Conjunction
Chapter 16 - The Trial of the Grasses
Geralt attempted to drown out the sounds of the screaming, of Solona's screaming, by throwing rocks. He didn't want to be too far from her so the only thing he could think of to occupy himself was clearing the rubble from the caved in corridors in the castle's cellar. Vesemir had mentioned to him that Kaer Morhen used to have a bath fed by hot springs in one of the rooms off the cellar corridors, so Geralt decided he would start digging for it and hope the chamber hadn't been caved in like much of the subterranean structure beneath the castle.
Solona's anguished cries continued to echo down the corridors as he worked. He was at least comforted by the idea that her system was receptive to the grasses. Triss had been true to her word on that. The sorceress had thoughtfully given him a small demonstration of the difference between Solona's blood's and her own blood's reaction to the solution. So he was hopeful. But it didn't help his anxiety over hearing her screams now. He'd witnessed the trials of so many Witchers and this was nothing different, except that the subject today was Solona. Hearing the sounds of her agonized screams seemed to tear at his very soul.
He threw another large rock with a harsh yell and it shattered into pieces on the far wall.
His mind wandered again to the previous evening. He had cooked a small feast for them all to share, and then wandered down to the lab to find Triss and Solona and call them to supper. He found them engrossed in conversation with each other. She had turned to face him as he leaned in the doorway watching them, a slow smile spreading across her face that seemed as radiant as the sun, causing a deep warmth to spread through his body. How had his longing for her become so intense? Was it just the thought of being compelled to hold back after tonight that was making every second in her presence feel more charged with desire?
He suddenly remembered the first time he had tasted her and his tongue was flooded with her flavor. He felt the familiar throb between his thighs and let out a low groan in the shadows of the corridor he was clearing. He shook his head savagely. These thoughts were as much torture for him as hearing her screams was. Another rock hit the far wall and broke into pieces with a loud crunch.
He kept reflexively going back to the previous evening in his mind. They had both seemed more subdued than usual. After supper she had insisted on a bath for some reason, even though they had just bathed the evening before. The previous bath had been a rowdy affair that had resulted in more water on the floor than in the tub and their two slippery bodies entwined and writhing together on the rug before the fire. But last night she had been content just to soak in the hot water, resting her back against him, his arms around her naked shoulders. He had snagged one of the bottles of good wine she had bought and brought it up to her room with them, so they were both mildly buzzed and just enjoying the feeling of being together.
And they talked. About everything and nothing in particular. She told him about her life growing up, in bits and pieces. It turned out she had left out quite a bit from the stories she'd told him and Dandelion in Ard Carraigh. She grew sad when she talked about her young cousin who Flemeth had revealed had died on the run from the Blight. And she told him of her other two cousins, the dead girl's brothers, her tone growing tender when she spoke of the older one, a young man named Garrett Hawke. First love, he assumed and felt only a small pang of jealousy that dissipated quickly.
His stories were all about fighting monsters and he seemed reluctant to share them at first, feeling like he should be able to share something more from his past, something with deeper significance to him, but he still had no memory of those details. She seemed to sense this and began telling him stories of fighting monsters in her own world, recounting tales of battles with ogres and dragons and darkspawn. Her tale of her fight against a Sloth demon was one of the most harrying stories. Of being trapped in a dream world, having to navigate a perplexing maze and try to convince her friends that they, too, were trapped. But the Broodmother had to be the most horrific thing he'd ever heard of. He'd encountered some nasty monsters, but nothing as unmistakeably evil as that. By and large the evillest creatures he had encountered in his life had been human. But he guessed that many of the creatures she had fought had once been human as well. It made him wonder sometimes if Witchers hadn't been hunting the wrong creatures all along.
They had made love on the rug before the fire again, but with less desperate intensity than the previous evening and more deliberate attention to each other. Afterwards she had begun taking inventory of his scars for the second time since he'd known her, tracing each one with a soft touch and waiting patiently for the story that accompanied it. He indulged her, but was surprised this time when he realized he could remember the source of every one, even though he was sure he had lost his memory long after receiving many of them.
When she had exhausted the stories of his scars, which she had strategically concluded with a scar on his upper thigh... (werewolf attack six years ago), they made love again and then he began exploring her own history as it was etched into her skin, requesting a story for each small mark he encountered. She had few scars, but two in particular were clearly worse than the others. He knew about the one that crossed her chest, but she had another that was lower down, that looked like it had come from a sword piercing through her ribcage below her right breast. He learned that she had gotten it during the Battle at Ostagar where many of her order had died, and that the wound would have killed her if it hadn't been for Flemeth's intervention.
When he traced the thin scar on her jaw she had flinched and claimed she didn't remember where she had gotten that one. He had creased his brow in concern but hadn't pushed. There were clearly things in her past that she didn't wish to share with him and he couldn't bring himself to pressure her to divulge things she wasn't willing to offer openly.
Geralt came back to the present abruptly when he realized how deafeningly quiet it had become. In a sudden panic he ran at a full sprint towards the lab. He burst through the doorway breathless and drenched in sweat. Triss was bent over Solona's still form, stroking her forehead gently and murmuring quiet words.
"Triss, what's wrong?" Geralt practically yelled, his brow heavily creased with worry.
The sorceress strode quickly over to him, saying in a steady, quiet voice, "Geralt, she's fine. She made it through the first stage. She did great. She's fine, Geralt."
He turned his panicked gaze to Solona's limp body still strapped to the stone table. Finally he registered what Triss had said. She's fine. He suddenly slumped down on the floor by the door, resting his back against the wall. He buried his face in his gloved hands, sobbing silently in relief. He felt Triss crouch down beside him, her hand stroking his shoulders quietly in an effort to comfort him. "Shhh... She'll be fine Geralt. She's very strong, you know. She'll sleep now, hopefully for several hours. I'll call you when she wakes up so you can talk to her before I start the second stage."
He nodded silently and stood, turning his head to glance back at Solona's sleeping form as Triss ushered him back out of the lab. He met Vesemir halfway up the corridor and let his mentor lead him out of the darkness.
ooOoo
She was weightless, floating like a dandelion tuft on the lightest breeze. The room seemed to spin below her for a moment until she figured out she could control her movements and halted the spinning, drifting gently above the still form of her body. She watched, detached, as the figure below her lay breathing deeply, sleeping an exhausted sleep. But her consciousness was here, wide awake and unfettered by corporeal limitations. She tested her boundaries, gently pushing forward with her will. She floated to where Triss stood nearby, a look of gentle concern on her face as she watched Solona's body sleep. The sorceress radiated calm, confident power infused with kindness and love. She hovered around her for a moment then moved on.
She pushed further and found herself floating in the main hall. Geralt was standing by the fireplace, leaning against the stone mantle with his head resting on one forearm, staring into the flames. His other hand hung limply by his side. He was hurting, she realized. She floated down to hover before him, reaching out to smooth the worry from his face, but she had no body, no fingers with which to caress his skin. Instead, her will expanded and enveloped the Witcher within it, forming a pocket of radiant warmth around him as she attempted to comfort him. His eyes closed and he let out a deep sigh. "Solona..." she heard him whisper softly and she felt the tension gradually ease out of his body. She stayed there a moment, embracing him with her will, and then she was compelled to move on.
They called to her and she was unable to resist the pull of their wills in her current form. She went to them in the space of a thought, finding herself floating abruptly amidst swirling eddies of power in a vast space as wide open as the sky and simultaneously as dark as midnight and as bright as midday. They had no forms but she could sense their familiar wills surrounding her, embracing her. Their two voices resonated deeply in harmony, "We are waiting. We are ready."
She felt her consciousness being pushed backwards through time and found herself floating across an icy wasteland. She found Geralt standing among snow covered ruins with his sword poised over the form of a man in heavy armor who lay unconscious and bleeding in the snow. He looked at the man impassively, then turned to face an immense ethereal figure. The figure glowed strangely and hovered above the ground. It wore a ragged cloak over heavy armor and upon its head sat a large, pointed crown, the eyes just below it flickering with intense blue light. It held in one had a huge scythe that glistened with the same cold light as its eyes.
"We meet again, Wolf," the figure said, its voice deep and grating like rusted steel. "Are you ready to fulfill your destiny?"
Geralt glowered at him. "In spite of what you may believe, my destiny is not yours to determine."
"With each soul you take you come closer to serving me, Wolf. That is your destiny. Your soul is mine, as is the soul of the man you're about to kill. Yield and let me take what belongs to me."
"Never! This is between him and me," Geralt spat.
"You aim to kill him anyway," the figure said through a smug sneer.
"True, but for my reasons. And they are nothing to you. Clear off while you can. Go before it's too late."
"I offer one more chance. When next we meet I will fight you and end your flight from death. Join me, Wolf. Together we can rule this world. The Witchers never told you of your true origins. If you only knew the power you could possess. You belong to me, Wolf."
Geralt bristled and yelled, "Lies!" He charged with his steel sword drawn and spun in a pirouette, slashing across the now empty air where the taunting figure once stood.
He cursed softly under his breath at the empty space before him, then turned back to the bloodied figure laying prone upon the ground. He walked to stand over him with his steel sword raised. The man peered up with a fearful, desperate look and reached out hands that shimmered with a spell making Geralt's sword disappear. Geralt cursed again and unsheathed his other sword. He stood over the man, straddling his armored chest, and centered the tip of the silver blade over his heart.
The man cried out, "But that sword is for monsters!" just as Geralt plunged the blade into him with a grunt, piercing easily through his heavy armor. The man let out a strangled cry then lay limp on the blood spattered snow.
She floated above, watching as the scene unfolded, and heard their voices in her mind, "Beware of those who would twist the prophecy to their own ends, Gwynrhena. They will seek to use you and you must not allow it. You are meant for us, or the worlds will realize this bitter end."
Harsh winds began to pick up in the snowy wasteland and she was carried away on a heavy gust, over a dead, icy landscape that she could tell once held human cities. Wind howled and snow swirled around her until she could no longer see where they were sending her.
After several moments the snow began to clear again and she found herself hovering over the temple from her dreams. She saw two white-haired figures enter the temple hand-in-hand far below her. She pushed closer and found herself inside the temple but there was no one there, only the fading echo of words spoken in a foreign, feminine voice, "The world will be reborn of Hen Ichaer, of a planted seed, a seed that will not sprout but will burst into flames."
She felt a sudden tug on her consciousness and then she was violently hurtled back into her body. The pain of rejoining her corporeal form was excruciating and she cried out in agony.
ooOoo
Her sudden scream brought him abruptly off the stool he was resting on. She was gasping desperately for breath as though she had forgotten how her lungs were supposed to work. Her eyes were open wide and staring at the ceiling, and finally came to rest on him as he bent over her, his face full of anguished emotion. For some reason his expression suddenly struck her as comical and she started laughing uncontrollably.
His look turned from anguished to concerned, and then to indignant as she continued laughing. She had tears streaming down her face when she finally forced out between breathless laughs, "I'm sorry... you just looked so... so tortured... I shouldn't laugh because it's so very sweet. I just can't help it."
He sat down solidly again on the stool he'd been sitting sentinel on for the past few hours and just looked at her, deflated, then he began to smile when the absurdity of the situation struck him and he finally laughed out loud, her own laughter infecting him with its unabashed mirth.
Her laughter gradually subsided and she grew quiet. "Geralt," she said in inquiry, and he grew sober again at her change of tone.
"What is it, Sol?"
She attempted to turn onto her side to face him and realized she was still restrained. She shot a frustrated glare at the buckles on her wrists until he got up and freed her from them.
She sat up, wincing slightly, and dangled her bare legs over the edge of the table. She was dressed only in a sheer white linen shift that didn't leave much to the imagination and he could see the outlines of hips and breasts clearly beneath it. The slightly darker skin of her erect nipples pushed tantalizingly at the fabric. There was a small tie at the wide neck that had fallen off her shoulder on one side. He briefly imagined himself reaching out and untying it, and watching the fabric slide down off her shoulders, revealing all of her to him.
She gazed at him for a moment, her eyes burning with fevered intensity. "What is it?" he finally asked again, dragging his eyes away from her tempting curves.
Her voice wavered slightly from weakness. "While I was asleep, I went... to other places. I think the Old Gods were showing me things... I don't know why yet. But I saw something strange... and disturbing. I saw you in a place covered with ice and snow. You were speaking to this evil creature... and then you killed this man." She recounted the conversation she had overheard, and the commentary from the Old Gods that had followed.
Geralt stared at her, shocked.
"Geralt, what did he mean when he said you belonged to him? And why didn't he try to fight you there? What was he?"
He was silent for a moment as he met her expectant gaze. He cleared his throat softly and looked away, focusing his gaze at some random point across the room. His eyebrows were knit in a kind of pained expression before he began to speak in a low, quiet voice that was rough with emotion.
"That thing... used to be a man, of a sort. He's King of an Elven world separate from ours, not one of the three worlds that was affected by the Conjunction. He's known in our world as the King of the Wild Hunt."
He paused for a moment, gathering his words. He saw a shadow of confusion spread across her features and nodded slightly in acknowledgement.
"I know … we talked about needing a mutagen from his wraiths, and I mentioned that he couldn't be killed. That's not entirely true... He didn't try to fight me in that vision because he knew I was probably the only person who could actually kill him. He didn't want to take the chance, the coward."
She waited expectantly for him to continue.
With a sigh he shrugged softly and said, "He's plagued me for years... ever since my resurrection. I never really understood why until recently. That day at the Elven ruins when... Flemeth... spoke to you. Something she said made it all finally clear..." He trailed off and then met her eyes with a look of subtle desperation. He spoke in a near whisper, "He's my father."
Several uncharitable thoughts about Flemeth went through Solona's head at that point, which she managed to censor, hanging on only the important points. "He's your father... and that puts you in a unique position to actually cause him mortal harm? He sounds like a complete ass by the way..."
He gave her a mildly amused look and nodded, then said, "Legend has it that only one of his own blood can kill him, and only if they carry love in their heart."
"So if you can kill him, why is he chasing you?"
"It's complicated. At first I thought he was only after me because of Ciri... the child who was mine and Yennefer's ward..." he trailed off and his face grew shocked suddenly. I can remember Ciri. How can I remember her?
"Geralt? Are you okay?" Solona reached out a shaky hand and gripped his shoulder, squeezing softly.
He shook his head and focused on her again. "I'm fine... I just had a strange memory, " he mumbled.
He continued, "I think he wants me as his heir now. Since Ciri died there have been no women with Elder Blood for him to force into becoming his bride. As his only living son, I'm his last resort. But if he can't convince me to join him he will try to kill me."
He sat quietly for a moment, lost in his odd memory. He said abruptly, "They used to think Ciri was the White Queen, you know? That Nilfgaardian bastard emperor Emhyr var Emreis thought that, anyway. He called himself the 'white flame dancing on the graves of his enemies' as if he were the answer to the prophecy." He laughed derisively at the thought. "He was her father and still wanted her for his bride." His face screwed up with anger. "I helped that bastard keep the woman he loved and that was how he repaid me."
Solona asked gently, "What does this Emhyr have to do with your … the Elven king?"
Geralt sighed, "Nothing, except they were both fanatics about the prophecy and believed she was the one who would fulfill it. A scion of Lara Dorren … supposedly a descendant of hers would have a child that would rule half the world. And the child of that child would rule the whole world. It was proved that Ciri was one of Lara's descendants and so that was why they wanted her. All of them. Mostly kings or emperors. If they didn't want to marry her, they wanted her dead."
He paused a moment before saying, "But you are the one they really wanted all along."
"That was why Henselt wanted me, wasn't it?" she asked.
He nodded and said, "It's really a wonder that he even let you go. You must be a descendant of Lara Dorren somehow, though I can't imagine how..."
"Not necessarily," they heard Triss say from behind them. They both turned to look at her. "The prophecy doesn't only affect our world, so it doesn't only apply to our world. From what Solona has told me, the Elves in her world have remained largely segregated from humans. One of their factions especially so, and they've managed to retain the old magic from before the Conjunction. It's more likely the genes Lara Dorren carried were also carried down in a different line altogether. The Elven Sages probably split the line between the three worlds hoping to try to maintain its integrity in at least one of them. Solona's father was a pure-blooded Elven sorcerer. That's where she inherited her gift." With a tinge of sarcasm, she said, "I doubt any of the kings and emperors accounted for that possibility."
Solona nodded, "And my mother was from a noble human family that traced its lineage back for generations. My genes are about as evenly split as you can get."
Solona met Geralt's gaze and held it for a moment. Then her brows drew together and she turned to Triss and asked, "But do these kings and such even know about the other half of the prophecy? The dryads knew about it. You would think an Elven king would know about it considering its source was an Elven seeress."
"You mean the part about Witcher blood being the key?" Geralt asked. "I only know about that from Flemeth's grimoire. But it isn't surprising that pieces of it would have been obscured from the general public... especially knowing who's controlled it all along. No doubt the pieces everyone knows about were made public to draw out the imposters."
"You're right," Solona said. "Flemeth probably made a point to control who knew certain details to protect you. Especially from your father." She let out a soft snort. She wasn't the least bit surprised to discover yet another aspect of the situation that Flemeth had been manipulating all along.
She said, "Speaking of the prophecy, there was something else... after I saw that vision, I went to the temple where we're supposed to perform the final ritual. When I was there I heard something."
She spoke the words she'd heard echoing inside the temple, "The world will be reborn of Hen Ichaer, of a planted seed, a seed that will not sprout but will burst into flames."
He sat thoughtful a moment before saying, "Those words are part of the prophecy. The first phrase is the part that everyone knows. Hen Ichaer means Elven Blood. The planted seed could refer to the child... our child. I don't know about the rest of it. Did your dream show you anything else?"
She shook her head and sat looking up at him for a long moment. She looked exhausted. Her skin was sickly pale and glistened with sweat, and her eyes were rimmed with red. He hated seeing her like this. He reached out to lightly caress her bare shoulder. When his hand touched her skin she cringed back from him.
"Ow! Don't … please don't touch me, Geralt," she said with a wince.
He pulled back sharply as though she had slapped him. When she saw his reaction she said gently, "I'm just a little sensitive... it's not you. Everything hurts. Even the feel of this on my skin hurts a little." She plucked at the soft linen shift in demonstration.
For some reason he was unable to control his response to her remark. In a rough, suggestive tone, he said, "You could take it off..."
His small smile turned to disappointment when he heard Triss' voice, low and steady and very stern, saying only, "Geralt, don't you dare."
He turned to glare at his friend. After a moment he felt a soft touch on his arm.
Solona said, "It's okay, I'm fine. We need to start stage two now anyway if we're going to stay on schedule."
He nodded and began to turn away, but she grabbed his hand suddenly. "Geralt, wait..." He turned back to her, a look of inquiry on his face.
"Kiss me before you go?"
He gave her a soft smile and obliged, bending carefully to press his lips against hers. He felt her hands reach up and her fingers entwine in the hair at the back of his head as she deepened the kiss. He forced himself to break away after a few seconds. If he kept going he knew he would lose control. He already felt his palms itching with the need to touch her.
He reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, then left the room silently.
ooOoo
Geralt continued clearing the lower passageways to stay nearby. Hearing her tortured cries didn't get easier, but every time she grew quiet and was resting he would start to feel the same sense of calm at a certain point, as though she was near him, whispering comforting words in his ear. He got very little time with her after the first time she had awakened. She was so exhausted between stages that she remained unconscious for most of it, only waking up briefly enough for Triss to confirm she was still doing fine and to tell the sorceress emphatically that she was ready to continue on to the next stage.
The evening of the second day he had barely slept, alternately sitting by her side while she was resting, or continuing his work clearing the passageways of the rubble. After much urging, Triss and Vesemir finally convinced him to get some rest.
The room he considered his own contained little more than a bed with straw ticking, a low cabinet with a wash basin, a chest, and several pegs on the walls from which he could hang his gear. He'd started a fire in the fireplace to fend off the chill and lay watching it burn for a time before finally dozing off into a fitful sleep.
ooOoo
Before they could pull her to them with their wills again she went to him. She found him sleeping in a sparse room on the second floor and hovered over him for a moment, watching his restless slumber in the firelight. When she pushed her will out to embrace him like she had previously, he seemed to open up to her, and she found herself drawn in to his dream.
They faced each other across a large, steaming pool within a torchlit room. They were each immersed in the water, seated on stone benches on opposite sides from each other. He was watching her like he had that first night, months earlier, when she had awakened in the bath with him. His hair was unfastened from its usual half ponytail and was slicked back from his face, wet from the water, a couple stray strands hung down at the sides of his face. She felt the subtle weight of her own hair and reached a hand up to find that it extended in soft, damp waves down past her shoulders, ghostly tendrils of it trailing out into the water around her. She had a body here, she realized. She held one hand up before her eyes, then trailed her fingers through the warm water. She seemed to be able to affect this environment as though she were solid as well.
She heard a soft swish of movement in the water and looked up to see him walking towards her. She met his eyes and understood perfectly the desire that burned in them. Her eyes drifted lower, to lips that were silently speaking her name; over his muscular upper body, glistening with moisture; further down to where she could see small beads of water clinging to the fine dark hairs that trailed from his navel down into the pool. She could see the signs of his arousal stirring just below the surface and felt a small pulse between her legs in response. She stood and went to him. This was a dream, she knew. They could be together here without worry.
They met in the center of the pool, stopping to stand a mere breath away from each other, both hesitating to touch the other for fear that it would destroy their delicate dream. Geralt gave in finally, lifting one hand from the water and tracing wet fingertips softly down her cheek. When she remained solid beneath his touch he groaned quietly with need. He cupped her face in both hands and tilted his head down to kiss her, gently at first, his tongue softly probing between her lips. She slid her hands up his chest, over his scars and through the light dusting of hair that covered his pectorals. She slipped her fingers through the hair at his temples and pulled him into a deeper kiss, their tongues drifting together in a desperate dance.
His hands left her face as the they broke away from the kiss and he nuzzled softly at the side of her neck. His hands trailed delicately across her skin, skimming his fingertips down, over the sides of her breasts, his thumbs lingering around the sensitive buds at their tips for several seconds until he heard her moan of pleasure before moving his hands lower again. He rested one hand on her hip while the other slipped between her thighs, parting her soft folds gently and stroking her, finding her slick with desire. She she let out a quiet, breathless moan into his ear.
He wrapped both arms around her torso and lifted her up, striding through the water to the side of the pool where he seated her on the edge, kneeling before her. She rested one hand on his cheek and parted her legs for him. Their eyes met briefly in a look charged with lust before his head tilted down between her thighs and his tongue found her center. Her fingers entwined in the wet tendrils of his hair and her head tilted back in ecstasy. He tasted her eagerly, his tongue dancing over her moist, delicate flesh and eliciting more breathless moans from her. He slipped his tongue deep into her, tasting every bit of her, his own moan of desire emerging unbidden from his chest. After several gasping moments the working of his expert mouth brought her to climax and she called out in ecstasy and leaned back on both hands, quivering and breathless.
He stood up before her and she pulled him to her, wrapping her legs around his hips and pulling his head down into a deep, hungry kiss, tasting the tangy remnants of her own juices on his tongue. She felt his hard, throbbing length pressing against her and took him in her hand, stroking him softly. She shifted her hips towards him and placed his pulsing tip at her core. He answered her urging and buried himself in her with a soft grunt. He buried his face in her neck and stood unmoving for a second, holding her in his arms and enjoying the hot grip of her flesh around his own. He felt the soft squeeze of her muscles around him and groaned in ecstasy, beginning to move inside her slowly at first and then more insistently. He pressed her back against the damp stone and bent over her, sucking gently at the tip of one breast, and then the other, continuing to move his hips against hers in a fast, urgent rhythm. She clutched his hips tightly between her thighs and arched her back as she felt the waves of orgasm come over her again. His hips bucked against her as his own climax overtook him and they both cried out harshly, their cries echoing off the stone walls that surrounded them.
ooOoo
Vesemir sat in the lab reading by dim lantern light while keeping watch over Solona as she slept. Triss lay resting on a cot nearby. He heard a soft moan come from Solona's sleeping form and stopped reading, alert to any potential danger from her latest stage of the trial. She moaned again more loudly and he saw a light sheen of sweat forming on her skin.
"Triss!" he called sharply. The sorceress was up like a shot, walking briskly over to the table to see what was amiss. "Something's wrong," he said.
Triss bent over her patient, watching for a moment. Solona's breathing had quickened and she continued to moan softly, her flushed body quivering and writhing gently against the leather restraints.
"No..." Triss said quietly, "I don't think this is a bad thing."
She looked up at him intently, "Vesemir, do me a favor and go make sure Geralt is sleeping alright, will you? I'm worried he'll make himself ill... he hasn't so much as meditated since we began her trial."
Vesemir nodded and left the room, looking back once with surprise when he heard Solona cry out. That didn't sound like she was in pain. It sounded like... When it dawned on him he let out a small laugh. He supposed it was a damn sight better than the pain she'd gone through so far. If only other Witchers could have been so lucky.
Triss could do no more than watch, but began to feel like a voyeur after a few moments of witnessing what were clearly spasms of orgasm coursing through the other woman as her back arched and she writhed softly against the restraints.
When Vesemir reached Geralt's room he started to knock on the door and stopped abruptly when he heard a harsh cry come from inside. "Wolf!" he called out, "Is everything okay, Wolf?" He he rapped his knuckles against the door heavily then called out again. After a moment he heard Geralt's rough voice answer, "Come in, Vesemir."
The older man opened the door cautiously. When he stepped through he saw Geralt seated on the edge of the bed clad only in his breeches, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, sweating and breathing heavily.
"Bad dream?" Vesemir asked.
Geralt cleared his throat and glanced down at his lap.
"Not exactly..." he looked back up at the other man with a sheepish half-smile.
Vesemir's brow creased and he looked back in the direction of the lab. "Huh... you were asleep just now, though?"
Geralt nodded in response. "I was dreaming about... her... we were together." He cleared his throat again, flushing at the memory. It felt so real. The feel of her touch was still on his skin, her taste still on his tongue. He shook his head to try to clear it, then he noticed Vesemir's worried look and stood up quickly.
"Is she okay?" he asked insistently.
Vesemir looked back at him and nodded. "Oh she's just fine, I'm sure. You should come down in case she wakes up soon."
Geralt nodded. "Just give me a few minutes." Vesemir closed the door quietly and departed.
Geralt found a pair of clean trousers, which he changed into, then donned boots and a shirt. When he entered the lab he saw Solona sitting up at the edge of the table sipping delicately from a glass of water. She was flushed and the heady aroma of her reached his nose and his heartbeat sped up slightly.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, stepping close to her. She turned to him and smiled alluringly, "I'm better than alright."
He looked towards Triss in inquiry. His friend looked back with a shrug. "You'll have to ask her for the details... it seems she's been having little out-of-body jaunts in between each stage - not just dreams. It sounds like you might already know where she just was." He thought he saw a little twinkle of amusement in Triss' eyes before she turned back to what she was doing.
He shook his head slightly in disbelief. "Are you telling me it's been you all along? That it was you just now... in my dream?"
"Who did you think you were dreaming about?" she asked suspiciously.
"Well... you. But the dream felt as real as if we were actually..." He let out a deep sigh and whispered, "It was amazing, whatever it was. Usually that particular dream ends with us both drowning... not... that." He cleared his throat and reached up a hand to caress her, stopping short just shy of touching her, his fingertips hovering a hair's breadth from the skin of her cheek.
She set her glass down and nodded, reaching up with both hands and grasping his larger one in between her own and laying a gentle kiss against his scarred knuckles.
"Remember yesterday when I said the Old Gods were sending me places..." He nodded and she continued. "Before they pull me to them I have a little bit of control over where my… essence... goes. This time you weren't awake when I went to you, and somehow I ended up inside your dream with you. That was definitely not what I was expecting but it was a welcome distraction."
She gave him a small smile and continued, "Afterward they didn't pull me along to some new thing this time, but I could still feel them out there, could hear them. They said they were pleased that our bond seemed to be growing stronger, that I would be ready soon. They're very eager to finally be free of their prison and the danger of corruption."
"Have they shown you anything else since yesterday?" he asked.
She grew pensive and nodded, murmuring, "Yes... I've seen our son." She met his eyes, her own filled with emotion. "He's beautiful, Geralt. Like nothing I could have imagined." He squeezed her hand gently and bent to kiss her.
ooOoo
Geralt felt significantly more centered for the remainder of Solona's trial. The experience from the evening before had done much to allay his worries about how she was faring.
He broke through the last of the rubble in one corridor on the afternoon of the third day. Vesemir hadn't lied, for within the chamber he had accessed he found a steaming bath with a deep, clear pool in the center. He recognized it immediately as the pool from their dream. Some forgotten memory showing up in my dreams again, no doubt, he thought. The room itself had been largely preserved, being locked away from access for so long. He walked in and placed a torch in one of the rusted sconces hanging on the wall. Those would need to be replaced, he noted.
The structures within the room were all completely intact. He could see that the pool had been built in around the sides with stone bricks so that it resembled the Elven bath that he'd seen outside Flotsam. There were pillars at each of the corners as well, but no vegetation whatsoever growing inside the room, aside from some odd fungus on one wall that seemed to have a small leak above it. He noticed stone benches along the walls of the room, as well as in the water, along the sides of the pool, and stone steps leading down into the water.
He walked to the edge of the pool and squatted down, trailing his fingers through the water. The water was pleasantly hot and he briefly considered stripping his clothing off and sinking into it for a soak. It would be a nice reward for the work he'd put in to uncovering the room. Instead he walked around the perimeter of the room, ripping rusty sconces from the walls. The floors would need to be washed, too, and there was a small alcove where he assumed they used to keep bath sheets where there was only a mass of mildewed fabric now. He still had more work to do before he could bring her here.
Later that evening he was busy scrubbing the remnants of fungus from the walls when he heard soft footsteps enter the room behind him.
Triss spoke in a soft, reverent voice, "Geralt, this is amazing! I had no idea this was down here. Did the Witchers actually build this? It's almost as nice as that Elven bath... do you remember?"
"Mhhm," he nodded his head and dropped the brush back into the pail by his feet. "When I'm finished hopefully it will be nicer." He looked around the room to survey the work he'd done so far and his eyes finally landed on his friend.
"You're doing this for her, aren't you?" Triss asked quietly, meeting his gaze.
He grabbed the brush from the bucket and turned back to the wall to begin scrubbing again. He shrugged and said simply, "Everything I do is for her now."
Triss watched him silently for a moment and then wandered around the dimly lit room. His work was beginning to show. The floors had been cleaned and the white stones glowed in the torchlight. He'd begun hanging new sconces as well.
She pulled off her boots and rolled up her trousers, then sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her feet into the water with a soft sigh. It was pleasantly hot and made her skin tingle. Her mind wandered to that day in the Elven bath she and Geralt had found outside Flotsam... the place where the Roses of Remembrance grew. She normally tried to avoid thinking about that day since things had ended between them, but it still popped into her head unbidden on occasion. She realized now that the memory itself had become just another pleasant piece of her past and was no longer associated with the bitterness or loss she used to feel over their parting.
She watched Geralt's back, as she pondered their situation, his sweat-soaked tunic clinging to his strong shoulders working at the stones with his brush. Had it been her discovery of a connection with Eskel that had made those feelings finally recede? Or her discovery of a connection with the woman that Geralt loved? She remembered her friendship with Yennefer. They had been close, but that hadn't stopped Triss from seducing her friend's lover... she had wanted him so much back then, it had been nearly unbearable. She thought Yennefer probably knew about their little tryst. It had happened after a particularly nasty fight between Yen and Geralt, and he had come to her as a friend seeking solace. She still felt guilty about taking advantage of him then. I was such a whore back then. What the hell was I thinking?
But she didn't have any regrets about their relationship from the past few years, after he came back from the dead. She remembered that she'd come back from the dead once. He'd thought her dead after the Battle at Sodden Hill... they'd even erected a monument with her name on it. But he hadn't had nearly the same reaction as she had to his resurrection. Yennefer had still been alive then... and there was Ciri, too. Too many other women between them for it to matter enough, she supposed.
When they'd finally begun a relationship she'd felt a little guilty that he didn't remember their earlier encounter, but was glad of it, nonetheless. She was equally glad that she'd had the strength to finally end things before Solona had come into the picture. And she was infinitely glad that Eskel had come along and given her the impetus to do so.
Eskel had been a surprise, to say the least. She'd only ever thought of him as Geralt's brother. He'd always been on the periphery of their drama - never really involved in either of their lives beyond his occasional presence. She had run into Eskel randomly on the streets of Vizima on a day when she was feeling particularly disheartened about Geralt's disinterest in something she cared greatly about - namely the disposition of Temeria's throne and the child who was the heir to it. She just figured he should care more considering he had saved the girl's life. At the time she believed it was really just her he didn't care about. In retrospect she thought some part of him must have known what was to come, so she forgave him.
That day in Vizima, Eskel had suddenly appeared in the middle of the bazaar and the look of utter rapture he had given her made her forget about all of her worries so completely it was uncanny. They'd spent the afternoon together and she'd invited him to spend the night but he had refused. He'd told her with grave certainty in his deep voice, "I want you, Triss. More than anything. But I won't let you come between Wolf and me, no matter how beautiful you are, or how much you both regret being together."
Weeks later when he had finally confessed that he had always loved her she realized what a fool she had been. She could have had this man all along if she hadn't been so blind. This man who was every bit the scarred hero that she had seen in Geralt. Even if he wasn't quite so infamous. But she realized she liked the idea that he wasn't so infamous... that meant she'd get more of him to herself. And she had discovered she could be very selfish when it came to love. Not to mention he had been a fantastic lover... but she had expected no less.
"Triss."
She jerked slightly, coming out of her reverie at the sound of her name. She looked up to see Geralt crouching across the pool and looking at her with a bemused smile.
"Copper for your thoughts?" he asked glancing at her hand, which she realized was currently cupping her breast. She dropped it abruptly, and cleared her throat.
"Nothing... er... nothing."
He grinned at her flustered blush.
"Eskel?" he asked. She nodded and lifted her feet out of the water, wiggling her bare toes in the cooler air of the room.
His look grew more serious. "He's very lucky. As are you. I wanted to tell you that it makes me happy you two found each other."
"Thank you, Geralt. I'm happy we did, too." She smiled faintly at him.
He sat and pulled off his boots and rolled his trousers up to his knees, then plunged his own feet into the warm water.
"Triss..." he began, his brows creased in a way that told her he had something important to tell her.
"What is it, Geralt?"
"I think my memories are returning."
Next Chapter: In which the changes begin.