Welcome to my little fun fiction on how Geralt and Dandelion initially met.
Well, no. It's not exactly my story.

It is based on a story by Luke1813 in the first place.
What's more he helped me a lot with it and I'd like to call it a co-production.

I want to express my sincere thanks to Luke1813:
First: He let me use his own setting for my story.
Second: He helped me a lot to correct my English.
Third and most important: He provided me generously with simply great suggestions which improved my story considerably.
Forth and definitely not to forget: He spared a lot of his time and his thoughts to help me.

This story is inspired by the story "A Wolf and a Weed" by Luke1813

It is written as a direct sequel.
Please read "A Wolf and a Weed" before you start reading here.

First reason, it is a fine scene with a lot of humour to find in it.
Second reason, this story is based on his and you'll miss some of the fun if you don't.

Gulet, 1250

DINNER IN HELL

I still couldn't believe it. I - a graduate from Oxenfurt Academy; son to the Viscount of Lettenhove, and a famous – well…a not-quite yet famous minstrel, philosopher and bard. Yes, I was locked up in a filthy, stinking cell with a filthy, stinking, white-haired witcher. I will never forget my time in that caliginous calaboose. It was dreadful. Beggars starving in the street have it better off than I did behind those bars.

"How so?" you may ask. Well, allow me enlighten you on my dining experience, shall I? I'd actually prefer not to – for the memory of it still makes me shiver - but it exemplifies perfectly my harrowing ordeal. Just as I had feared, I wasn't let out of the cell to dine, not even to sit at a simple, bare wooden table. Not that I actually expected a tablecloth to exist in that den of grunge and grime. But I had to eat right there… within five feet of a filthy bucket... which hadn't been emptied by the way. But I won't dwell on that topic.

And by all the good gods! What they gave me – calling it soup!? I wouldn't have even served it to Pegasus, my trusty steed. I stirred it and had to fight back a gag. There was no way that I'd be able to bring myself to eat that filth. It smelled like the bucket at the far end of the cell. Though, if truth be told, everything smelled of it, including my stylish Filhiger outfit. I would never again be able to wear that beautiful ensemble of green and yellow. It would remind me of that cell forever. And what a pity. With my new nom de plume – Dandelion - , it was the most fitting outfit possible.

The witcher - as I had expected - wasn't used to anything better. He swallowed down his bowl in two gulps without even bothering to use his spoon. Disgusting manners. He then reached down and drew a bucket out from under his bunk. He dipped his bowl into it and slurped down the contents. He then slid the bucket over to me using his foot. There appeared to be water in the bottom. Though, there was hardly any left. And you can just imagine its quality!

He watched me stirring the contents of my bowl for a while and then asked, "You going eat that or not?"

"N-no, I can't. It's hideous..."
At the point, I would've rather starved.

"Hand it over then. No use wasting it."

I did so and turned my head away as he began gulping down the bowl just like he had the first.

Involuntarily, I made a nauseated sound and rambled out, "Can't you eat like a civilized man, Master 'I'm-annoyed'? Spoons were invented hundreds of years ago, you know?"

"Can't eat it with a spoon," he answered gruffly. I grimaced when I saw that some of the 'soup' had dribbled down into his beard. He slowly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and I then noticed a small smirk come to his lips. "Limited witcher abilities probably."

I peered into his empty bowl for just a moment and wrinkled my nose.

"So, what do you think they'll serve as the main course?" I asked, my stomach rumbling with hunger. "Surely, it'll be a trifle better than that, right?"
Master "I'm-annoyed" eyed me with a quizzical expression which widened into an inscrutable smirk a moment later. "Let's have a guess. Soup?" he suggested.

His non-sensical answer was really apropos of a witcher. We'd just had soup, hadn't we?
But, then, as the irritating smirk remained fixed upon his face, the truth suddenly dawned on me. This - sonuvabitch!

"Wait! You mean that was all we're getting tonight? You should have told me! I'm going to starve because of you. You stole my dinner! This is an outrage! How dare you treat a Master of the Seven Liberal Arts in such a way, you ruthless scoundrel! Just you wait! I shall inform my mother about this, and let me tell you – she's not afraid to share her opinion. Believe me – I know. Hell hath no fury like my mother! She'll teach you how to comport yourself towards Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove!"

My words must have sunk in deeply because he lowered his head and his lips twitched. 'Good', I thought, as I crossed my arms, awaiting his apology.

I waited in vain, though.

"You won't starve," he corrected me dryly instead. "Weeds are tenacious."

Then, with a dastardly chuckle, he turned to the wall, ignoring my famished self for the rest of the night.

I glared at his back, but what could I do? With no other recourse, I picked up my lute. Perhaps, playing some melodious tunes would take my mind off of my grumbling stomach. I closed my eyes and began singing in dulcet tones, but I was quickly drowned out by foul curses emanating from all the surrounding cells. Of all the nerve! Philistines, all of them!