The hot midday sun poured in through the open window. The scent of lilac and gooseberries had almost vanished from the room on the gentle breeze that tugged on the drawn-back curtains. A magpie perched along the balcony's stone rail and peered into the lavish room. The witcher lay undisturbed, looking almost peaceful.
The magpie blinked a pearly black eye and fluttered silently into the room, landing on the bed's polished footboard. It watched as the silver-haired man's chest rose and fell with his breath. The animal tilted its black head as if listening for unheard whispers, its eyes never wavering from the man's figure. The witcher stirred and the magpie took its cue to depart, leaving as quietly as it had come.
When Geralt came to, he was alone and no longer chained. He assumed Yennefer had found the information she sought, otherwise she would likely be still prodding him for answers. As for Ciri, well, Ciri had an empire to rule, and couldn't afford to waste time on an aging witcher. Geralt scratched his chin and found it freshly shaven. If anything, he was more disappointed that Triss was purposefully avoiding him. The runic band strapped cleverly to his wrist was no doubt her handiwork, but how it got there was left to his imagination.
Perhaps it would be easier this way. For everyone. He couldn't blame Triss for his own indecisiveness; especially after that fateful night he helped her and her fellow mages escape Novigrad. Geralt was given his chance to stop her along the docks, but he didn't – more like: he couldn't. At the time, he been unsure of his feelings for both her and Yennefer, and it wouldn't have been fair to leave the flaming-redheaded sorceress with hopes that might never come true.
He rubbed circulation back into wrists that had been worn raw while he was unconscious, and noted that the red markings covering his body had been cleaned away. While the mysterious dark veining along his arm remained, it had faded even further. Though its origins had confused and concerned him, he was relieved to see the marks resolving so he could put them out of his mind.
Geralt pulled away from the bed and stretched his aching muscles. A fresh linen shirt lay close by and he tugged it on, followed by his studded jerkin, pants, and well-worn leather boots, all of which had been laundered and scented with cloves and citrus. With care, he slipped on his greaves, being especially mindful of how the left one lay over the enchanted bangle around his wrist. Finally, he walked to his silver and steel witcher swords, resting against a stone wall, and knelt to inspect them.
He partially unsheathed each to check its condition, noting that they had been sharpened, cleaned and oiled. Satisfied, the witcher snapped the blades back into their sheaths. Before he could swing them comfortably onto his back, he found that he had to loosen the straps holding his swords; Ciri likely had adjusted them for her smaller size. A faint smile found its way to his lips as he pulled open the buckle and expanded the belts five extra holes. How many times did he catch her at Kaer Morhen trying out the weight of real witcher blades? The tips of the swords dragging along the ground behind her. Ciri always got a stern scolding afterwards, but that never stopped the girl from doing so again, at least until she got her own. Geralt gave the extravagant room one last quick look-over, his smile fading quickly. This was her world now, one of luxury and extravagance. After making sure that there was no lingering trace of his presence, he left.
XxxxX
While he was mentally ready for the road, Geralt still had to find the rest of his belongings, if they even made it to the palace. The witcher inwardly groaned knowing that it meant chasing down answers from less-than-cooperative staff.
As he scoured the palace he began to feel it was a losing battle. Those that did not outright ignore the witcher were either too busy with their own tasks or had no clue pertaining to his belongings. A particularly uptight individual even spat at him, leaving Geralt ignorant of whatever he did to offend the man. Fortunately, Yennefer came to his rescue.
"I've made sure to send word to have your things waiting for you at the stables." She said.
"You read my mind?" Geralt didn't mean to say it as harshly as he did, but all the mindless running about had worked up his nerves.
"Geralt, please. It doesn't take reading your mind to decipher that expression on your face." Her violet eyes scanned him quickly from head to toe, taking in his practical style. "Not to mention the complaints I've received from the chamberlain about you traipsing about in your… less-than-appropriate attire."
"It's clean," Geralt felt obligated to point out, "and I'm leaving as soon as I'm able." He moved past her now that he had a destination in mind.
"Geralt…" Yennefer reached out and lightly touched his arm. "Do you have to go?" The posed question had been carefully stripped of any emotion.
He struggled with himself to try to find the appropriate words, and finally settling on, "You know I do."
"No I don't know. You'll need to clarify." Her grip tightened on his bicep. There was an underlying expression that he didn't recognize, but it remained tight under her icy mask and he didn't pursue it.
Instead, Geralt spun to face her, shaking off Yennefer's touch. "What do you want from me Yen? We both tried the quiet life. We both tried living away from everything. It lasted, what… seven months… a year?" He exhaled sharply, frustrated that she would bother bringing it up again.
"Someone needed to be Ciri's advisor, and both of us agreed that Phillipa should be kept out of the court as long as possible."
"Yes, but it didn't have to be you. Triss-"
"If you can be bothered to remember, Triss is the current advisor to King Tancred Thyssen," She stated matter-of-factly, prodding his chest with a manicured finger.
Geralt brushed away her finger and crossed his arms. "What's a king compared to an empress?"
"Mages are still in a delicate state right now. Should we be shown throwing allegiances left and right there would be no end of problems. As it stood and still stands, I am the only one suitable to be her advisor," Yennefer said pointedly.
He scoffed, ignoring his medallion as it began to vibrate.
Yennefer furrowed her soft brows. "Don't go thinking that you were completely free of blame, Witcher," ire growing in her voice. "I can recall catching you more than once coming in at odd hours reeking of who knows what, only to find out that you took yet again another contract."
She got him there. He was a witcher, dammit. A being created for the sole purpose of killing monsters. Try as he might to live as Geralt the Man and not the Witcher, he couldn't do it. He couldn't go against years of training, years of honed instincts, and years of sacrifice. Ironically, his long-sought-after peace turned out to be his hell. How could he tell Yennefer that? How could he make her understand? He couldn't. So instead he left, finally fed up with lying to himself and especially to Yennefer. Geralt even left behind his black mare after seeing how content the horse had grown to the stable hands' pampering at the vineyard. "Yen…"
"I don't want to hear it, Geralt. Especially when you've made up your mind already." Resigned, the sorceress pinched the bridge of her nose, and his medallion stilled. "Just make sure you're back in a week's time. By then we should have come up with a more permanent solution for your predicament. At the very least it would reassure Ciri that you're all right."
"Mhm." Walking to the stables, Geralt stopped to look back at the raven-haired sorceress, a question still lingering on the back of his mind. "Yen?"
She sighed. "Yes?"
"How did Ciri know where I was?"
Yennefer shifted uncomfortably and avoided his gaze. "I gave her an amulet."
In typical Geralt fashion, he raised an eyebrow to encourage her to further elaborate.
There was a tremor on her lips as if she had been caught with a terrible secret. "It… it reacts when you've resigned yourself to death."
"Me specifically?" She nodded. Geralt remained quiet, lost in his thoughts. "And Ciri still has it?" Whether he meant them to or not, the witcher's eyes narrowed.
The sorceress bit her lip before saying anything. "Yes." She turned to him, catching the minute flickers of different emotions playing out across his face.
Leather creaked as he tightened his fists. "I'll be back in a week." He resumed his gait, walking slightly faster than before.
"Geralt." Yennefer called after him.
Swinging open the heavy oak door, the witcher hesitated momentarily and then stepped outside, not bothering to catch the door as it slammed itself closed behind him.
The sorceress was left behind in the echoing silence.
