summary: geralt is a thirsty bih, and not much else

A Wolf Among Lilacs
Part One: Longing/Regret
Chapter Seven: On the Long Way Down

"So let me get this straight. We're going…dragon hunting…in a minivan."

"It was the best we could do on short notice," Regis said, smiling apologetically. He was accompanying them as well, he explained as Geralt packed, if for no other reason than that it was probably a good idea to have a highly trained medic on site, especially where Dandelion was involved. He still didn't understand how Dandelion came to be involved in the first place, but there he was, sitting in the passenger seat sporting a wide grin, and Geralt decided it was probably best for his sanity if he didn't ask. He wasn't quite sure, even, why exactly he was doing this. He wanted to chalk it up to pure curiosity, but he knew—and he suspected the others did, too—that wasn't all. There was something else at play. Something more.

"And you're going to make me sit in the back of the minivan?"

"Not in the back back," Dandelion said through his open window, as if that somehow made it any better. "Just the middle."

There was no point arguing with him, and Geralt certainly didn't want to try so early in the morning, so without another word he set his bags on the floor of the van and settled behind the driver's seat, pushing his own back as far as it would go. By simultaneous agreement—it was the only thing they had agreed on the whole time—they'd decided Regis would be the one to drive. He was the most difficult to throw off, and in a car with Dandelion, that was an important quality to have. Geralt was, at this hour, too irritable to drive, and they all knew it. "Is it just the four of us then?" he asked as he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, trying and failing to catch up on lost sleep.

"It would appear so," came Regis's voice from somewhere in front of him. "I don't blame anyone who got the email and didn't show up. Most academics aren't cut out for dragon slaying."

"Last time I checked, there were only three of us," Dandelion interjected sourly. "Does she always take this long to get ready? She's had more time than the rest of us combined."

"It's probably because she knows you're here." Geralt couldn't tell whether or not Regis was joking.

"What's she got against me?"

Before either of them could even begin to answer that question, Geralt heard the distinct sound of a portal opening nearby. He opened his eyes and looked through the open door by the seat next to him. There was a flash of blinding light and then she was there, considerably more disheveled than the last time he'd seen her, though she still looked more put-together than any of them. "Drive, please," she said before she was even all the way in the van, tossing a black bag on the floor in front of her. Regis hit the gas and she pulled her door shut seconds before someone rounded the corner, running quickly towards them and looking very upset. Geralt recognized him immediately from the photo in Yennefer's apartment, and even if he hadn't he would've been able to guess. Clearly he realized he'd already lost whatever battle they were fighting, because he stopped and simply watched as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. Yennefer rested her forehead on the back of Dandelion's seat and sighed loudly.

"How long," she said, her voice hoarse from lack of sleep, "does an engagement have to go on before it becomes socially acceptable to break it off?"

"First of all, you realize that, as a sorceress, the rules of human society don't apply to you." He could hear laughter in Regis's tone. Yennefer didn't move, her eyes stayed closed, but she smiled with the corners of her mouth. "Second, if Philippa heard you say that she would probably start crying from joy. Third, what did he do this time?"

They ran over a bump on the road, and her head hit its perch in what looked like a painful manner, but she didn't react. "He's been here for three hours trying to dissuade me from doing this. Do you know what it's like to hear him talk at you for three hours?"

"No, but I imagine it's not pleasant. He didn't want you going off to fight a dragon alone?"

"Not alone." She leaned back, pulled her bag onto her lap and began to unzip it. After a moment of silence that passed far too quickly for his liking, she turned to him. "Hello, Geralt of Rivia. You're looking wide awake today."

"Hello, Yennefer." He didn't have the energy to pretend he was anything even remotely resembling happy. She smiled at him faintly. There was something almost conspiratorial about it, something that seemed to say yeah, me too. He could've been imagining it, though, because a second later she was focusing on her bag again like it hadn't happened. Her nails were painted a very light grey, the sleeves of her leather jacket rolled up because her arms were too short for them. He found the sight strangely endearing. Out of the bag she pulled a pillow and a blanket, which she tossed into the backseat.

"Wait." Dandelion twisted around in his seat to look at her. In stark contrast to the both of them, he had never seemed more awake. "If you don't want to listen to him talk for that long, why are you still engaged?"

"There are a lot of complicated reasons," she huffed, "and none of them are your business." She shifted to the backseat with practiced ease, considering the lack of space, and laid down, pulling the blanket up over herself. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try and get those three hours back."

Dandelion frowned. "Don't you want to darken the windows or—?"

"No," Yennefer and Regis said simultaneously. He heard her mumble something in Elder Speech and a moment later his view of her grew fuzzy, as if she'd draped a screen between them. He could see the outline of her, the dark waterfall of her hair, the blanket the color of rust, which he'd remembered seeing in Ciri and Triss's apartment a week or so before. He still hadn't figured out how exactly all their lives overlapped—there seemed to be a myriad of ways, and he was privy to none of them. Despite that, he still hoped he was making some headway, even if in small increments. She had to at least think him tolerable if she had come with him. Right?

As they merged onto the highway, Dandelion's voice snapped him out of his reverie. It was going to take them most of the day to get there—they'd be lucky, Geralt thought, if they made it to the hastily-thrown-together dinner where they were to meet Niedamir officially. If most of those hours were going to be spent listening to Dandelion talk, then he was beginning to sympathize with Yennefer more and more. He'd never met her fiancé (and if any of what he'd heard from various sources was true, he didn't really want to), but if he was anything like this…

Geralt sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. He doubted he'd be able to sleep, but perhaps he could meditate for a while. His hands loosened on the armrests and he tried to tune out everything but the sound of the engine, the tires rolling on the pavement. He drifted off gradually, Dandelion's chatter fading to a buzz in the background as he slipped into dreams that smelled faintly of lilac and gooseberries.

~oOo~

Yennefer slept until midafternoon, and when Geralt was roused a couple hours before her by Dandelion's singing, he found himself impressed that she was able to sleep through it. The ward seemed to have softened; he could see details he hadn't been able to before—the mark under her lips, the way her eyelashes laid against the tops of her cheeks. She looked for more relaxed than when she was awake, brow unfurrowed, lips slightly parted, hair fanned out behind her. Half of her face was pressed into the pillow, and the way she laid exposed the line of her neck, broken only by the thin velvet ribbon encircling it. If he looked close enough, he thought, he could see the steady thrum of her pulse, hovering somewhere above her collarbone. He shouldn't be looking at her that long, or that close, but he couldn't help himself. She was, in a way he wasn't sure how to describe, utterly bewitching.

For the next two hours, he watched her out of the corner of his eye as Regis and Dandelion talked. Occasionally he would join in halfheartedly, though it was probably clear his attention was elsewhere. The second she started to move, he dropped out of the conversation completely, unable to tear his gaze away as she stretched, moaning quietly in a way that would linger in his mind for days to come. Her eyes fluttered open and immediately locked with his, and despite his quick reflexes he was too surprised to look away. She smiled for a moment, startlingly genuine, before the ward fogged back up and he could only make out her outline.

"Are you having a nice time back there?" he heard Dandelion ask, mildly annoyed.

"Oh, yes," Yennefer said. When Geralt turned back again he could see, though not clearly, the pallor of her skin as she slipped her jacket off, then her top. "Geralt of Rivia has been wonderful company."

He was suddenly very glad that the Trials had taken away most of his ability to physically express embarrassment, because he was already distracted enough by what was going on behind that ward. He couldn't make out any details, but that didn't stop him from wondering if her skin would feel smooth and cool under his fingertips, if she would taste anything like she smelled—and those were thoughts he had to shove away, to ball up and throw out the window. There was something enticing about her, he couldn't deny it (and, in all the ways that mattered, she was Ciri's mother, which added an extra layer of awkwardness to their barely-there relationship), but she was already engaged, not to mention likely considerably younger than his nearly half a century. Whatever it was that had interested him so, he needed to learn how to ignore it. For both of their sakes.

"What are you even doing?" Dandelion was fully turned around now, squinting in an effort to see through the ward. Geralt felt a hot wave of jealousy sweep through him, though he was sure that Dandelion couldn't see any more than he could—perhaps even less. "Why keep the ward up if you're awake? Don't like us that much?"

"Just you, actually." He could barely make out her sweeping the hair off her shoulders, sliding out of her jeans. When he turned around, he saw Regis looking at him in the rearview mirror. His eyebrow was raised. Geralt clenched the armrest and look away quickly. "But in case you haven't realized—and I'm sure you haven't—we're to meet a king in just hours, even if a young one. I'd like to be presentable, at least."

"I know that!" Dandelion said loudly in protest. Geralt felt his medallion vibrate as the ward around Yennefer thickened, obscuring her completely. "Why wouldn't I? Just because they 'didn't send me an email,' that doesn't—hey! What's going on?"

"She can't hear you," Regis said, barely concealing his amusement. "The ward, I think, was made to react to your voice, getting thicker when you speak. It seems to have worked spectacularly well."

For the first time in his life, Dandelion seemed to be at a loss for words. Geralt pressed his lips together to hide a smile. He thought he could hear her laughing behind him, though it sounded half a world away.

"Don't take it personally." A moment later the ward dropped entirely and she reappeared, climbing into the seat next to Geralt. A small mirror hovered in front of her, a makeshift vanity of sorts, and he watched as she pulled a pencil out of the smaller bag she now held and started to fill in her eyebrows with it. "I've simply had my fill of men talking today."

"But you'll start talking to Regis in five minutes! And you'd talk to Geralt if he ever actually talked!"

"Yes," she admitted. The sunlight flashed through the windows as they drove, glinted off her jewelry. The ring she wore on her right hand, nearly identical to the one Ciri had on a chain around her neck, was set with a sparkling purple stone. He let his gaze drift elsewhere and swallowed thickly. She'd changed from what she was wearing earlier into a tight, long-sleeved black dress. If she were standing it would've fallen to midthigh, but the way she sat had pushed it nearly to the tops of her legs. He was struck with a sudden, intense desire to run his fingers over her skin, right up to the hem, see if she would make those noises again. "The difference is that Geralt and Regis both understand when to speak and when not to."

For a moment, Dandelion was quiet, opening and closing his mouth like a fish as he thought of things to say, then discarded them. "We also know," Regis said, smiling, "that it's pointless to argue with someone who knows she's right."

"Hey! Who says I'm not right?"

Yennefer sighed, but not without some small amount of mirth as she coated her eyelashes in mascara. If he hadn't seen her do it, he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. She didn't need it. "You're not," she said, "but fine, I'll humor you. You're the town gossip. Surely you know who else will be…accompanying us on this little adventure?"

Mollified, Dandelion sat up a little, puffing out his chest with pride. "Well, I'm sure you've heard about Eyck already."

"Unfortunately, I have." Geralt looked over at her in surprise, and when she met his eyes the corner of her mouth turned up in a gesture that seemed to say ask again later. "Who else?"

"Isn't that all we know?" Geralt interrupted.

"No, I found out some more while you were…sleeping. That the Crinfrid Reavers are going to be there, for example."

Geralt snorted, and when Yennefer looked at him questioningly, he explained, "The dragon's done for, then. I don't even know why they'd need any of us. Those three…they fight dirty, but effectively. They've rid Redania of forktails and dracolizards entirely, in addition to three red dragons and a black one. Is that everyone, then?"

"No. Six dwarves, commanded by Yarpen Zirgen."

"Hmmm…I don't know that name."

"But you've heard of the dragon Ocvist, from Quartz Mountain?"

"Yes, and I saw some of the gemstones from its hoard."

"Well, Zirgen and his dwarves killed it. Someone even wrote a song about it—mind you, it wasn't me, so it was terrible. You're not missing anything if you haven't heard it." Behind him, Yennefer rolled her eyes dramatically.

"…right. So that's everyone?"

"Yes. Not counting us, of course. And I've heard rumors of some sorcerer being there, but no confirmed reports."

Regis locked eyes with Geralt in the mirror once more. Yennefer, he noticed, had turned pale as a sheet—an impressive feat, considering there was barely any color to her in the first place. "You don't think—?" Regis started to say.

"No." Her hand was shaking as she dropped the tube she was holding back into her bag and zipped it up. There was a shine to her lips that hadn't been there before. Geralt tried not to see it. "I just saw him this morning. In Oxenfurt. He wouldn't…would he? I mean there's no way he could've gotten a safe-conduct that quickly…"

"You're the one who should know the answer to that, aren't you?" Dandelion supplied unhelpfully. Yennefer dug her fingers into her thighs, demonstrating far more self-control than Geralt would have been able to. After a moment, she relaxed somewhat, though there was something akin to fear left in her eyes.

"Well," she said resignedly, "I suppose we'll soon find out."

~oOo~

The sorcerer, when they arrived at the appropriately-named Pensive Dragon, turned out to be a man named Dorregaray of Vole, who was not Yennefer's fiancé, but who knew him, and her as well. She looked extremely relieved to see him and immediately left the rest of the group, putting on a display of kissing up to Niedamir the likes of which Geralt had never seen. He had to remind himself that she frequently advised in the Aedernian court, that she clearly had learned how to make royalty like her and that shouldn't affect his view of her at all. Dandelion too left them, his social nature calling on him to table-hop, leaving Geralt and Regis alone in a corner table, which suited them both just fine. With the exception of a brief introduction to Niedamir, they passed the time catching up on the past few years. Geralt ordered a few beers more than was necessary, and despite his tolerance being significantly higher than the average man's, he was starting to feel a buzz in the back of his head when they finally made their way across the street to their hotel.

Apparently they would all be sharing a room, and Geralt knew without asking that he'd have to sleep next to Dandelion, which he wasn't looking forward to—he snored as annoyingly as he sang. When they got there, the first thing the man in question did was lock himself in the bathroom. Geralt could hear him retching as he sat heavily on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Yennefer, it seemed, had vanished completely.

"Perhaps you should check for her outside," Regis suggested an hour or so later, when Geralt brought it up. He didn't have anything better to do, so he wandered the parking lot until he found her, wearing her clothes from earlier that day, perched in the open back door of the van. There was an assortment of bottles and jars spread around her, and she was drawing dark liquid into what appeared to be a small syringe.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he approached, leaning up against the passenger side door. She raised an eyebrow, but didn't look terribly surprised to see him.

"Halting the aging process. Slowly, mind you." She held the syringe up, examining it closely. Geralt suddenly remembered what Regis had told him weeks ago, about when she'd stopped aging. Gods, she was younger than he'd thought, though in a way, it only made the things she'd managed to accomplish in eleven years that much more impressive.

"You look…far too comfortable with that," he noted as he watched her insert the needle into the crook of her elbow. He wondered if this was how it worked for all mages—Triss, who had stopped aging years ago, had never given out any of the details.

"Alchemy may not have been my main field, but I did study it extensively."

"What was your main focus, then?"

She put the empty syringe down and leaned forward, a very serious expression on her face. "I'm an extremely skilled necromancer, Geralt of Rivia. Extremely skilled."

When it became clear he wasn't going to laugh, she allowed herself a small smile. "No accounting for humor, I see," she said as she packed her things away. "Very well. Regis sent you here because I wished to speak to you privately. You see…" She trailed off for a moment, staring at something across the lot. Geralt couldn't tear his eyes away from her. "Ciri is considering returning to Aretuza."

"I know." He knelt down on the pavement, resting on his heels so he could be closer to her eye level. "She told me a few days ago."

"More seriously now." When she met his eyes he was again arrested by the intensity of her violet gaze, much as he had been when they first met. Her hand reached up, fingers tracing the outline of her star. The stones within it seemed to pulse brighter under her touch. "She's going to visit the school in the next couple of days. Philippa's taking her."

"You sure that's wise?"

She sighed, pulled her knees up to her chest. "It's not ideal," she admitted. "But she can get the time off easier than Triss or I. Especially now." She sounded genuinely regretful. He remembered that conversation with Ciri, how he'd thought Yennefer didn't want that decision to be made on her daughter's terms, and immediately felt guilty about it. "In a way, though…it might be better that neither of us are there."

He didn't want to say she was right, but she was, and they both knew it. Instead he nodded silently. There seemed to be nothing more to it. The idea of losing Ciri, even if only figuratively, hurt in ways he'd hoped he would never have to deal with. Though, he thought as he looked at the woman beside him, watching as she cast her gaze upwards to the light behind their window, perhaps he'd found something as well.

(i'm sorry about that cheesy ending holy shit)

So I quickly want to address the fact that some characters' ages are different: the only reason is because I wanted some of the backstory elements to be more recent than they would be if they were their original ages (since Geralt and Yen are both nearly a century old by the end of the series, it feels like a pretty big change, but I promise it's really not; they're not necessarily going to act differently or anything). Like I mentioned last week, I'll try and keep to the one-chapter-a-week schedule, but since these next couple will probably be pretty long it might be a week and a half or something like that, and I'll post on my writing blog if anything changes!