss Vigo would do well to behave herself. Otherwise, she'll be forced to converse with me instead."

Yennefer scowled, still seeming uncertain, before she finally let out a long sigh, folding her arms uncomfortably. "It's not you I have difficulty trusting, Regis," she informed him, sounding less irritable now. "It's Fringilla. I know you mean well in wanting to assist Geralt, but even the best of intentions are sometimes no match for a witcher's poor judgement." She paused, taking a moment to think, before she finally huffed, looking down to the paper on the table again. "I trust you to ensure things remain strictly professional," she told the vampire, her tone still stiff, though somewhat more tired now. "If Fringilla tries any of her tricks, I want you to get Geralt out of there immediately. Don't bother trying to reason with her."

Regis nodded, clutching his bandolier strap. "I understand your hesitation," he acknowledged. "And I respect it. If anything goes amiss, I'll do my best to extract us both. However, I don't think you need worry about Geralt." He paused, looking over at Geralt again, whose expression had not changed from his tight-lipped scowl. "He was loath enough to visit Beauclair's Palace in the first place," Regis noted, raising his bushy brows at the thought. "I doubt he'll be able to be swayed by some court sorceress' wiles. Not when he has his own, better sorceress here at home."

Yennefer hummed, not buying his flattery. "Even so," she said, folding her hands on the table again. "I want you to keep an eye on him – and one on Dandelion as well, if you can manage. His first ducal death sentence may have been rescinded, but I wouldn't put it past him to earn another."

"I'll be on my best behaviour," Dandelion promised, offering her a bright smile as he tucked his lute to his back again, stowing it. "They'll never even know I'm along for the ride. I'll be like a little church-mouse—totally unobtrusive." Geralt snorted, unable to help himself, but his reaction did not seem to faze Dandelion at all, as the bard only turned around with an excited expression, holding up a finger, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Oh!" he said, sounding invigorated. "I bet I can use some of my connections to get us seen by the duchess! No need to wait around for the ducal guard to hand us off—I'll just tell them who I am, and we'll be in front of Anarietta in no time."

"Hopefully not on the sentencing block," Regis answered, letting out a soft, knowing chuckle.

Dandelion's expression wavered for a moment, clearly not finding that quite as amusing as Regis did, before his self-assured grin quickly returned, and he propped his hands on his hips, turning to look at Yennefer again. "You have my word," he told her, pressing a hand to his heart and bowing his plumed head respectfully. "We'll be in and out of the palace in no time. You'll hardly even have a chance to notice we're gone."

Yennefer thinned her lips, not believing him, but finding it hard to argue one against three. "Fine," she finally said, letting out a sigh and leaning back in her chair again. "But if any of you end up in prison, I'll not be the one to bail you out."

---

Geralt, Regis, and Dandelion had decided to travel by horseback to Beauclair, with the witcher having grown tired of portals and Dandelion having never gotten used to them in the first place. Regis, having lived longer than all of them, was perfectly at ease with the use of portals, but had agreed to ride horseback regardless, not wanting to draw suspicion of his otherworldly nature. Travelling to the city as a puff of smoke was simply too dangerous anymore, though it would save on time, but he seemed only too happy to pick out a dappled grey mare from the stables to join them on the road to town. Now, the horses blustered and tossed their manes as they cantered in a loose pod down the dusty trail, every so often flicking their ears as the sound of songbirds wafted down from the trees overhanging the path.

"It's a beautiful day for a ride," Dandelion noted, pulling his lute around to his chest to pluck a few stray notes. "And a perfect opportunity for a song. If you wouldn't mind, Geralt, I'd love to hear your thoughts on my newest verse."

"Hm," Geralt answered, glancing over at the bard. "What happens if I do mind?"

"Then I should hope you'd do it silently," Dandelion returned, not missing a beat. Then, lifting his lute, he strummed a few chords, before starting in again on the song he had been writing over the last few months, making Geralt wrinkle his nose at the tune he thought he had finally escaped when the bard had gone to travel with Shani.

"So the Wolf, he traversed o'er land and sea—to the Skellige Isles, his third task to complete;
With time swift at his back, the fair queen at his throat, and the loveliest ashen-haired maid at his feet;
He knew who she wasn't, yet not who she was—but that mattered naught, with desperation filling his cup;
Yet, though he'd made up his mind, his body declined – and alas, the brave Wolf couldn't keep it up!

O'fate—"

"Stop," Geralt said, raising a hand to prevent the bard from continuing, and Dandelion looked up eagerly at the interruption, seeming to expect nothing but praise for his clever rhymes. "You run that verse past Yen?" Geralt asked, trying not to let his discomfort and frustration show; he had not expected his third task to make it into the song, but it seemed Dandelion had found out about it somehow, anyway.

Dandelion nodded, enthusiastically. "Yes," he agreed brightly, resting his arm across the bridge of his lute. "She told me she thought it was in poor taste, but I believed it deserved a second opinion."

"I hate it," Geralt told him, bluntly.

Dandelion hesitated, seeming both surprised and insulted. "Well," he finally answered, shaking a lock of flyaway hair from his face. "That's just one opinion, but it could always use another. Regis, what do you think?"

Regis made a face, scrunching up his aquiline nose as he tried to think of how to word his judgement. "I think… it could be handled more delicately," he finally said, trying to soften the blow.

Dandelion huffed, stowing his lute to his back again and picking up Pegasus' reins. "Oh, you're no fun, any of you," he pouted, before giving his horse's sides a squeeze to urge him along the road.

It was barely a few more hours before the three reached Beauclair's palace on horseback, and Geralt dismounted with a grunt as they passed the gates, handing over Roach's reins to the waiting attendant. They had barely made it a few steps inside the garden walls when they were intercepted by two straight-backed guards in plumed helms, and Geralt lingered back at the sight of them, allowing Dandelion to take the party lead. Despite having saved Beauclair from the Beast, Geralt still found the palace an uncomfortable place to visit – not solely because of Fringilla Vigo's presence, but Syanna's presence as well. The palace felt unwelcoming to him, as he was sure it did to Regis, but Dandelion seemed to have no fear or hesitation, approaching the guards with his feathered head held high.

"Greetings, my good fellows!" Dandelion said, raising a beringed hand with a theatrical flourish. "We've come to see Fringilla Vigo. Or, well—my companions have. As for me, I've come to see the Duchess Anna Henrietta." He smiled, baring dazzling teeth, his expression giving no sign of doubt or hesitation, not even seeming to notice as the guards exchanged glances, seeming bewildered by the troubadour's confidence. Geralt knew why; it was unheard of to simply request an audience with the duchess, let alone announce one, but Dandelion seemed so assured in his ability to gain such privilege that even the witcher had a hard time doubting him.

"Tell her the Viscount Julian Pankratz has come to see her," Dandelion added, pressing a confident hand to his heart. "I'm sure she'll be delighted to see me. The Duchess and I have a long, intimate history."

"Viscount Julian," the first guard repeated, seeming to recognize the name. "Of course, m'lord. We were told by the duchess you might be coming to call. She's been expecting you ever since she heard you'd returned to Beauclair."

"Aha!" Dandelion exclaimed, turning to glance back at Geralt with a self-satisfied grin. "News of my arrival spreads quickly, it seems! No surprise—I am beloved here."

The first guard frowned at the declaration. "Not exactly, m'lord," he corrected, sounding a bit put-upon. "'Twas the disturbance at the pub involving you and the witcher. Almost impossible not to know you'd arrived in town after a fracas like that."

Dandelion faltered, his wide grin falling a bit, warping into an almost pained grimace at the amendment. "Ah," he said, sounding much less enthused, pointedly avoiding Geralt's gaze as he spoke this time. "Well. That is… much less flattering, I must admit." He paused, thinking a moment, before he finally lit up again, seeming just as pleased as before. "But!" he said, brightly. "If playing party to a friend's poisoning is what it takes to get me noticed by the duchess, then it seems I've succeeded. Please, lead the way, my good sir! And as for the two of you—"

"Don't worry," Geralt assured him, holding up a hand. "We'll find Fringilla."

"Brilliant!" Dandelion smiled, before turning back to the guard again, indicating for him to lead the way. The first guard thinned his lips, seeming irritated, but he did as he was directed regardless, turning to lead the bard through the garden in the direction of the ducal palace. The second guard frowned at the two remaining visitors, before indicating with a wave of his polished hand for them to follow as well, turning to make his way up the garden path towards the waiting ducal palace.

The garden surrounding the palace was vibrant and green, awash with brilliant colour, with flowering plants Geralt had never seen growing in the wild hanging thick over the immaculate topiary. A peacock wailed as it loped across their path, causing the guard to hold out a hand, allowing it to pass, before indicating again for them to follow, narrating as they went about the palace's upcoming events. Regis hung back a step as they walked, before reaching out a hand, taking hold of Geralt's sleeve. "Hellebore," he noted, pointing to a cluster of bright purple flowers just off the path. "Very deadly, if alchemized correctly—particularly to lesser vampires. Sylvia Anna's doing, I suspect."

"Wouldn't put it past her," Geralt agreed, his voice low. "Wouldn't put it past Anarietta, either."

Regis hummed, reaching an anxious hand to clutch his bandolier strap, uneasily. "Perhaps riding horseback was the right idea after all," he quipped, offering a wan, unconvincing smile.

Geralt frowned, feeling a bit of apprehension start to creep into his own chest at the thought, wondering if he might have been better off leaving Regis back at Corvo Bianco – but Regis did not seem to linger on it, only moving ahead to rejoin the guard, and Geralt caught up quickly with the two of them, following them down the path through the ducal garden. The garden path was much longer than Geralt remembered, taking them over small bridges and through lavish greenhouses, until eventually they found their way to the grandiose staircase leading up to the palace entrance. The guard strode ahead of them up the stairs, pulling open the door to allow his wards to pass through first, before he let it close again behind them with a hollow boom that resonated hauntingly across the polished marble floors.

Geralt paused as he felt the soft crush of velvet beneath his boots, taking a moment to observe his surroundings, before he felt the telling presence of the guard at his shoulder again, clearly keen on not letting his visitors out of his sight. Geralt cleared his throat as he turned to the man, not liking how close a watch he was keeping, knowing it would be impossible to get any kind of privacy with Fringilla with a ducal sitter on their tail.

"We can take it from here," Geralt told him, assuredly, but the guard only gave a shake of his plumed head.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, ser," the guard returned. "Any visitor to the ducal palace must be thoroughly supervised, by order of the duchess. She doesn't want to risk any untoward company infiltrating the palace with her sister still settling in."

"By untoward company, one can assume you mean vampires," Regis acknowledged.

The guard gave a mild shrug. "It means whatever her grace meant it to," he answered. "'Tisn't my job to question."

"Hm," Geralt answered, raising a hand and passing it in front of the guard's eyes with a practiced gesture. "Don't need to worry about us. No untoward company here. Just friends."

The guard seemed dazed for a moment, his eyes going flat, as if all thought had disappeared from behind them, before he finally looked up at the two of them again, puffing out his polished chest and straightening his posture. "I assume you know where you're going, then," he said, sounding as if this had been his plan all along. "I won't bother you gentlemen any further. Should you need any help, please don't hesitate to request it."

"We'll keep that in mind," Geralt answered, before turning to start walking down the long hall with Regis.

The interior of Beauclair's Palace was gaudy and bright, a bejewelled portrait of opulence and excess, but Geralt found it did not give him nearly the same sort of skin-crawling detachment Darn Rowan had. This was a lived-in luxury, a fête of gold filigree and jewel tones in every tiny detail, but there was something sincere in its design, something that spoke of an effort to impress and entertain. It had been years since he had last been inside Beauclair's palace, but he could see Anarietta's influence in every inch of its design, and he let out a soft snort as they passed by a peacock lazily strolling the long hall from the opposite direction. The peacock whinged at the two of them, seeming annoyed by the presence of strangers on its otherwise pleasant promenade, before it turned to drag its lengthy train through a nearby doorway, alerting the servant cleaning inside to its presence with another jarring wail.

"Thought those things belonged outside," Geralt noted, wrinkling his nose at the bird's distinctive smell.

"They do," Regis agreed, watching the peacock strut away. "But with great wealth comes great reprieve from normal expectations."

Geralt hummed, lifting his head and narrowing his eyes as he tried to recall his way around the palace—his stay years back had been mostly in Fringilla Vigo's suite, so he at least knew where to find that, if nothing else. Still, it had been a long while since his tryst with the sorceress, and his mind had a habit of misplacing things, and he thinned his lips as he thought, trying to remember which way to go to reach the sorceress' chamber. "This way," he determined after a moment, pointing with two fingers in the most judicious direction; Regis looked confused at his sudden confidence, but said nothing, only allowing the witcher to take the lead.

The hallways wound lengthy and monotonous through the palace, each looking more like the last with every passing turn, but Geralt found his sense of instinct leading him assuredly forward, certain he would find something if he only continued long enough. "Not to doubt your sense of direction, Geralt," Regis spoke up after a moment, letting out a soft breath as he paused at the bottom of a grandiose staircase. "But are you absolutely certain this is the way to go? I feel as if we've been chasing a wild goose for some time now."

"Remember these stairs," Geralt answered, running a thoughtful hand over the polished banister, and Regis let out a low hum in response, not quite believing him, but nodding his agreement, regardless. Following the witcher up the staircase, he paused again as they reached the top floor landing, watching as Geralt pushed open the gilded double-doors, before he raised his brows in surprise as an aroma of floral glamour and spice filled their senses from the room beyond. The room appeared to be empty on first glance, which surprised Geralt, who would never have guessed Fringilla might leave her belongings unattended, but he could tell this was the correct room even so, from the distinctive perfume and décor he associated with the sorceress.

Stepping inside Fringilla's chamber, Geralt took a look around, noting a well-maintained megascope standing in the far corner, and he frowned as he approached the contraption, unable to help wondering when the last time was that it had seen use. "It seems we've come at an inopportune time," Regis noted, following Geralt into the room and looking around, curiously. "That, or this isn't Miss Vigo's chamber at all… though the furnishings do make a persuasive argument." He paused, staring at the megascope from a few paces back, as if hesitant to approach too closely, before he furrowed his brow, thinning his lips to a wary line as he looked around at the other various magical accoutrements.

"You know," he said after a moment, seeming lost in thought. "I don't think I've ever asked the exact nature of your relationship with Fringilla Vigo. I know it might seem transparent on a surface level, but… these things so often aren't. Particularly with you."

"Got no relationship with Fringilla," Geralt admitted, running a gloved finger pensively along the megascope. "Had a tryst, years back. Wanted me to stay, leave Yen for her. No surprise, didn't amount to anything." He paused, staring down at the megascope, before he looked back at Regis again, his face drawing in a solemn expression. "She's not a bad person," he said, cutting short any conclusions his friend might have made to the contrary. "Helped Yen escape Motecalvo, and helped us in the fight against the Hunt. Don't dislike her, just… don't feel comfortable around her."

"Understandable," Regis agreed, folding his hands contemplatively behind his back. "I got the feeling from Yennefer that something was amiss between the three of you. I hadn't realized she could hold a grudge for so long."

Geralt grunted, turning around again. "Think that's more to do with Yen's dealings with the Lodge," he admitted, frankly. "Didn't want me talking to Fringilla at all initially. Think she's afraid I might get sucked in, too."

"And why would Yennefer think that?" Fringilla's voice came from behind them, causing Geralt to turn around quickly; Regis followed suit a moment later, seeming much less on edge at the sorceress' sudden appearance. Fringilla stood in the doorway looking in on them, seeming half affronted, half bemused by the presence of uninvited guests, before she took a few slow steps forward, stopping after a few paces to allow them time to react. Geralt stepped back instinctively from the megascope, moving towards the wall to give her a wide berth to reach her magical trinkets, but Fringilla only offered him a wide, bitter simper at the gesture, an insincere expression that made his skin crawl.

"Geralt," Fringilla greeted him, her voice cold, faking pleasantry, with an edge of sarcasm that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle in warning. Even just the sight of her caused a tightness in his chest, a fight or flight instinct he could not quite push down, but Regis seemed to recognize his discomfort quickly, taking a step forward to put himself between the witcher and the sorceress. Fringilla folded her hands together as she watched him approach, taking him in with observant purple eyes, before she turned her gaze back to Geralt behind him, not seeming willing to let him out of her sight.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?" Fringilla asked, her smile curling like a cat's.

Geralt cleared his throat, finding words impossible, but Regis was quick to take the lead, lifting his chin with a polite smile. "We've come to ask your assistance on a magical matter," he explained, his tone imperturbably light. "We seem to have stumbled upon a situation concerning Conjunction theory, and we figured you were the one to ask for council on that."

Fringilla faltered, looking over at Regis, her brows rising slowly, as if not sure she had heard him correctly. "Conjunction theory?" she finally asked, sounding surprised. "And here I thought this would just be a social visit."

"Unfortunately, no," Regis answered, giving a small, tired chuckle as he moved his hand to his bandolier strap. "We'd actually hoped you might be able to give us some insight about a certain… dilemma, we've been facing recently. You see, lately Geralt's been dealing with a… oh, how would you describe it, Geralt? An otherworldly being of indeterminate power?"

"A demon," Geralt answered, simply. "Powerful demon. Not like any we've dealt with."

Fringilla frowned, propping one hand on her hip, the other moving to cup her cheek as she took another few steps forward. "A demon, you say?" she asked. "Intriguing. And why would I have any knowledge about that?"

"Hoped you might," Geralt answered, finding his voice again, now that the topic was on work. "Not just about the demon. Someone's been messing with the worldgates lately. Causing the fabric of reality to weaken. Been getting worse since the demon got here, but not sure what the connection is, apart from that."

Fringilla pursed her lips at his explanation. "So you suspect a correlation," she mused, sounding intrigued. "The interference of a powerful demon is an unexpected variable. I assume you came to this conclusion because Yennefer asked you to look into this, per our request."

Geralt faltered, exchanging a look with Regis, but the vampire only shrugged, seeming just as lost. "Yen never mentioned anything about a request," Geralt answered, looking to Fringilla again, his expression stern. "Only said Ida'd been having visions. Said she didn't think it was worth worrying about."

Fringilla let out a long sigh, sounding unimpressed, though not entirely surprised. "I'm not sure why I expected differently," she admitted, moving her second hand to her hip as well. "Yennefer always did have a habit of keeping things from you she suspected might cause conflict." Geralt frowned at the observation, but Fringilla only thinned her lips, looking for a moment as if she were considering telling him everything, before she finally let out an agitated huff, looking up at him again with a much brusquer expression. "Since you've not come to assist with our quandary, I can't help but feel a bit distrustful of your motives," she admitted, bluntly. "Why do you think I, of all people, would know anything about the worldgates and the fabric of reality?"

Geralt shrugged, in no mood to cater to her ego. "Your uncle was an expert in multiplanar theory," he explained, frankly. "Created his own microcosm from scratch. Engineered a new method of multiverse transport that used reversed summoning as a basis." He paused, noting the way her expression had shifted ever so slightly as he mentioned her uncle, as if his work was something she was so used to being asked about that she had grown tired of it being brought up to her. "Think whoever's messing with the gates is using a modified version of your uncle's spell," he added, undeterred. "Figure the only way to learn that spell would've been to consult with Artorius about it."

Fringilla paused, narrowing her eyes, taking him in for a moment as she weighed his story, before she finally gave a soft hum, looking down to her gloves instead, seeming suddenly very interested in them. "Fascinating, witcher," she told him. "But as you may have realized, I'm not my uncle. I was never apprised of every one of his dealings, and I know almost nothing of his former associates." Looking up again, she pursed her lips, folding her arms as she stared across at him, indignantly, making sure to press her breasts together as she did so, throwing her cleavage into sharp detail. Geralt swallowed, ignoring the gesture, setting his jaw as he waited for the sorceress to continue, noting that Regis was also doing his best to ignore her assets, staring at her face with a fixed, rigid smile.

"Apart from the most obvious, I simply had no reason to remember them," Fringilla added after a moment, frankly. "And those I do remember—Vilgefortz, Roedskilde, Albrich, and the like—are long dead. I doubt any one of them is doing much summoning from the grave."

"What about someone with the initials VA?" Geralt asked, taking a shot in the dark, glad for the distraction. "Or someone with a name that starts with VA. Got a tip, but might lead nowhere."

"Things very rarely go anywhere with just the tip," Fringilla agreed, letting out a long sigh. "As for VA… I only know Vanhemar, Cynthia's old mentor. Other than that, I'm afraid I'm as in the dark as you are." She paused, taking another deep breath, one that pushed the mounds of her breasts further past her neckline, and Geralt cleared his throat at the sight, doing his best to keep his focus fixed firmly above her collar-bone. Fringilla held her breath another moment longer, staring down at her skirt as she pretended to think for a while, before she finally looked up at the witcher again, her purple eyes sharp and incisive as she took him in.

"Even if I did have the information you seek," she said, seeming to realize she would not get the reaction she wanted. "What makes you so sure any of this is tied to your demon, or that he's truly trying to weaken the fabric between Spheres? That doesn't sound like normal demonic ambition. They're usually content to make deals, not seek travel between worlds."

"Not a normal demon," Geralt answered, bluntly, folding his arms at the thought.

Fringilla frowned, unfolding her arms, instead turning her attention to tugging lightly on the fabric of her glove. "I see," she conceded after a while, seeming to decide her sleeve was in no danger of slipping off. "I take it you have something I can use, then, or at least something beyond asking me to pinpoint one single person in the entire Continent. My uncle was highly sought after, as you know, and his ingenuity in spellshaping was world-renowned. Asking me to identify one person he might've consulted with from two letters is like asking for one drop of blood to be collected from a pond."

"Got a lead," Geralt agreed, noting the wary glance from Regis as he spoke this time. "An associate suggested it might be a spy—Hector Krafft Ebbing. Was involved with goëtia during the Third Northern War. Tried to spread a variant of the Catriona Plague that targeted non-humans, but ultimately failed." He paused, noting the strange expression Fringilla was giving him, before he cleared his throat to continue. "Know it doesn't have anything to do with VA," he admitted, pointing it out before she had a chance. "But a spy can have multiple aliases. This one has at least two. Figure anyone who'd go to extremes like that might be a plausible start."

"Our associate suggested that Ebbing might've been trying to find a world where humans could exist solitarily," Regis added, sounding almost embarrassed to mention it. "The concept seemed… well, far-fetched to me, but I suppose any lead is more effective than nothing."

Fringilla huffed, looking over to Regis this time. "I don't agree," she returned, sounding almost affronted. "A bad lead is worse than no lead at all – which is what I'm afraid you have, at the moment." She paused, giving it some thought, before she turned to look at Geralt again, tilting her head to scrutinize him. "I've more thoughts on the matter," she informed him. "But first I have a question for you, Geralt."

Geralt grunted, resisting the urge to scowl. "Can't say I'll have an answer," he told her, frankly.

Fringilla shrugged one shoulder. "Then I can't say I'll have an answer, either," she returned, sounding unconcerned. "I've no interest in giving something for nothing. I've already had more than enough of that with you in bed."

Geralt let out a breath through his teeth. "Fine," he agreed, already regretting it. "What's the question?"

Fringilla smiled, brushing her gloved fingers across her lips, as if miming holding up an invisible fan. "Tell me about the pregnant woman you're harbouring at Corvo Bianco," she said, her shrewd grin widening.

Geralt felt something drop to the pit of his stomach at the question, but he held his expression, letting nothing on. "No pregnant woman at Corvo Bianco," he answered, knowing it was the truth, even if she tried to read his mind.

Fringilla hummed, brushing her hand across her skirt. "Not now, there isn't," she agreed, perceptively. "But I know there was. Tell me, Geralt, or this conversation is over."

Geralt hummed, not liking her tone. "Seems you already know something," he told her, bluntly.

Fringilla looked up at this, all humour and coyness having drained from her expression at the back-and-forth. "I know what I need to know to keep apprised," she informed him, sounding indifferent now, as if the question were no longer fun. "I know her child has a high ransom on its head amongst the magic community, and I know she's not a sorceress, herself. Other than that, I'm entirely in the dark. I wouldn't be asking otherwise." She paused, folding her arms, her plump lips narrowing to a razor's edge as she stared at him. "Who is she to you, Geralt?" she insisted, shortly. "And why is it so important to you to protect her and her child?"

"Said yourself, she's being hunted by the mage community," Geralt answered, shortly. "Need more of a reason than that?"

Fringilla hesitated, before finally smiling, the expression as cold as when he had first entered the room. "Under normal circumstances, no," she returned, not even trying to hide how frustrated she was becoming. "But I've never known you to be so philanthropic as to open your home to total strangers—not to mention Yennefer. My patience is wearing thin, witcher. Tell me, or we've nothing more to talk about."

Geralt clenched his teeth, before finally letting out a sigh, realizing there was no other way out of this. "Fine," he conceded, lowering his voice. "It's 'cause… the kid is mine."

Fringilla huffed, sounding unimpressed. "Another child surprise, witcher?" she asked, acerbically.

Geralt shook his head. "Nope," he said. "Biologically mine. Did come as a surprise, though."

Fringilla hesitated, seeming lost for words, before she finally let out a scoff, sounding almost insulted. "Impossible," she spat. "No witcher can sire a child naturally. You needn't mock me, Geralt—I was merely curious."

Geralt shrugged. "Not mocking anyone," he answered, taking note of the way her face twisted as he spoke; she looked like some breed of royal dog, he thought, the way her nose wrinkled in disdain. "Thought it was impossible, too. But apparently not. Result of some potion I took years back. Two years of nothing, then suddenly—got a woman pregnant. Big surprise for everyone involved."

Fringilla froze, seeming for a moment too stunned by the shortness of his tale to know how to respond to it. Then, finally, she let out another sigh, allowing her gloved hands return to her sides. "Your talent for simplifying even the most interesting of tales to nearly nothing is commendable, Geralt," she told him, bluntly. "Tell me, then – where were you that you took this potion, and from whom? There must be more to this story than what you're letting on."

"Flotsam," Geralt answered, folding his arms as he readied to relay his tale again. "Two crackpot researchers on the street. Shani and I haven't been able to figure out what the potion actually was, yet."

"Shani?" Fringilla repeated, causing Geralt to curse inwardly at his slip. "So the pregnant woman has a name after all. Interesting. What else were you two able to find out about these… researchers?"

"Not much," Geralt answered, reminding himself that Shani was in safe hands, far away from here. "Research for the project was originally funded through Oxenfurt, but they got cut off for running unethical tests—experimenting on townsfolk. I was the last test subject before the project stopped updating. Lead went cold after that."

Fringilla nodded, her expression growing solemn, seeming to realize that was all she was likely to get from the witcher. "I see," she conceded after a while. "Well, you've kept your end of the bargain, so it's only fair that I should keep mine." She paused, considering a moment, folding her dainty hands across her corset as she thought, before she finally took a deep breath, her purple gaze moving to sit somewhere past Geralt, against the far wall.

"Your friend, Hector Krafft Ebbing…" she began, her brow furrowing. "I highly doubt he's the one you're looking for. The motivation your associate suggested makes no sense – how many gates would need to be opened before an uninhabited world suited for humans would be located? And by that time, how much damage would be done to the Continent in the interim by the opening of the various gates? By the time he found a suitable world to inhabit, any human he might've sent there would already be long dead."

She paused, frowning at the thought, rolling her lips as she turned it over, before she finally took another deep breath, allowing her gaze to return to her visitors. "Not to mention, if Ebbing's primary goal during the War was to spread a Plague, would he not have used his summoned demon's influence to simply release it again, successfully this time?" she added, rationally. "No. If you want my opinion, it's far more likely you're looking for someone else."

Stopping again, Fringilla thinned her lips, looking as solemn as Geralt had ever seen her, all pretence of sarcasm and vitriol having left her expression, replaced only with the face of a professional. "I'd start by looking for someone with a history of interest in multiverse theory," she began again after a moment, thoughtfully. "Someone who would see some benefit that outweighed the negative consequences of opening these gates and weakening the fabric of reality. Attempting to open the worldgates in the hopes of finding a new home for humans is risky, and fanciful at best… but opening them in an effort to let in more monsters? That would be almost assured."

"That's what I deduced as well," Regis agreed, nodding along with a solemn expression. "We had a lead to that end—Geralt encountered a new type of vampire, one even I had not seen before. We went down to the vampiric intersection to investigate, and while there, we found that some… mage, we believe, had been interfering with the gate before our arrival. Trying to open it, from the look of his research – and perhaps even succeeding, using what we assume was your uncle's method to bring through a specimen as yet undocumented."

Fringilla frowned at this, looking first to Regis, and then to Geralt, seeming confused. "Vampires?" she asked, sounding troubled. "I thought this was about a demon. Now they're summoning vampires?"

"That's what confused us, too," Geralt admitted, furrowing his own brow at the thought. "Notes on the explorer's body pointed to Ban Ard. Also implied ties to studies from Rissberg. Dunno why Ban Ard'd be interested in opening worldgates, though. Let alone bringing monsters through. Last I knew they didn't even practice goëtia there. Black magic's against their policies."

"Ban Ard?" Fringilla asked, now sounding intrigued. "Black magic? That is an interesting lead. And it does sound very much like something Rissberg would be involved in. If you remember, they used to run illegal genetic experiments there."

"Sure," Geralt answered, nodding. "Killed a few of their creations. Got in trouble with the grandmasters for it."

Fringilla huffed, sounding unsurprised. "Be that as it may," she said, moving the conversation forward. "If their aim was to make more of their creations – or perhaps, replicate those which some careless witcher had slain – wouldn't it be most convenient to simply pull test subjects from the source, rather than going out and capturing them, themselves? Or worse, paying a witcher to capture them—a witcher like the one who killed their experiments in the first place? A witcher who might start asking questions, and look too deeply into whatever it is they're using these monsters for?" She paused at the thought, staring eagerly at Geralt, as if waiting for him to chime in with some additional insight, but he only stared back just as expectantly, unsure what it was he was supposed to be responding to.

"Guess so," he finally agreed, still finding her logic a bit far-fetched to follow. "'Specially if they're looking for certain monsters that'd be hard to track down otherwise. But those monsters are too dangerous for humans to handle. Probably break free if they tried to capture them."

"Which would certainly explain the fate of our unlucky friend at the vampiric gate," Regis acknowledged, gravely.

Geralt faltered, feeling a strange, unsettling weight start to build in his gut at the implication, but he quickly pushed the thought from his mind again, reminding himself that this was all still conjecture. "Still doesn't explain how they're making new hybrids," he pointed out, looking to Fringilla again. "Or why. Not the kind of thing they do at Ban Ard, and nobody involved in Rissberg's original experiments're left. Motivation's gone cold."

He frowned, remembering back to the discs he and Dandelion had pored over the night before, recalling the strange, indecipherable letters they had found inscribed on the newest three; the only thing that told him, he knew, was that someone was potentially attempting to use Idarran's methods to replicate his work, but without any further context, there was no way to say the beasts had actually come from Rissberg, itself. With the institution having long gone under, Geralt could not think of anyone who would risk trying to revive it – Rissberg had been the hotbed of a scandal, and if anything happened there, there was sure to be word about it. However, there had been no mention from the Castle, no whisper of activity from the town around it; nothing in thirty years that would indicate anyone had taken up the mantle left behind in Ortolan's wake.

Fringilla did not seem discouraged by his argument, only raising a finger to press it musingly to her lips. "Interesting," she conceded. "And have you actually gone to Rissberg to investigate this?"

Geralt gritted his teeth at the loaded question. "No," he admitted. "Didn't see a point."

Fringilla sighed, folding her arms, looking up at the witcher with an unsurprised pout. "That always was your weakest trait," she told him, frankly. "You've no adventurous spirit at all." Geralt frowned, confused, but Fringilla ignored him, only turning away to walk across the floor towards her megascope; she paused as she reached it, considering for a moment, before turning to look back at her guests again, her expression bored. "I assume you've been looking into the matter from other angles," she finally said, sounding almost indifferent to the conversation now. "With the information you've collected, it seems almost impossible you've come up with no other leads."

"We've investigated from every plausible angle, unfortunately," Regis acknowledged, pursing his lips at the thought. "Further inspection of the discs provided nothing, and we've no indication that any of this might connect to Ban Ard's interests." Geralt clenched his jaw at the mention of the discs, having specifically avoided telling Fringilla about them, but the sorceress gave no reaction to the word, making him wonder if she might have missed it. "We came to the conclusion, through Yennefer's determination, that this doesn't seem the type of project Ban Ard would be likely to pick up, if they valued their academic license," Regis continued, unaware of his slip. "Though, again, even Oxenfurt seemed willing to turn a blind eye for a while, until the unethical testing became too brazen to ignore."

He paused at the thought, sucking his lip for a moment, before he turned to Geralt again, his expression troubled. "Perhaps Ban Ard is not so spotlessly principled as Yennefer might like to believe," he suggested, worriedly.

Fringilla hummed, reaching out a hand to brush it pensively over the metal ring of her megascope. "Perhaps," she agreed, dismissively. "Or perhaps Yennefer has some other motivation for defending Ban Ard's reputation. Luckily for her, you so thoroughly put your trust in everything she has to say, you neglect to do any of your own research."

Geralt faltered, narrowing his eyes. "Yen's got no reason to lie," he said, sharply.

Fringilla huffed, sounding unconvinced. "Of course not," she returned, sarcastically. "Because she's never kept anything from you before. Why in the world would she bother to protect the reputation of one of the Continent's last magical institutions?"

Geralt gritted his teeth, feeling the instinctual urge to defend his wife rising sharply in his chest, but he found he could not help realizing, even so, that Fringilla was not entirely wrong in her observation. As much as he and Yennefer had promised not to keep secrets from one another after their wedding vows, it seemed neither of them could say they had been completely transparent with the other in the months since their I-do's. "So what's she keeping from me, then?" he asked, speaking the question slowly, his patience thin. "What don't I know about Ban Ard that's keeping us from getting anywhere on this?"

Fringilla made a face at his tone, her dainty nose pinching in an unconvinced glower. "Ban Ard, as anyone who has actually been there knows, is as dirty as any other institution where magic is regularly practiced," she told him, sounding almost bored. "Or have you never heard about the experiments on Sources they used to run there, before they moved on to experimenting on lycanthropes? Not to mention, Ban Ard is the only place where necromancy is allowed to be practiced without punishment. How much do you think they would really stop anyone from delving into Rissberg's studies on their coin?" She paused as she finished, her purple eyes turning to fix on the megascope for a while, before she finally took a deep breath, turning her attention to the witcher and his companion again.

"When did you say the funding for the experiments at Oxenfurt were cut off, exactly?" she asked, curiously.

Geralt faltered, surprised by the change of subject. "Couldn't tell you," he answered after a moment, shaking his head. "Shani only said they cut funding right before I took the potion. Correspondence seemed to indicate the experiment kept going, though. Only reason it stopped updating was because the researchers died soon after." He paused, making a face, trying not to think back to the gruesome deaths of the scientists at Loc Muinne, but he quickly pushed the thought from his head again, looking up to watch as Fringilla thinned her lips, seeming displeased with his answer.

"That's unfortunate," Fringilla sighed, moving her hands to her hips as her gaze returned to the megascope. "Though it does give an interesting insight into how we might approach this whole dilemma, regardless." She paused, taking a moment to think, sucking her lip as she turned the situation over, before she finally gave a soft hum, looking up at her visitors again, her eyes narrowing.

"If I were you," she told them, speaking slowly, as if still trying to decide the best approach. "I'd focus less on trying to deduce the individuals responsible for these projects from wayward clues, and more on following the funds behind them. Someone had to have proposed funding for the expedition that sent that poor soul down to the vampiric intersection. If that someone was also involved with Ban Ard, they might still have a record of it in their archives." She paused, her purple eyes arcing in a pensive trail above their heads as she considered, before she shifted her weight to her other hip, purposefully accentuating her womanly curves.

"Gaining access to Ban Ard's archives might be difficult for someone with no ties to the school," she added, looking to Geralt again. "But perhaps a visit to Rissberg Castle wouldn't be out of the question. Especially if it's abandoned, as you suspect."

Geralt hummed, making a face. "Real intent on getting me to go to Rissberg," he noted, darkly.

Fringilla sighed, sounding as if she would rather be anywhere else. "I don't care what you do, witcher," she informed him. "I'm only trying to give you something credible to work with. Whether you take my idea or not is not my concern." She paused again, pursing her lips, looking both frustrated and begrudgingly intrigued by the mystery, seeming to be having a difficult time deciding which sentiment took precedence in her stubborn mind. "As you say, there may very well be nothing left to find at Rissberg," she added after a moment, raising her sharp chin to look down at him, judiciously. "But perhaps, if you do find a name in your search, I might be able to tell you if I recognize it as someone who had dealings with my uncle."

"Hm," Geralt answered, glancing back at Regis. "Lotta trouble for a search that could amount to nothing."

Fringilla shrugged. "That's all I have to offer, I'm afraid," she admitted. "I suppose you and I are simply destined to disappoint one another forever."

---

Geralt and Regis were quiet for most of the ride home, allowing Dandelion time to dabble on his lute, an opportunity the bard took full advantage of, humming a merry tune and picking idly at the strings with a smile. Geralt furrowed his brow as he watched him, trying to decide if something was going on with the bard, before he finally gave a soft grunt, realizing Dandelion was simply waiting for someone to ask.

"You look mighty happy," Geralt noted. "Take it something happened with Anarietta."

Dandelion grinned, looking like a cat who had successfully stolen a fishbowl. "A gentleman doesn't tell a lady's affairs," he answered, coyly. "Suffice to say… great things came to pass. But, I'll tell you no more than that! What happens in Beauclair, stays in Beauclair."

Geralt grunted, looking away again. "Fair enough," he said. "Won't make you tell me if you don't want."

Dandelion frowned, pursing his lips, seeming oddly affronted that Geralt would take him at his word, before he lifted Pegasus' reins again, giving the gelding a quick snap of them to catch up with the witcher. "Do you really not want to know?" he pressed, his voice almost pitiful, sounding desperate for a different answer. "I didn't mean to say I never intended to tell you. I just hoped you'd show a bit of interest first. That's all."

Geralt hummed, looking over at the bard again. "Fine," he said. "I'm interested. What happened with Anarietta?"

Dandelion hesitated, before he finally smiled, seeming to decide that was interest enough. "Well," he said, settling in for a tale. "As you know, while you were busy with Fringilla, I had an opportunity to visit with my dear friend, the duchess. Anna Henrietta asked me what I'd been up to since last we spoke, and she seemed elated when I informed her I'd settled down and become a respectable business-owner."

"'Elated'?" Geralt repeated, squeezing his heels to Roach's sides. "Not the word I would've guessed. 'Shocked', maybe. 'Sceptical'."

"Are you going to keep interrupting, or can I tell my story?" Dandelion insisted. Geralt nodded, indicating for him to continue, and Dandelion let out an irate huff, smoothing his cravat. "Anyway," he said, looking to the road again. "Anarietta was thrilled I'd done well for myself, as I said. She also mentioned she regretted we'd ever had bad blood between us, and requested we put it all behind us. Then, she told me that if I ever wished to move from Novigrad and come to Beauclair instead, she'd be more than happy to offer me the position of court troubadour, here at the ducal palace." He paused, looking over to the witcher again, as if expecting his friend to react to the news, but Geralt only raised his brows, saying nothing, uncertain if the bard was really through speaking.

"I declined, of course," Dandelion continued, proving the witcher right and offering an offhanded shrug of his satin shoulders. "The Chameleon is my life, after all. I can't just give it up. However, she told me that wasn't the end of the offer. She said she'd be willing to house us at the palace, and provide me a generous salary for my work, were I to accept—all I'd have to do is convince Priscilla to move to Beauclair, and we'd be set for life." He paused again, his feathered brow furrowing, before he sucked his lip, giving Pegasus' sides a halfhearted squeeze.

"That was a little harder to turn down, admittedly," he confessed, letting out a heavy sigh. "Everything I know is back in Novigrad, after all—but, I told her I'd give it a bit more thought. If Priscilla is open to the idea… well, I'm not sure, Geralt, but I'm thinking of accepting the position."

"Hm," Geralt answered, clicking his tongue to Roach. "Sure you can leave the Chameleon behind?"

Dandelion let out another discouraged sigh, tapping Pegasus' sides again. "I love the Chameleon dearly," he admitted, his mouth twisting in a dispirited line. "But it wasn't my dream—not initially. Whoreson Senior left it to me completely by surprise, if you remember. I've grown quite fond of it, with its new staff and décor, but… I think Zoltan can run it just as well without me." He paused, seeming to think about it, before he finally let out a huff, turning to look over at Geralt again. "I don't have to tell you what a brilliant businessman he is," he added, sounding impressed. "If nothing else, he refuses to be swindled. I always admired that about him. I'm too nice to people, Geralt – they feel they can take advantage of me for my kindheartedness."

Geralt hummed, saying nothing, only watching as Roach flicked her ears against the summer breeze. "Can't imagine Priscilla'd be too happy about leaving Novigrad," he observed after a while. "That's her home. Got her whole life there."

"As do I," Dandelion agreed, not even seeming to notice the subtle shift in conversation. "But an artist must go where his art takes him, and Toussaint is a paradise for people like us. Not only that, but moving down to Beauclair means we'd be right next door to you and Yennefer." He paused again, before his eyes began to brighten, as if this thought had only just occurred to him. "We'll be able to come over anytime to visit you and the baby," he added, smiling widely. "I'll be like part of the family! You won't be able to get rid of me."

"Hm," Geralt answered, dryly. "Thought you wanted me to talk you into the job. Not out of it."

Dandelion huffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, you're all bluster," he said, before turning to look at Regis instead. Regis seemed perfectly content to listen to their conversation, riding his grey at a leisurely trot, but he looked up with an amused expression as the bard turned to face him, seeking the vampire's approval. "Regis, what do you think?" Dandelion asked, clearly fishing for a specific answer.

Regis shrugged, giving his mare's sides a light tap. "I think it's a wonderful opportunity," he said, ignoring Geralt's long sigh at the answer. "And I also think it's wonderful that you'll have the chance to be so nearby to Geralt and his family. A solid family structure is important for a child. The more support she has, the better she'll integrate into adult society, when she's older."

Dandelion chuckled, turning to face the road again. "That's what I thought," he answered, satisfied.

---

Geralt let out a long sigh as he finally passed the gates of Corvo Bianco, sliding out of his saddle and onto the walkway, taking in the aroma of the gardens as he filled his lungs with the familiar scents of home. He had been away for only a day, but it had felt like ages cooped up in the shimmering palace, stifled by the smells of wine and perfume and the unsettling amount of finery Anarietta surrounded herself with. He preferred the comforts of his own home – fine, but not too showy, just enough to please Yennefer's tastes – and he turned to glance back behind him as he heard two more sets of feet dropping gratefully onto the cobbled walk.

Dandelion let out an audible exhale as he dismounted, groaning loudly as he arched his spine, stretching it out, but Regis made no noise as he descended, only leading his horse calmly forward to stand beside Geralt at the edge of the property. He paused as he reached the witcher, lifting his head to take a deep breath as he stared over the vineyard, before he finally moved his free hand to his bandolier strap, running his thumb thoughtfully along the underside.

"I think we learned quite a good deal this evening," Regis observed, looking over to Geralt, as if expecting him to have said as much already. "I can't say our trip to Beauclair's palace was a total loss, even if your friend's theory didn't pan out quite the way we hoped."

"Didn't expect it to," Geralt admitted, resting his hands on his hips as he looked up towards the house. "Can't say our new lead's much better, though. Know nothing about Rissberg, and even less about Ban Ard." He frowned, thinning his lips, wrinkling his nose a bit as he thought back on Fringilla's advice, before he clicked his tongue to Roach, reaching out to take her reins to lead her towards the stables. Roach blustered as he led her forward, giving her mane a toss as she nudged him softly in the shoulder-blade, and he grunted as he reached back to pet her nose, grateful for a companion as dependable as his mare. The dappled grey Regis had borrowed gave a soft snort as the vampire led her towards the stables behind the witcher, and Pegasus shook out his mane as he walked, seeming just as eager as Dandelion to be through riding for the evening.

"Follow the funds," Geralt repeated, unlatching Roach's reins and hanging them up in her stall. "Got no idea where to even start with that. Can't ask Yen to infiltrate Ban Ard's records. Dunno anyone else who could."

"She did say it might be possible to learn the same information by going to Rissberg Castle," Regis reminded him. "Though I can't say her advice doesn't hold merit in other regards. In fact, it might help us in our search to find out more about your potion as well."

Geralt grunted, reaching down to unbuckle Roach's saddle and lifting it off her back. "Feel like we've already hit a dead end with that," he said, setting the saddle down carefully on her saddle-rack. "Know Oxenfurt cut funding for the potion right before Flotsam. Otherwise, got nothing. Shani checked. Records died with the researchers." Tossing Roach's blanket over the door, he stretched out his back, before turning to his companions again, watching as Dandelion did the same, stripping down Pegasus and stowing his saddle. Regis had already finished stripping his mare, and was now brushing her down, seeming almost transfixed, his expression gentle as he clicked his tongue to her, causing her to nicker softly, flicking her ears. Horses were afraid of vampires, Geralt knew, but Regis was always vigilant to mask his scent, and the grey gave another soft snort before finally dipping her head, seeming to accept her groomer.

"Only other person with an interest in something like that might've been Moreau," Geralt added, still thinking about it. "But without his journal, got no way to check. Otherwise, just seems like a big risk for minimal payoff."

"A small payoff doesn't necessarily mean there was no one willing to take the risk," Regis answered, pursing his lips at the thought. "Perhaps someone with a need to know, and no regard for who suffered for his curiosity. Much like, perhaps, whoever would've funded an expedition following Sorel's predictions about the caverns beneath Hen Gàidh – someone with connections at Ban Ard, who was willing to send a man to certain death to test a wild theory."

Geralt grunted, his expression twisting at the thought. "Yen said Ban Ard wouldn't do something like that," he argued, stiffly. "Don't care what Fringilla says. I trust Yen. Knows that place better than anyone."

Regis shrugged, looking unconvinced. "Well, someone at Ban Ard clearly did something like it," he returned, letting out a harried breath. "Or at the very least, someone with access to their resources. We can't argue with the evidence, Geralt, as much as we might like to." He paused, his pensive brow furrowing, his countenance growing dark as he stared across at the witcher, before he finally set down his brush, seeming too distracted to continue grooming. "It might be a bit far-fetched to consider, but it would certainly make sense that a person like that would have no qualms about experimenting on unsuspecting townfolk," he continued after a moment, gravely. "Perhaps one might even speculate that these mysteries may not be as far apart as we might have once considered."

Geralt made a face at the suggestion. "Think the hybrids and the potion are connected?" he asked. He paused, before letting out another grunt. "You're right," he said. "Does seem far-fetched."

"Perhaps," Regis agreed, turning to look at him again, his dark eyes intuitive. "But even if they do end up being two separate issues, I can't see how it would hurt to at least look for commonalities. If we look into the matter and find nothing, then at least we'll know we expended all possible outcomes. It's not as if we're swimming in logical conclusions on either front at the moment." He paused, before turning to look over at Dandelion, as if expecting the bard to have some insight into the matter, but Dandelion seemed to have his mind somewhere else entirely, staring out at the vineyard past the stable gate. "Dandelion," Regis called out to him, causing the bard to turn, surprised to be addressed. "Settle a discrepancy for us, if you please."

Dandelion paused, before instantly beaming. "With pleasure," he answered, brightly. "I love having my opinion asked on things."

Geralt grunted, unsurprised, but Regis did not react, only tilting his head curiously. "Geralt and I are trying to deduce any possible existing connection between Ban Ard and Oxenfurt," he said, pursing his lips as he spoke. "Anything which might make such experiments as Geralt's sterility potion possible through collaborative trialling. Geralt thinks it's unlikely there was any such partnership, but I imagine it shouldn't be too difficult to find some overlap between the institutions… some professors who dabbled in the arcane arts, perhaps, or those who took their basis in scholastic knowledge and applied it to later magical studies."

"Actually," Dandelion corrected, seeming pleased to finally have a stake in the conversation. "It's usually the other way around—mages from Ban Ard come to Oxenfurt to study. We had a lot in the astronomy department, the archaeology department… even some in the biologies. Just ask Shani." He paused at the thought, stroking his goatee, as if considering what else there might be to tell. "Less so in the arts, come to think of it," he added after a moment, sounding a bit perplexed. "Something about mages doesn't seem to draw in the most… creative types, I suppose."

"Known a few artistic mages," Geralt observed, his mind going immediately to Lydia.

Dandelion nodded, waving a dismissive hand. "The visual arts, yes," he agreed, indifferently. "The performing arts, however… not so much."

"I doubt we're looking for an actor, regardless," Regis noted, causing both the bard and the witcher to turn and face him again. "Nor an astronomer, though I could certainly see the appeal… perhaps a biologist is a possibility, however. Or even an archaeologist – it would certainly explain how they could so accurately predict the location of our gate."

Geralt grunted again. "Dunno what any of this has to do with my sterility potion," he admitted.

Regis shrugged, folding his arms. "Perhaps nothing," he agreed, sounding just as perplexed. "That seems more likely a biological endeavour, quite frankly. Nothing to do with Conjunction theory at all, which would rule out our Ban Ard associate." He paused, thinking it over, his dark eyes moving to his mare again as he considered. "Perhaps we might ask Shani if she has any ideas," he added after a moment, thoughtfully. "She's more familiar with the medicinal side of Oxenfurt's curriculum, after all."

"Couldn't hurt," Geralt agreed, giving Roach one last pat before opening the gate to let himself out. "Then after, maybe head to Rissberg. If it's empty, lose nothing but time."

At this, Dandelion looked up quickly, and even Regis turned to look at him, seeming troubled. "Rissberg?" Dandelion repeated, sounding alarmed. "That castle in Cidaris where all those awful murders occurred?" He huffed, pressing a hand to his cravat, as if to steady his gentle heart at the thought. "Gods!" he exclaimed. "You really intend to go there? I wouldn't be surprised if that place is haunted, after all this time."

"I have to agree with our bard friend," Regis put in, giving a taut, wary smile that thinned his lips to barely a visible line. "Anywhere whose interests include experimenting on vampires is not someplace I'd prefer to be, given my ideal choice."

Geralt nodded, unperturbed by their consensus. "Understandable," he said. "Wouldn't go, myself, if I didn't have to. Wasn't gonna ask you to come anyway, Regis. Know you've got other things to attend to."

Regis paused, taking a deep breath, before he finally let it out again in a long, weary sigh. "Also true," he agreed, sounding almost hesitant to acknowledge it, now that it had been brought up. "I really should be returning to Dettlaff soon… he only asked for a few days to think things over, and it's already been a week. I'm afraid he might get the wrong impression, should I stay away from the crypt much longer." Having said this, he paused again, falling silent, sucking his lip as his brows collected in a worried crease, before he finally let out another exhale, his greyish mouth twisting into a thoughtful frown.

"I admit, I am… hesitant to head back," he confessed, looking up at Geralt again with apprehensive eyes. "Who knows if I've yet given him enough time to consider? Or if I have… who knows what his decision will be, given the time he's had?"

Geralt hummed, not sure what to say. "Sure he still wants to see you," he finally answered, deciding it was the truth. "Said yourself he was willing to think it over. Figure that means he still wants you around, whatever his decision."

Regis hesitated, silent for a moment, before he finally looked up again, seeming more composed than before. "Thank you, Geralt," he said, quietly. "You've set my mind at ease. And you're entirely right. Even if Dettlaff isn't interested in a romantic relationship, he was at least willing to consider, for my sake. Someone who wants nothing more to do with me wouldn't even bother. That's… comforting, in its own way." He paused again, his expression softening, his dark eyes growing distant, as if calling back to some far-off memory, before he finally took another breath, gripping his bandolier strap with conviction.

"Well," he said, giving a strained smile. "I've wasted enough time dithering on the prospect. It's best just to remove the leech quickly, as they say, rather than trying to coax it off and continue the bloodletting." He paused, his expression twisting a bit, as if only just realizing his own unseemly comparison, before he turned to look at Geralt again, reaching out a hand to rest heavily on the witcher's shoulder. "Do take care of yourself, Geralt," he told him, his voice solemn, as if hesitant to leave him alone again. "And remember what we discussed regarding Yennefer. This isn't something that can't yet be fixed, with time and understanding."

"I remember," Geralt answered, clapping a grateful hand over Regis' on his shoulder. "Thanks, Regis."

Regis smiled, his expression wan, though Geralt could tell he was trying to be sincere. "I do my best to be useful when the opportunity arises," he said, retrieving his hand to return it to his side. "I suppose it's fortuitous you contacted me when you did, or we might never have been around to solve one another's problems." He paused, considering for a moment, before his thin lips began to curl, and he let out a soft chuckle. "For want of a nail, the shoe was lost," he said, his dark eyes glinting at the reference. "One small detail really can change so much, can't it? It's almost incredible to think about."

Geralt faltered, trying not to make a face as he felt his gut twist at the verse, but Regis seemed not to notice, only letting out a soft breath as he straightened his alchemist's smock. "Regardless," he said, looking up again. "Please do let me know whatever occurs with Yennefer. I'll be on pins and needles until I know things have been resolved between the two of you."

Geralt nodded. "Will do," he answered, still trying to shake the unsettling feeling from his mind; he knew there was no way Regis could have known what he was evoking when he made the offhanded comment, but the thought of O'Dimm still made his blood run cold, though he had not seen the demon in days. The fact that O'Dimm could be so unobtrusive, so patient, was not a fact which eased the witcher's mind in the slightest, and he let out a short huff as he took a step back, watching as Regis turned to smoke and vanished into the night sky.