Conjunction

Chapter 11 - The Request

They finished their breakfast in the grey light of dawn, followed by a lusty romp on the breakfast table that resulted in the remains of their food getting knocked to the floor, much to the delight of the dog. Then Lusa was rather insistent about his need to go out, so they dressed and ventured outside, taking a walk around the inn in the gray, misty morning while the dog relieved himself on everything that wasn't nailed down, and several things that were. There was a large field to the east of the inn that was bordered by a low stone wall. When they rounded that side of the inn, Lusa took off into the field chasing some unseen prey. Solona and Geralt followed, strolling in amiable silence along the path that followed the wall. After a few moments he asked her for the second time, "Who are you, Solona? And don't feed me that 'destiny' bullshit, I want facts." She glanced over at him and took a deep breath, "Okay... it's kind of a long story." He nodded and looked at her expectantly.

"Do you know about the Conjunction of the Spheres?" she asked. He nodded in reply, saying, "The cataclysm from ancient history... Witchers may not have existed otherwise. The collision of the dimensions brought the monsters to this world, and humans, too. Supposedly the human world was destroyed."

She nodded and took a deep breath, saying, "I came through an Elven portal from the human world... my world, which wasn't actually destroyed." She paused for a second letting him absorb the information. "Around the time of the Conjunction, some magisters got greedy trying to attain greater power, and were corrupted into what we call darkspawn. Ever since, my world has been periodically plagued by blights whenever the darkspawn would corrupt an Old God, and turn him into an Archdemon." She glanced over at him briefly and then took another deep breath and continued. "I belong to an order of warriors called the Grey Wardens, who were originally organized to fight the Archdemons. We undergo a … ritual … that changes us and allows us to attune to the mind of the Archdemon, and to sense the darkspawn in order to better fight them. However, I learned recently that it's possible to prevent the corruption of the Old Gods. There are only two remaining in the spirit world, and it is prophesied that, without intervention, when they arise corrupted they will shatter our worlds to pieces."

His expression grew grim and he said, "Don't tell me you need my help to kill two gods."

She laughed softly, "No, nothing like that. The old gods themselves aren't evil. They're not even really gods technically. They're just very, very powerful spirits. We just need to protect them by preventing the darkspawn from having access to them. "

He looked at her skeptically, "How do you know they aren't evil?"

"Because they speak to me, in my dreams," she answered with a shrug and he looked at her with raised eyebrows. "They've called to me since I was a child. I've never gotten the sense that they were malevolent - not the uncorrupted ones."

Softly, she continued, holding his gaze for a moment, "There is an alternate prophecy, and you and I are the subjects. It speaks of the two of us joining forces to - well - save the world, more or less," she smiled at him apologetically. "It speaks of the old gods and how we can save them, but it isn't clear to me yet how to accomplish that... I'm hoping you can help me decipher the prophecies. Do you know Elder Speech?"

He nodded saying, "Yes, I do, but how do you know the prophecy is about us?"

She replied, pointing at him, "You're the Gwynbleidd. That's the name used in the prophecy. And apparently I'm someone the dryads call Gwynrhena, which is the other name used in the prophecy. I think the ritual we have to perform involves burning something or starting a fire, but the translation is vague. I can show it to you when we go back in."

"Do you know when this ritual needs to happen?" he asked, thinking that winter would be a miserable time to have to run around trying to save the world. "Midsummer, during the full moon," she replied. "I'm certain of that part at least." They had plenty of time to prepare, which was a small blessing. But Midsummer? he thought. What she described sounded suspiciously like a fertility ritual and he wondered if she realized it, and that he was probably not the best candidate for the job if that was the case.

"There is one other thing I need from you," she said and hesitated, unsure how to adequately explain what she needed. "Whatever it is that makes you what you are... a Witcher, I mean... I need it. I don't know how you become a Witcher, maybe it's similar to what Grey Wardens have to undergo during our Joining. But for our final ritual to succeed, I need your... magic. In my blood."

Realizing what she was asking, he abruptly stopped walking and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him. His expression was dark, his yellow eyes piercing her like daggers. "Absolutely not," he said in a steady, even tone. She was confused, and irritated at his adamant refusal. "Why not?" she asked, indignant and feeling a subtle rage building at his tight grip on her arm.

He regarded her with pursed lips and said, "I can't tell you. Our methods are highly guarded secrets and have been for centuries. We can't just share them with anyone who comes along asking." She wasn't surprised at his reluctance to tell her; the Grey Warden Joining ritual was a highly guarded secret as well. Her voice tense, she said, "You don't have to tell me your secrets. But I need to have a piece of the third world in my blood for the ritual to work - I need your blood."

Sensing her rising ire, he loosened his grip on her arm and asked, "What do you mean, you need my blood?"

She sighed and looked up at the sky, then began to explain, "When I came to this world I was greeted by a dryad queen. She knew of the prophecy and elaborated on a piece of it. I have elements of two of the worlds in me already. My mother was human, my father was an elf, half my world and half this world. But I need a piece of the third world - the monster world - to have the balance required by the ritual. You.." she paused to clarify, "Witchers... are monsters."

He flinched at that, but understood the truth in it. The trials that apprentice Witchers underwent as children, consuming the mutagenic elements of the beasts they killed, turned them into something not exactly human if they survived, and most did not.

Suddenly he felt a tightening in his chest at the thought that this beautiful woman standing before him would willingly subject herself to that, and possibly die. He dropped his hands to his sides and cleared his throat, turning his face and squinting at the hills that bordered the horizon. He tried to ignore the tightness in his chest when he turned back, hoping to reason with her, "Our trials are a complicated process that take years to complete. I was only a boy when I began my training and the trials and was a grown man when I completed the final one. Many of us... most of us, don't survive the final trial. Some perish even earlier." As an afterthought he pointed at his hair and said, "The final trial is how this happened."

She regarded him curiously and absently tugged at a strand of hair that curled at her temple. "Well, as you can see, that isn't a concern for me," she said with a wry smile.

His eyebrows drew together and with a nod towards her hair he asked, "Your Grey Warden ritual?" She nodded in response. "How long ago was it?" he asked, turning to start walking again. She gave him a sidelong glance as she fell into step beside him, "A little over a year ago. And you might be interested to know that many recruits don't survive our ritual either. Two others went through the Joining with me and I'm the only one who lived. So I guess you could say my being here at all is a testament to my endurance." He felt a small twitch between his thighs at the mention of her endurance.

"And that's not even the worst thing I've managed to survive," she said, pulling the collar of her shirt apart to show the large scar that graced her chest. He raised his eyebrows in query. "The Archdemon," she explained.

His eyes lingered on her chest for a moment before he dragged them away, meeting her gaze again and asked, "You killed it, I take it?" Then, "What exactly is an Archdemon, anyway? It sounds nasty."

She answered, "The old gods, when they show themselves, take the forms of high dragons, as does the Archdemon. The Archdemon required an army to finally put down, I fought with the army and ultimately made the killing blow to the creature, but not without the Archdemon getting the final word," she glanced down at the scar on her chest. "He did have a name, before they corrupted him," she said. Almost reverently she whispered, "Urthemiel..."

He said, "So it took you and an army of these Grey Wardens to kill the thing? Couldn't an army of normal soldiers have handled it?"

"It was an army of normal soldiers," she replied. "Well, soldiers, Elven rangers, a Dwarven legion, and my fellow mages. Everyone who was willing to fight, really. And the Archdemon commanded a horde of darkspawn we had to fight through before we could even reach it."

She paused and looked over at him before continuing and saw him looking back at her with rapt interest. "It took me a year to build the support necessary to even give us a chance. I had to orchestrate the kingships of two nations in the process, fight a high dragon, fight countless demons and darkspawn, and fight a duel to the death against one of my country's most beloved heroes." She added slightly under her breath, "Of course he wasn't really much of a hero by the time I got to him, but the bastard was still one of the toughest opponents I've ever faced, the dragon included."

Her tone turned bitter and she said, "The Grey Warden army had mostly been slaughtered by a darkspawn horde, thanks to the misguided ideals of that so-called hero I dueled." She paused, then said softly, "There was only one other Grey Warden who survived with me..." Her expression became slightly sad and distant for a second and she stared at the ground. He looked at her, instantly intrigued and curious about the rest of her story. She had accomplished more in one year than some kings did in their entire lifetime. Dandelion should write songs about her, he thought.

She stopped walking again and looked at him, eyes pleading. "Geralt, there must be a way for it to work - for me to complete the Witcher trials. The dryad queen seemed to believe that the taint from the Joining would serve as a foundation for your rituals. I have to believe that I'll survive it, otherwise this entire mission is useless and there's no hope for our worlds at all. I have to try."

He stood regarding her thoughtfully and noticed a small pulse of light at her throat. He was briefly mesmerized by the small figure of the wolf on her amulet that had started glowing brightly and he felt something in the back of his mind untwist further. Realizing that she was not the type of person to give up easily, he said in a rough voice, "Alright. We should leave for Kaer Morhen in the morning. I won't know what materials we need for the trials until I can see what supplies are in the lab there. And I'll need to talk to Vesemir about the logistics of an accelerated series of trials." She nodded at him, her relief plain on her face. "Thank you," she said quietly. Then she called to Lusa who came bounding over to them happily and they turned back towards the inn.

Once they were back inside the inn, they scavenged some bread and cheese from the kitchen for their lunch, which they carried upstairs with them. On the way back up the stairs to their room he admired the curve of her shapely backside flexing in the snug black leather breeches she wore, and thought about the dragon-shaped mark on her skin beneath them. Marked by dragons, he thought and something flickered in the depths of his memory again.

When she stepped inside the room she turned to him with a smile and grabbed the small hunk of bread he carried, tossing it to the table nearby along with the cheese she was holding. Understanding her intentions, he swung the door shut with one foot and moved towards her, his groin tightening in anticipation.

Many hours later, they lay in bed entwined and sweaty from their exertions, the darkness falling gradually around them. He just couldn't get enough of her and she seemed to have an equally insatiable appetite for him. She lay snugly up against him, one leg draped over his under the sheet and her arm across his chest, dozing softly with her head tucked against his shoulder. He idly caressed her bare shoulder with his fingertips, thinking about the mission he had just agreed to. He was extremely conflicted about the idea of letting her go through the trials, if it were even possible in such a short timeframe. The trials were tortuous at best, as he remembered. Not to mention it would probably take a couple months of work to secure all the ingredients they would need. He wondered idly what Vesemir would think of him bringing a woman to Kaer Morhen with the intention of turning her into a Witcher. There had been no women Witchers that he knew of and he had no idea how to broach the subject with the older man. But if anyone could survive it, he thought she could. He realized with a sudden pang that he wasn't willing to contemplate any other outcome.

He felt her stir next to him. "What are you thinking about?" he heard her ask softly. He hadn't even realized she was awake. "About the prophecy," he lied. "Can you show me your text?"

She slid to the side of the bed and sat up to rummage in her pack by the windows, first drawing out a loose cotton shirt and pulling it over her head, then a large bundle wrapped in a layer of oilcloth lined on the inside with soft velvet. She unwrapped the cloth to reveal a tome bound in tooled leather with the image of a leafless tree intricately embroidered on the cover in silver thread. She set the book on her lap and turned, gesturing with one hand towards the lantern on the bedside table. His amulet vibrated slightly as the wick flared up, illuminating the room in warm, flickering light.

It was the first time he'd seen her use magic since he had awakened the night before, and she'd done it without so much as a whispered incantation or fancy hand gesture - just a simple, graceful motion of her hand. Unusual, he thought. As if reading his mind she said idly, "Magic tastes different here... like it's filtered. It seems purer than in my world, if that makes sense."

She turned and handed him the book, pointing at some ragged ribbons that dangled from it, marking several of the pages. "The important parts are marked," she said.

He took the book from her, asking "Have you been a sorcerer for very long?" She turned and looked at him quizzically.

She replied, "I don't know if I'd call myself a sorcerer, although I'm not sure if there's a distinction between a sorcerer and a mage."

He tried to clarify, "When did you first learn to channel magic?"

She looked back at him, confused. "I've always been able to do it, since I can remember." He frowned at her, so she elaborated, "In my world, mages are born with the gift, and it's not a happy thing for most families. I never really knew my own parents because I was sent away at such an early age because of my magical abilities. It's considered a stain on a family's honor to have magic in their line, especially a noble family. Anyone who is born with the gift gets sent off to the Circle of Magi if their abilities are discovered."

He asked, "The Circle is a school for mages, then?"

She laughed bitterly and replied, "You could call it that, but it's really little more than a gilded cage, with the equivalent of hungry cats guarding it who would just as soon eat us as protect us." She sang mockingly, "Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him," then muttered softly, "Fucking Andraste. What a fucking cunt."

He gave her a perplexed half-smile and asked in amused fascination, "Who is Andraste and what did she do to piss you off?"

Not sure she wanted to dig into that pile of horseshit she shrugged and just said, "She's supposedly the wife of the Maker. But she's the reason mages in my world are treated as second-class citizens. Even elves get more respect than us, and that's saying a lot. I can tell you the whole story later if you really want to hear it, but I think you have some reading to do so you'd better get started."

He nodded and sat up straighter, adjusting the pillows behind him. He opened the book to the first marked section and the aroma of woodsmoke and dried herbs wafted up to his nostrils from the yellowed pages. He began to read.

While Geralt was engrossed with Flemeth's Grimoire, Solona got up, threw on her leather trousers, and busied herself with packing. Once night had fully set in she started feeling a chill in the air and bent to light the fireplace. When she cast the small flame spell she noticed the silver wolf's head at Geralt's throat vibrate slightly and realized that its purpose must be to detect magic. She thought she would ask him about it later and see if he had any insight into what her own amulet's enchantment might be. The best explanation she had come up with was that it was some kind of guide for her, and possibly tied to the prophecy somehow. It had initially activated when she first encountered the Witcher, and again today when he made the decision to grant her request. But only the figure of the wolf had illuminated so far. She wondered what the significance of the other half was; the wolf was clearly tied to the Witcher, but what did the dragon mean? Was it tied to her somehow? Was there some grand decision she needed to make for it to activate? She was suddenly worried. What if the amulet was some kind of signal that she was ready to attempt the final ritual, and what if she never managed to be ready?

With the lingering worry still nagging at her, she finished her packing, threw on her cloak, and left the room with Lusa at her heels. They made a quick circuit around the inn for him to do his business. When they came in she requested that dinner be sent up to the room and also bought what travel-ready food she could from the innkeeper to pack for their journey, which mostly consisted of hard biscuits and jerky, but she was able to secure a couple flasks of strong brandy and a wheel of extremely aromatic cheese. Alistair would approve, she thought with a small, bittersweet smile.

When she got back to the room she found Geralt still buried in the book, with a very serious expression on his face. When their supper came he finally stopped reading long enough to throw on his breeches and join her at the table, but remained quiet and thoughtful, not saying a single word to her. Her gut clenched in apprehension at his silence and she could barely finish her food, but she bided her time, resolving to wait until he was finished before pressing him to share his thoughts and understanding of the text.

After they finished their food he went back to reading in his previous spot on the bed. She removed her boots and pants, climbing under the blankets in her shirt next to him, and turned to face the windows with her back towards him. What if he changes his mind after reading it? she thought. She had no idea what she would do if he refused her utterly. She had no other options at this stage. She was stuck in a world not her own and knew without a doubt that she needed to complete this mission or everyone would be doomed. A small voice of reason spoke up inside her. There was no sense worrying about it unless it actually happened, and deep down she sensed that he was already committed to their goal. She sighed deeply in relief at the thought and attempted to sleep.

"Where did you get this book?" she heard him ask abruptly, breaking through the silence and rousing her from her sleepy state. She sat up and looked at him, eyes blinking in surprise. "It belonged to Flemeth...ah..." she struggled for a moment to remember the name the dryads had called her. "Asha'bellanar? Um... Aen Henbeanna...?" At the last phrase he finally showed recognition, but scowled deeply. He asked, "She gave it to you personally?" Her eyes shifted away. How to answer that? she wondered.

She finally said, "Well... yes and no... She did give it to me personally once, but it's been in the keeping of her daughter since. It was only just before I came here that it came back into my possession."

"Which daughter?" he asked with fierce insistence that perplexed her. Did he know them? She answered slowly, "Morrigan? But I don't see how you would know her..." He relaxed visibly at this and his eyes fell back to the page he'd been reading, but it seemed he had lost focus.

"Hold on a second," she said, suddenly irritated from being on edge the entire evening. "What the fuck do Flemeth's daughters have to do with this, and why do you care?"

His shoulders tensed perceptibly and he closed his eyes for a moment. He clearly wasn't eager to answer her question. She saw him inhale deeply through his nose and let the breath out before he opened his eyes. His pupils were dilated to large, black circles which made her flinch reflexively. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again they weren't quite so freaky looking, having shrunk back to small slits.

"My mother was a sorceress," he said, as if by way of explanation. She nodded at him expectantly, not sure where he was going with his story, but making a gallant attempt to be patient and listen in spite of nearly jumping out of her skin with anxiety.

He continued somewhat haltingly, "Shortly after I was born, she abandoned me on the steps of Kaer Morhen, so I never knew her. There were some rumours that she had merely been a hedge witch named Visenna, but I've heard other, more trustworthy, rumours that claimed she was actually the Old One." His voice grew strained when he said, "She's the one you call Flemeth - who gave you this book." He took a long steady breath and swiped one hand over his face. "All I really knew of her was that she preferred daughters, and that was why I was left to the Witchers." He gestured at the book, "This explains everything."

Interesting, and somehow not the least bit surprising, Solona thought. She narrowed her gaze and asked, "So Flemeth is your mom... why does it matter where I got the book?" He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "It doesn't," he said. "But I was just a little worried that you might be one of her daughters."

"Which would have made us... ugh!" She cringed in sympathy with him and said, "Well, I promise you she is not my mother, although I have few memories of my actual parents. My mother committed suicide when I was young, but long after I had already been taken away from her... the magic thing, youknow."

She glanced down at the book, realizing he had been reading a section in the old language she hadn't taken the time to translate yet. "What does it say, exactly?" she asked, curious.

"It's a detailed account of steps taken to ensure the prophecy would be fulfilled, going back hundreds of years to just after the end of the fourth Blight that occurred in your world."

Solona scowled, "If she knew about it that long, why didn't she prevent the last Blight?"

He replied in a measured tone, "Because... she needed you to be there to fight that Archdemon with her daughter. She's been pulling strings in three different worlds for over a millenium. She's kept a close eye on both of us for our entire lives making sure we would take all the right paths to lead us together. She orchestrated your uncle's death, and your capture by the Chantry and subsequent conscription into the Grey Wardens." He didn't say as much but suspected that his memory loss was the witch's doing as well. Or whatever she was, he thought. He hoped the book would reveal the truth and that it would provide the answers he'd been looking for to help him finally regain his lost memories.

Once the revelations had sunk in, her eyes blazed with fury and she said angrily, "That fucking manipulative bitch!"

He laughed at her, "That might be considered high praise coming from someone who refers to the very creator's wife as a 'cunt'."

"Why aren't you pissed off about it?" she asked, ignoring his quip and suddenly agitated beyond all reasoning, hopping up to pace in the small space between the bed and the fireplace. "Clearly she's fucked around with your life as much as mine. You know she's probably out there watching us right now with her witchy ways." She wiggled the fingers of one hand at the window and he thought he saw sparks flickering from her fingertips.

"No doubt," he said and shrugged. "It's her purpose in life to watch us, being the subjects of prophecies."

"Are you seriously trying to tell me that it doesn't bother you?" she asked, incredulous.

He shrugged again, noncommittal. He was entertained by her agitation. And particularly by the way her shirt would rise up above the tops of her thighs whenever she would gesture emphatically, giving him brief glimpses of her naked muff or her firm bottom as she paced back and forth. She used to have red hair, he thought idly, that might explain a few things. He had to make a concerted effort to try to listen to her amidst the distractions.

When it seemed like she had settled down he finally asked, "You trusted her enough to accept her book and follow her instructions to come to this world. Why are you so dubious of her intentions now?"

She sighed in exasperation and leaned her elbows on the footboard of the bed, giving him a clear view of her breasts through the deep unlaced neckline of her shirt. She gazed at him with fierce intensity. "It's not her intentions that worry me. I just hate feeling like I'm being fucking controlled."

"Even if it is for the greater good?" he asked with a semi-distracted smirk.

She sighed again and stood up, gesturing with her arms again, saying, "Yes! Anytime! I don't want to be someone else's fucking puppet! I think I've earned the right for a little trust. I crossed a fucking continent twice in order to save it, and I'm about to do it again because it's the right fucking thing to do. Not to mention we'll all die if I don't... or worse." Her wrath subsided briefly and she paced over to his side of the bed, looked into his eyes intently, and said in a hurt and plaintive tone, "I just wish she had asked me first, that's all."

She started to turn away to continue her pacing. Unable to control himself any longer, he set the book on the bedside table and reached out one hand, snagging her shirt tail in his fingers as she turned away. She swung around and lost balance, toppling onto him with a small grunt, their faces coming within an inch of each other. She met his eyes and saw the now familiar lust burning there, and felt his arousal digging into her belly through his trousers.

Her ire dissipated and she smiled seductively back at him, shifting her weight slightly with the intention of causing more friction between their bodies. He groaned softly at the sensation. She slid her body down his slowly, ending with her face level with his groin, which was now bulging with desire. She began to unlace his trousers with an intense look of mock concentration. When his hard cock was finally released it sprung proudly upright and she let out an exaggerated gasp, her golden eyes wide and admiring. He chuckled softly at her humour, but his fingers dug into the mattress in anticipation. She grasped his hard member around its base and ran her tongue up the length until she reached the tip. Keeping her eyes fixed on his, she enveloped him in her warm mouth, humming softly and taking him into her as deeply as she could.

He broke their gaze finally and dropped his head back onto the pillow, groaning and enjoying he feel of her mouth on him, her talented tongue working him expertly. The hem of her shirt had ridden up to her waist, the creamy skin of her bare bottom visible. His eyes settled on it, transfixed by the soft curves of each cheek rising into the air above her gracefully sloped back.

She took her time with him, using both hands and mouth in intricate combinations that made his head spin with the sensations. The tension in him built gradually, rising subtly at first and then in bigger and bigger waves until he was unable to control his response, crying out loudly in the ecstasy of release. She swallowed everything he had to give her and sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth delicately and giving him a smug grin.

A low growl rumbled in his chest and he sat forward quickly, grabbing her around the waist with both arms and turning her to push her back into the pillows behind him. She let out a delighted giggle which he silenced abruptly with a deep, penetrating kiss and gripped her behind each knee, pushing her thighs apart. She purred at him and raised her hips up, grazing his still hard cock with her glistening red-gold tuft, daring him to fill her up. He was tempted, but had other plans for her tonight.

He pushed her knees up closer to her chest and slid down, grasping her hips in his hands and lowering his face between her thighs. The heady aroma of her arousal made his head spin and his mouth water. He heard her murmur softly, "Oh yes," before he dove in with abandon, ultimately driving her to her peak multiple times and savoring the taste and texture of her as much as he would a fine whiskey. She is far more intoxicating, not to mention habit-forming, he thought as he sent her over the edge once more with his tongue. When he felt he had sufficiently tested her limits, he pulled away to slide back up between her thighs and slip his engorged manhood inside her, proceeding to fuck her as though his life depended on it.

She fell soundly asleep afterwards and Geralt lay awake next to her for some time, his mind churning with everything he had learned from the book so far. He was finally compelled to sit back up and continue reading, hoping he would find his own answers in the process of trying to find answers for the woman asleep beside him.

Next Chapter: In which a witch.