"Are you sure this will work?" Triss?

Geralt tried to open his eyes but found himself unable to.

"If any of you ladies have a better suggestion… Hush, I think I have a connection." Now there's a voice he thought he'd never hear again… Philippa Eilhart's. Something cold and heavy was laid over his heart. He tried to pull away from its eerie touch but found moving impossible. In fact, he found he couldn't even twitch a muscle. "Witcher? You should be able to hear us now, though probably not able to do much else." Reassuring, he thought snarkily. "I need you to focus on the sensation on your chest…" Easy enough considering it is the only thing I can feel. "And you mustn't resist what is to come next."

A humming filled the resounding silence and the thing draped across his upper body shivered in response. It stretched and warped, as icy tendrils began slowly coiling over his body. It was as if dead fingers were tracing his frame, leaving wet trails in their wake. They rode over the rise of his muscles and plunged into his depths, probing his every inch. It was invasive yet intimate and he just wanted it to stop. He wanted to shut it out…

"Witcher!" Phillipa's voice cautioned. There was a strain in her voice that he had not heard before, and Geralt reluctantly relaxed. The chill enveloped him completely and suddenly, he couldn't breathe. Every instinct he had, battle honed or otherwise, screamed at him, urged him to fight against the thing encasing him. He pushed those urges aside, and calmed his mind. Phillipa… if you try anything… Geralt let the threat smolder, using it as a life raft amidst his turbulent impulses.

XxxxX

He bolted upright, gasping in the night air. Chilled sweat beaded down his nearly naked body and soaked into the plush cream-colored sheets below him. His hair, no longer tied, hung free about his face. Geralt rested his chin against his chest and tried to regain control over his rapid breathing.

Sensation was slowly returning to his extremities as he wriggled his fingers checking for any possible paralysis. His body made sure to alert him to its other many aches and pains. How long have I been out? Geralt rolled his shoulder, testing its limits to determine how it was healing. Not well enough. He winced at the pain's sharpness, and a red stain blossomed across the white bandage. Dammit.

Geralt reached to touch the injury but was distracted by the clink of a chain. His wrists had been bound to the headboard, with enough slack that his arms had been able to lie comfortably at his sides as he slept. It wasn't the first time he'd been put in irons wearing nothing more than his skivvies, but damned if he knew how he got that way. Especially considering I'm painted head to toe with more red runes and magic symbols than I could possibly identify.

"So sleeping beauty finally wakes. Shall I reward you with a kiss?" This time it was Keira's voice, and he quickly scanned the room to find out where it came from. Geralt found her sitting in the south-east corner, a red hardcover book in hand. Her reading material illuminated by a white candle which had burned down to a mere stub.

"I think you're getting the order mixed up there."

"As long as it doesn't involve Zeugls," she said as she waved his correction away dismissively.

He couldn't help chuckling, it was some of the first warm human contact he's had in awhile, peculiar circumstances aside. However, a sudden throb through his injured hand brought his mind back to a more immediate question: "What happened?"

"That's something we were hoping you could answer Geralt."

"We?" With his good hand, he rubbed the back of neck hoping to work out a kink that had settled there. Faint memories of voices he heard earlier pushed forward. "Triss… Phillipa. They here too?" His eyes darting around the dark room as if to catch glimpses of the other sorceresses hiding somewhere amongst the surrounding shadows.

"Were here. They're resting now, your Yennefer too I believe. It's was surprisingly taxing to drag your spirit back to the land of the living."

"I died?"

"Hardly. It's just easier to explain it that way."

"And the chains…?" He shook his wrist to emphasize that he was in fact still shackled.

"It would appear you managed to pick up an unwanted stowaway, one that happened to 'take the reins' so to speak."

A feeling of dread dropped to the pit of his stomach as he recalled an image of a frightened Ciri, pleading with her eyes for him to stop. It was an image he had hoped to have simply dreamed.

"Did I…?" He couldn't finish his thought. More than that, he didn't want to.

"No one got hurt if that's what you're worrying about. Well, no one except for you…"

A semblance of relief washed over the witcher's nearly expressionless face. "What happens now?"

"Now? Now I go fetch a healer. It seems that you've managed to pull your stitches."

"Mhm." The witcher grunted, less as an acknowledgement towards needing a healer than one of acknowledging Keira's desire to leave to get some sleep of her own. She might not have said as much, but judging from the bags under her eyes she was exhausted.

"Oh, and it would be in your best interest to not disturb those marks…" Keira warned, as the door closed after her. Geralt leaned back into the goose down pillows. It seemed that he wasn't going to get more answers until morning, and between feeling wide awake and his grumbling stomach, it was going to be a long wait.

XxxxX

With the early rays of sunlight entering his room, Geralt had food brought by a fairly nervous servant wearing customary muted colors. Perhaps Geralt should have shown restraint as the silver tray was put down on the side table, but he couldn't help himself. Sparing nary a crumb, the witcher devoured the bread and hard cheeses greedily and gulped down the accompanying red wine. The servant looked aghast as the food and drink disappeared in seconds, and he took the tray with him lest Geralt eat that too.

Finally sated, Geralt unashamedly brushed the remains of the meal from his beard and peeled his stiff body away from the bed.

With what limited freedom the chains around his arms allowed, Geralt tugged on his breeches that had been washed and left nearby. His eye caught faded black lines running underneath the oil-based paint on his left arm, and a frown deepened on his lips. What...?

A familiar squeal reached his ears, interrupting his thoughts. "Geralt!" Ciri pounced upon him the moment she cleared the doorway. Her arms wrapped him tightly, and despite being momentarily stunned, Geralt returned the same.

The scent of lilac and gooseberries wafted towards his nose as he tore his gaze away from the mousy-haired woman in his arms. "Yen…"

There was an obvious fury locked behind her violet eyes. "What the hell were you thinking?! A Saov Llestr!" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "No… there's no way you would have known what the device was…" The sorceress sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders.

The initially pleasant atmosphere had evaporated, and Geralt released Ciri. He could tell Yennefer was still frustrated, but at least it was no longer directed at him. "Yen." Geralt said, reaching out for the raven-haired sorceress. She shied away from his touch, and the chain stopped him short.

"Yes well, while this reunion is sweet and all…" Phillipa had entered the room. "We must attend to more urgent matters regarding you, Witcher."

"Short of passing out north of Ursten, I don't recall much."

"Frankly, I'd be surprised if you did remember anything. However, can you at least recall this?" Phillipa held up the all too familiar golden sphere.

His arm twitched towards where his swords once rested on his back, but they had since been moved out of his reach. Phillipa eyed him with hazel eyes, both of which he noted could see him quite clearly despite her prior blindness. Guess she really did find a way to regenerate her sight. Sorceresses.

"It seems you do…" A wry smile slipped onto her lips.

"Why are you here Phillipa?" Scorn thick in his gravelly voice.

"I asked her here." Yennefer answered. Geralt couldn't repress the look of disbelief and betrayal from his face. She was to keep Phillipa far from the Nilfgaardian Palace, far from Ciri… "Your condition was beyond what I could handle…"

"Not to mention deteriorating fast." Cut in Phillipa. "Had she waited for your opinion Witcher, you would be good as dead."

Geralt suppressed a growl, his knuckles turning white as the crescent-moons of his fingernails dug into his calloused palms.

"Had it not been for my intervention I doubt you would be standing here at all." Phillipa appraised the orb in her hand, ignoring Geralt's reaction. "In fact, this conversation would be with someone entirely different."

"Get to the point." Snapped the witcher.

"My point, is that this is a Saov Llestr, a gnomish artifact, all of which were supposedly destroyed nearly four centuries ago. I daren't bother asking where you got it, but the threat it possesses to you still remains. Had you left it intact I could have reversed its spell and trapped the invading soul back inside. But as it stands, I could only come up with a temporary solution."

"So, I should have a favorite tattooist lined up then?" He retorted.

"Don't be so base. The next wound you undoubtedly get would render any tattoo null and void. I have Merigold working on a charm that should prove more reliable."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because I'm curious."

"Curious?"

"How is it that it took nearly everything four experienced sorceresses had to bring you back? The spirit possessing you was intentionally trying to keep you there, as they generally do, but a normal spirit, wraith, or what have you, should only have been able to drain one, maybe two of us. But instead it took four."

"What's in this for you Phillipa? Since when did you start doing charity work?"

"Freeing a man of possession is hardly considered charity work … If we are to successfully rid you of whatever it is completely, I require knowing who or what it is. That knowledge alone should prove an ample enough reward." She was now standing close to him, her peculiar scent of perfume and feathers particularly strong. "You wouldn't happen to have issue with that?"

The clink of chains filled the silence as Geralt crossed his arms over his chest. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I couldn't even begin to list the issues I have with you poking around in my head."

Phillipa grew flustered. "It would hardly be poking around. There would be method." Her hands clenched tightly at her sides lest she try to strangle the witcher.

"I don't care." The witcher interjected. "If someone has to be rooting around, I'd rather it be someone I can trust, and that's hardly you."

She stared hard at Geralt's accusatory finger. "Fine. I suspect Yennefer would be your preference." The irritated sorceress turned to Yennefer. "I trust you can get the knowledge I seek?"

An aberrant smile played upon Yennefer's lips. "Of course." The look Yennefer exchanged with only Geralt indicated that she knew something she was unwilling to yet share with Phillipa.

"Then I shall take my leave." Giving Geralt one last withering glare, Phillipa left.

Geralt was the first to speak. "Care to share."

"Not yet. There's only speculation at this point." Typical. "Sit." A gentle push on Geralt's good shoulder led him back onto the bed.

"Should Ciri be here for this?"

"Believe it or not. It will be easier if she stays."

He raised a brow.

"Ciri resonated with the thing inside you, dampening its hold. I have suspicions that she is somehow related."

"So you really are going to do as Phillipa asked?" Geralt sighed as his other, less appropriate thoughts had obviously been put on hold.

"While we might not agree on everything, Philippa has a point. Having a better understanding of what has possessed you will make the extraction process easier. Now close your eyes." Geralt hesitated, casting a look at Ciri who stood off to the side. Hopefully he wouldn't have to wake to the same scene again …

Yennefer gently placed her hands on either side of his head. There was a tingling sensation as she focused magic into her fingertips. Gradually, Geralt felt his consciousness slipping. Then, nothing.


"Pwy ydych te?" Prodded Yennefer, straining against the spirit's attempts to regain its dominance over Geralt's body.

The witcher's eyes scrunched tighter. The specter's answer flowed from Geralt's lips slowly. "Me… esse… Cregennan aep Lod."


Elder Speech translations:

(Again, please PM me if I got the translations wrong!)


Pwy ydych te? - Who are you?

Me esse Cregennan aep Lod. - I am Cregennan of Lod