A/N: I have never been fulfilled by the ending of the story and what became of Priscilla (even after she's healed, she's still on the bed at the hospital) Here's my tale that is 100% just for me. You can come along too if you wish, dear traveler.

This story contains a mixture of both game and book references. There will, of course, be musical aspects to this story. I'll refer you to my playlist in due time.

Oh. And I guess it should be noted that Dandelion is a deeply flawed character, but we love him anyways, yes? Alright.

Chapter One:

Corvo Bianco, Toussaint

The famed bard stretched out, lazing along the decorative chaise in the garden of Corvo Bianco. Dandelion had positioned the lounger just close enough to the cool stream so that he could dip a hand in and wet his forehead for a little reprieve from the harsh sun. Not uncharacteristically for Dandelion, he was adorned in far too many layers for the both stifling and sweltering heat, which manifested itself today in a heavy humidity that was hard to breathe in.

While he wouldn't normally admit it under other circumstances, he found himself actually longing for the frigid bite in the air back up in the Northern Kingdoms. He'd been down here for so long now - too long. Not that most would blame him; he'd been distracted by the awe-inspiring landscapes and fairy-tale-like charms of the duchy. Besides that, he was undoubtedly enjoying the feelings of nostalgia from the last time he'd been here. Those couple months he and Geralt had spent here with Regis, Milva, Cahir, and Angoulême had been some of the best of his life - and that had been the last time he'd seen any of them alive.

That is, until Regis showed up at The Chameleon (very much alive, in fact), and desperate for Dandelion's help bailing Geralt out of 'a bit of a situation.' It was also noted that the vampire had made an even more delectable version of his mandrake moonshine that made Dandelion see the stars, moons and, at times, the entire universe.

Priscilla - Melitele bless her - had been nothing but understanding when Dandelion told her he needed to make a hasty visit to Toussaint - after all, Geralt had done so much for both of them in recent months. She wanted to go with him, but Dandelion had asked her to stay behind and watch over The Chameleon until he was able to return.

But Dandelion didn't just leave without a word, oh no. They spent their last night together drinking good wine, singing, making love and swearing their undying devotion to one another. There were many times that night that Dandelion wanted to ask her the question he'd never asked any other woman before. He had no doubts about it - Priscilla was the love of his life.

Even still, he had to go. So he did what poets do best. He sent letters and sonnets, penned both beautifully and eloquently, back to Priscilla. At first, she wrote back just and longingly and lovingly, but as time continued to pass he could tell from her letters that her patience surrounding his absence was running thin. Now he couldn't remember the last letter he'd received from her.

Or maybe it was his turn to write… he couldn't recall.

He hadn't planned to stay so long - Toussaint tends to have that effect on people. Time passed easily there - too easily. Of course when he heard what had happened to Syanna, and then subsequently what had happened to Geralt, he'd come to Geralt's aid. He came, even knowing that Toussaint could have meant a certain death for himself. After all, last time he'd been in Toussaint, the Duchess Anna Henrietta had only spared his head by a last-minute whim; he'd been given strict orders never to return or face execution.

But years upon years of friendship with the witcher - and the countless times Geralt had saved his hide - warranted Dandelion to brave the white-hot ire of the Duchess he'd left behind.

And brave her, he did.

To his credit, Dandelion had tried to stay faithful to Priscilla, he really and truly had. In fact, on his whole ride down to Toussaint from Novigrad his time was filled playing out hypothetical conversations he would have with her, how he would be there to comfort her over the loss of her sister, but not in the way he'd come accustomed to during past visits with the Duchess.

No, this time he was really just going to be her friend.

Then… he saw her.

He expected her to slap him or curse him or even banish him from her sight, but instead she hurriedly fell into his arms, as delicate and broken as ever.

Dandelion was weak, their resurfacing feelings too strong. With her unwavering persistence, everything he'd ever felt for Anarietta came flooding back in that moment, and his loyalty wavered almost immediately. It only took a few secluded meetings between Ana and Dandy - with their hushed whispers, electrifying stares, and soft, fleeting touches - before his defenses had weakened entirely. Soon he found himself waking up in her bedroom chambers, his limbs entangled with hers, instead of alone in Geralt's guest room.

"Anna, we can't-" he'd tried, his voice far away and distracted by the utter bliss he was feeling from her lips pressed against his neck, her hot breath circling his ear. "I'm… I'm in love with someone else. Someone who's waiting for me back home-" he swore. She was in his lap, pawing and pulling at the collar of his shirt while her lips continued to explore wherever his skin was exposed. It was clear she was desperate to feel something - anything - other than the pain she was feeling.

" Please," she begged, a sob in her throat. She moved his hand up her exposed thigh and instead to the skin of her soft, bare collarbone. Her forehead fell forward, resting on his temple. He let out a low groan when she ground herself against him, the friction making him crazy. "I need this." One of her hands slipped between the two of them, touching him from memory the way she knew he liked to be touched. He cursed softly under his breath as her other hand cupped the side of his face and brought his lips to hers. He caught her soft whimper in his mouth and knew this was a fight he was not strong enough to win.

With very little convincing, Dandelion was able to exonerate the Witcher. The price to pay was keeping Anna Henrietta company whenever she asked. After a little time, he fell into old habits and pushed what he was doing - who he was hurting - out of his mind.

It wasn't all so complicated, however.

Not long after he'd arrived, Regis, Geralt and Dandelion spent at least two whole weeks becoming reacquainted. Many nights were spent honoring their fallen brother and sisters, until eventually the vampire had to be on his way to find Detlaff. They all felt it though, the unmistakable shift in the air. It felt like some of the wrongs of the past had been undone during those two weeks, and there were times during their moonshine-induced stupors that they could have sworn Geralt's company was back together again - all of them.

Maybe that's why he'd stayed in Toussaint so much longer than he'd anticipated. Maybe that's why he didn't feel the desire or urgency to rush back home to Novigrad, back to The Chameleon, which had ended up being a lot more responsibility than the bard had bargained for.

But he knew that wasn't true. He knew the real reason he hadn't left yet. And that reason filled him with the guilt that planted his feet firmly where he stood.

When he'd last stopped counting, he'd been going on week eight here in the rolling hills and peppered vineyards of Toussaint - but that was a few weeks past when he'd simply grown too tired or guilty to keep count.

So now, here he was.

Weeks had passed and he was still a guest at Corvo Bianco, much to Yennefer's ever-growing lack of patience with the bard's presence.

Dandelion glanced over at Geralt and Yennefer from the chaise; they were snuggled up under the old oak tree within spitting distance. Geralt sat, his back rested against the tree as Yennefer lay propped up against him, her face thoroughly hidden behind the book in front of her. Dandelion could almost make out the title; something about elven magic.

Yennefer must have sensed Dandelion's eyes on them; she sighed heavily and stretched a bit, changing her position without detaching herself from Geralt's side.

"Tell me, Dandelion," Yennefer purred. Her violet eyes remained fixed on the pages of the book in front of her. "Are you familiar with the phrase, 'two is company, four is a party, but three is a crowd? ' she mused, running her fingers through her silky, raven-black hair.

The not-so-subtle tone (and turn of phrase) was not lost upon the wordsmith, who dared to snap back, "and are you, my dear friend, familiar with the phrase, 'the more the merrier,' hmm?" He sat up a bit from his lounging position and propped himself up with an elbow. "Besides, I think Geralt likes having me here, don't you Geralt?"

" I think," Geralt began, his stare falling somewhere between the two of them, "that guests, not unlike fish, begin to smell after three days."

An audible, offended gasp fell from Dandelion's mouth. He felt his ears warm with embarrassment when he saw Yennefer - her eyes still engrossed with the book in front of her - stifle a small, victorious grin.

"Oh, now I smell?" he exclaimed, haughtily, then scoffed, "now that's rich coming from the man who regularly smells like the inside of a water hag's- "

" Watch it," Yennefer warned slowly. "You are a guest in our home, after all. Even if you have overstayed your welcome…"

"What are you still doing here, Dandelion?" Geralt asked frankly, taking a break from oiling his sword on the ground in front of him. "Do you even know anymore? Because you say you're writing, but I haven't even seen you pick up a quill. You say you're inspired by the scenery, the weather, the rich culture… but all I see you do these days is fall asleep in the sun and empty our wine bottles."

Dandelion puffed up proudly, "Inspiration, if you must know, comes and goes. I have reserves of inspiration. It's… the motivation… that I seem to be lacking these days."

"Mmm hmm," Geralt grunted, "and I think you're avoiding something back home…"

"Or some one." Yennefer mused.

"You know," Dandelion added, changing the subject as quickly as it had arisen, "if I were Ciri, I hardly believe that three would be a crowd."

"No, it would be a family, you halfwit," Yennefer snarled, Dandelion having rubbed her last nerve raw. She sat up abruptly, tossing her book to the side uncaringly. "Be honest, Dandelion. You're avoiding telling that little songbird of yours that you've spent the last three months gallivanting with your extremely beautiful, extremely smart, extremely powerful past lover."

And there it was. Someone had finally said it aloud.

She hit the nail right on the head and didn't leave much room for explanation… or excuses.

Dandelion gulped and felt his chest tighten with guilt.

"If you'd like I could always send a kestrel to your beloved, give her a bit of a head's up so you don't have to-"

" Yen, " Geralt said slowly. Warningly.

"What?" she gasped with feigned innocence. "You cannot possibly be defending his bad behavior-"

"Isredd," Geralt interrupted, bitterly.

" Triss," Yennefer hissed back at him, "Or maybe you'd prefer Fringilla? "

Everyone sat in a heavy silence for only a moment before Geralt cleared his throat.

"My point is… neither you nor I are really experts in monogamy, are we?" he challenged, cocking an eyebrow. "Except for now, of course…" he added when her icy glare was a bit too piercing. Geralt went back to rubbing polish down the length of his sword, "besides. It's complicated. He and the Duchess have a long history together, I'm sure you can sympathize. It's not like he set out to hurt Priscilla."

"Exactly! " Dandelion exclaimed, throwing his arms up triumphantly - although he'd won nothing., "Thank you, Geralt. It is complicated."

"Right," Yennefer sighed, shaking her dark curls. She put her hands up in frustrated surrender. " Fine. But at any rate, I think it's time you started heading home, soon. It's the heat of summer and I would very much like to walk around my own home in the nude, should I so choose."

"Can't say I disagree," Geralt chimed in.

"Oh, well now how could I possibly miss that?" Dandelion teased, but no one was laughing.

Dandelion felt his shoulders slump when he really started to think about facing Priscilla. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting her, but he had to tell her. All he could do was beg her for her forgiveness and never step foot in this province again.

Up until now he really hadn't let himself think too much about the damage he'd done these last couple of months - about the hurt it was going to cause Priscilla. She'd been home, faithfully holding down the Chameleon, waiting for him to return. Meanwhile, he'd been gracing his former lover's bed. He felt his stomach swirl and a bout of nausea take over.

"Fine, " He gave up. "I know when I'm not wanted-"

"I'm not so sure about that," Yennefer quipped, but Dandelion was already running through the logistics in his head.

"I'll start collecting my things and arrange a-" Before he could even finish his thought - or his drink - Yennefer gestured in the air with her hand, flicking her wrist and waving it in a clockwise motion. At first, there was a blinding light. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Dandelion saw a hole tear through the universe and open a portal.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm calling your bluff," Yennefer smirked. She stood up, dusting the spare pieces of grass from her black, skin-tight pants. "I arranged a shortcut."

"I'm- I'm not going through there. Geralt? " he nearly whimpered.

"Mmm," Geralt said, watching on with amusement. "Believe me... I hate portals, but she's right. You'll be home in your own bed within seconds." Dandelion's eyes widened when he realized he was outnumbered.

"A-and what if I get sliced in half, hmm? Then what?"

"Then you die," Yennefer responded, quite starkly.

"She's kidding," Geralt interceded, seeing the horrified look on his best friend's face. "You'll feel a bit disoriented, maybe a bit of vertigo. But that's it," he assured him.

"Oh," Dandelion uttered, unable to find any other words - which was rare for him. Yennefer neared him, comfortingly placing her hand on his back.

"Dandelion, it's perfectly safe. And perfectly necessary."

"But… Anna... I-I really should say goodbye-"

"Goodbye," Yennefer sighed, shoving him forward suddenly and right into the opened portal. She turned to Geralt, who's mouth hung open like a fish. She wiped her hands together, proud of her job well done. When Geralt said nothing, she gave an innocent shrug.

"What? Someone had to do it." Geralt stood, nearing the raven-haired beauty. She shrunk under his glare, not sure if he was going to get scolded or kissed. "If I didn't do it, he'd be here until Belleteyn, and you know it."

To Yennefer's surprise, Geralt leaned down and pressed a chaste, soft kiss against her lips.

"I'm fairly certain that I've never wanted you more." Yennefer grinned into their kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting him lift her up easily. After a few moments' embrace, Geralt hoisted her up over his shoulder and took her into the house to properly christen it.

To be continued.