A/N: Sorry for the takedown/repost on this chapter. I just felt I had posted prematurely and it needed a bit more detail. The changes may not make a difference, but they were important to me. I also thought about changing the title, but the current one makes me smile so I think I'll leave it.

Conjunction

Chapter 30 - Badger Hate

2 weeks later. 10 weeks until Midsummer.

Icy winds battered them relentlessly. Snowy gusts obscured their vision. There was no shelter between where they were, trudging sluggishly down the snowy road, and the city that still lay many hours away.

Geralt glanced back to Solona's horse. She was still astride, but hunched over and shivering.

It was near sunset, though tough to tell from the lack of light. There was still grey light filtering through the blizzard, but visibility was nearly nonexistent. They could still see each other, at least.

Lusa whined. The horses whinnied and snorted in distress. He knew they couldn't make it through another night if they could even find a suitable camp. They needed to keep moving. But Solona needed to rest. He'd heard her weakly casting her spells to try to maintain her mental focus, but she'd fallen silent for some time and he knew she'd run out of energy and probably drifted off. She was exhausting herself daily just to keep sane and he admitted to himself that he worried meditation wasn't enough to restore her energy each night. Once they reached Vengerberg at least they could take a couple days to truly rest before continuing their journey.

Lusa barked and Geralt turned his hooded head around sharply to see Solona beginning to slide limply out of her saddle. He dismounted quickly and was beside her horse in time to catch her and cradle her in his arms.

"Sol," he said, loudly enough to be heard over the wind as he shook her gently. She made no response.

He cursed softly. She was completely unconscious. Her frosted eyelids fluttered as she whispered unintelligible words. Her cheeks were flushed brightly and her warm breath gusted out in little steamy puffs. He carried her to Roach and set her in the saddle then trudged back through the driving snow to secure her horse by a lead to his own. She sat slumped over the saddle horn, unmoving. He held her steady while he mounted behind her and held her close, wrapping his cloak around them both.

She was so warm the snow seemed to melt the second it landed on her cloak. He almost moaned at the contact when he wrapped his arms around her to grab the reins again. Intense heat radiated out of her and he could feel it even through all the layers of the heavy garb she wore as well as through his own. He recalled the dreams they'd shared and her recounting of the sweltering visions she'd had of her homeworld. He guessed that she must be having a similar vision now.

During one of her recent trance-like episodes she had murmured strange words about the balance shifting. She rambled on for so long that he began to think he should start taking notes. He assumed she was speaking prophecy, with her words about the three worlds perishing in fire and ice. He knew it for certain when the words became Elder Speech, which he knew she didn't speak, and could barely read. She had looked straight at him, her eyes slightly unfocused. Her words had chilled him and his already cold and tasteless breakfast had felt like clay on his tongue. "In the dragon's plight, the wolf's despair, the flame will dwindle and die. The blood and fire of the dragon and wolf must prevail to lead us to light again."

He shook off the memory and peered into the dwindling light, ensuring they were still headed down the road to Vengerberg. Dragons and wolves, he thought, wondering what kind of strange-looking offspring the two creatures might produce.

"Whatever it is, it's bound to be prettier than a true witcher babe, to hear Vesemir tell it," he muttered.

Roach snorted. He urged her forward again. The mare grunted obstinately.

"Get moving, dummy, we don't have time to waste," he said.

Roach snorted again and began trudging forward slowly. Solona's head lolled against his shoulder in rhythm with Roach's gait.

"No need to be overly enthusiastic. It's not like we're about to freeze to death," he said and kicked her again, wishing he had spurs for occasions like this.

He heard a few odd noises behind him and turned back in time to see Ghost and Lusa both nipping at Roach's hindquarters and she finally lurched into a brisk trot.

"Trust me," he said. "It'll be better if we keep moving."

He finally succeeded in urging her into a canter and maintained the pace for the next couple hours, only pausing to let her rest for brief moments.

As they made their way through the darkening storm he pondered further what witcher babies might really be like if they were allowed to exist. Little toothy things with fur? Or more like slimy drowners? He didn't think human babies were particularly attractive – little monsters themselves, by all accounts, and some of the children he'd met confirmed the assessment – how much worse could a witcher baby really be? Surely they'd eat and shit no more than the normal kind. And surely any baby Solona made would be beautiful no matter what. No thanks to him, of course. But according to the prophecy, they didn't need to worry about that.

He knew the ritual would ensure whatever child they produced would be born perfect. A small god, even. That thought troubled him. How do you properly raise a god child? Are they like normal children? Not that he had any experience with normal children anyway. But he knew his world depended on this theoretical child, so he had no choice but to do whatever he could to make sure it turned out right. He just wished the grimoire had given some clue about what to expect... afterwards. The only helpful details he had regarding the ritual dealt with how to properly service Solona, which he didn't think he'd have any trouble getting right. But there were no details about what to do afterwards.

He tried not to think about what would happen to her during the ritual. He knew she would be changed in the process. His arms gripped her slight form a little tighter when he thought about it. She was willingly sacrificing herself to save them. She would survive, but what would she be at the end? He felt his heart thud in his chest when he recalled the naked, nubile redhead from the dream-vision he'd seen weeks earlier. He wondered what it would have been like to know her then, before all these things had changed her. What would she have been like if the world – worlds – hadn't demanded this sacrifice of her?

He never would have known her if that were the case. He felt a little sick at feeling validated by her misfortune. Or was it fate...

"I'm your destiny, Geralt". Her words still resonated in his mind. He realized she was even more a slave to fate than he was. She'd experienced only a fraction of years compared to him, yet had embraced her own fate fearlessly, and was seeing it through with bitter determination.

He'd had so many years of freedom compared to her, in spite of all the horrors he'd had to endure during his long life. He knew he had decades worth of pleasant memories, if you strung them all together. His time as a youth after he'd finished his witcher trials. Winters spent at Kaer Morhen when he was younger. Some of the time he'd spent with Yennefer. His time training Ciri. How much had she had? By her accounts she'd been an exile most of her life, became a prisoner when she was barely an adult, and shortly after that her own fate had commandeered her life for good.

And it had brought her to him. He rejected the idea that it was misfortune that had brought them together. Fate was much easier to stomach than luck, good or bad. He'd suspected there was something larger at work in his own life for years, ever since he'd supposedly risen from the dead. And even before that, if he was honest with himself. Her presence proved it. She'd given him purpose for the first time in his life. Something beyond simply being a killer.

Her temperature dropped and he felt her begin shivering violently in his arms. He knew her vision must have shifted to one of the icy ones now. He held her more tightly and urged his horse onward.

He was barely aware of the hour now and had no way to tell without the light of the sun or the stars to tell him one way or the other. All he could do was keep urging Roach forward and hope the other animals were keeping up.

While they trudged on, there was nothing to do but think.

His mind drifted back to the night they'd camped outside Ban Glean. It had been memorable, to say the least, but the single thing that stood out to him was when she had told him he was beautiful. No one had ever told him that before. He'd never even pondered the possibility of his own beauty. Women were odd creatures and seemed to be attracted to the ugliest things, after all. He had just considered himself lucky that whatever they saw in him was to their liking. He was fairly certain it wasn't comeliness that had prompted their favors. When he'd been a young witcher he thought it might be his unique appearance more than anything pleasing they found in his features. Then later after he'd received a few scars he thought it might be the scars themselves that attracted them. Eventually he'd just come to the conclusion that the very idea of bedding a witcher was what appealed to them. Maybe they thought it was good luck. And they knew witchers were infertile – or so he'd believed all his life until recently – which really just made him a worry-free fuck. That excuse ultimately made more sense than any other explanation and he realized he had a new appreciation for that particular dilemma that he'd never had before.

They reached the gates of Vengerberg as darkness was finally turning into the grey light of dawn. The blizzard's unrelenting haze had subsided and they had a clear view of the gates several yards before they reached them.

"Hoy! Gatekeepers!" Geralt yelled. He knew it was dawn and they had no reason to deny him entry.

He could hear the guards rousing in the tower and indulged himself for a moment as he waited, nuzzling Solona's hair and inhaling her scent. "We'll be inside soon," he whispered to her. She made no response.

A moment later a gruff voice called back, "Who goes there!"

"Just travelers seeking entrance to the city," Geralt answered from beneath his shadowed hood. Irritation began to itch at him at being interrogated.

"There've been reports of raiders near the city. Have you seen any?"

"Can't say that I have. I highly doubt anyone would be crazy enough to stay out in this shit."

"Yet here you are... out in this shit."

"I had an emergency. Needed to get to the city quickly. Are you going to let us in or not?"

"Oh, an emergency. What's your emergency?"

"My... wife is ill. She needs shelter and rest, and a healer or sorcerer if one is in residence. That's all."

There was quiet from the guard tower for a moment and he grumbled. He knew they had no real reason to detain him or even turn him away. Vengerberg was a big city with an attentive church for the homeless and ample city guard for the odd rabble that might make it through the gates during the day.

Thankfully the large iron gates of the city creaked open and he entered without further useless interrogation.

He steered Roach down the dark, narrow alleys until he reached a small inn he remembered from when he'd lived here with Yennefer.

Yennefer. He still cringed at the recollection of their confrontation in Ban Glean. Why had she been there of all places? He still couldn't help but wonder at the odd coincidence. He wished he'd been more... something. Comforting? He had no idea what he could have done to make things easier on her, but he was sure there must have been something. He wished Triss were easier to contact so he could ask her advice. If he'd had time he'd write her a letter... but he didn't have time, and Yennefer was the only sorceress he knew in this city who had a telecommunicator mirror. She might be back here already, but he didn't think he could face her now after their disastrous reunion.

His mind dwelled on the confrontation. Fucking prophecies, he cursed to himself. He had hoped Yennefer, of all people, would have understood the prophecy. She'd heard it often enough from Ciri. She'd even made half joking comments about how Geralt was probably the subject of bits of it. He doubted she really knew how true her comments were at the time. He certainly hadn't guessed. The only person he knew who had embraced the prophecy was delirious before him on his horse. And she wasn't even from his world. Well, there was her... and his mother, whose significance he still wasn't prepared to contemplate.

He found the inn and stabled the horses, giving the stablehands a far greater gratuity than he normally would just to get them to carry their things inside since he was occupied carrying Solona.

Dawn was a bad time to try to get a room. They were stuck with the smallest, most remote room that wasn't actually the attic or cellar. He was pleased with the location, since it was tucked away in a remote corner of the sprawling inn, but the accommodations left a lot to be desired. He couldn't quite stand upright in the room due to the eaves that loomed over the bed. He almost wondered if the attic room wouldn't have been roomier than this one, which was little more than an oddly shaped closet with a tiny window. It didn't even have a fireplace.

When he entered the room, he laid Solona down on the bed and removed her cloak, then covered her up with a blanket. He eyed the sloped ceiling and decided to pull the heavy bed closer to the center of the room, to preserve his own head if for no other reason.

He stood looking down at Solona debating whether he should find a spot on the floor instead. While he looked at her, he noticed Lusa curling himself in an exhausted heap near the door, immediately going sleep. He realized there wasn't much floor for him to claim for himself.

"Fuck it," he said and scooted her over, then climbed into the too-small bed beside her, pulled the blankets over them, and wrapped his arms around her before settling down to sleep.

The sounds of the late afternoon activities in the tavern below roused him much later. She was still sleeping soundly beside him and hadn't stirred. He clung to her briefly, enjoying the warmth of her body against his, a sharp contrast to the colder air in the room around them.

He lay still and listened to the sounds of her breathing. His hold on her tightened when he remembered the dream he'd just had. Another dream of intense heat and dark, evil creatures climbing out of ominous chasms. The dreams had been frequent in the last couple weeks. He understood that she was dreaming of her homeworld still, and the threats that lingered there that she'd taken it upon herself to vanquish by any means necessary. She'd come to him for help, all those months ago. Her arrival had surprised him even more than Ciri's had when he'd found himself her unwitting guardian.

This woman was his fate as much as Ciri was. She'd arrived unannounced and changed everything. By the time he'd realized it he couldn't have refused her if he'd wanted to.

He chuckled softly at the idea. How in the world do you plan for fate? Not that he'd really planned for anything in his life. You plan spring crops, you plan fall harvests, you plan to survive the winter. As witchers, you plan to keep your swords sharp and your reflexes sharper so you can survive the next fight. You don't plan for fate. It just sneaks up on you. And then what do you do? He knew there was no fighting this. He'd been rushing down a river his entire life and now he found himself on the verge of diving head-first over a waterfall. He knew there was no escaping it, even if he'd wanted to. All he could do was hold his breath and close his eyes and hope he survived the plummet over the edge.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. He should get up. Go get them some supper at least. But he couldn't drag himself away from her.

There was a sharp knocking at the door. A muffled, high-pitched woman's voice called out, "Witcher! Are you there, Witcher?"

He thought about ignoring it, but there was something desperate in the woman's tone. He rolled onto his back with one arm over his eyes and lay on the bed for several seconds longer as the knocking continued.

He cursed and stood up. He flung the door open. The petite young woman on the other side cringed at the hostility she was presented with.

"What."

The woman staggered back. She stammered a half-coherent apology before regaining her composure. She was a pretty girl. Very young by his estimation. Also very scared, but brave enough to approach him. He gave her points for that and relaxed a tiny bit.

"M-master witcher," she gasped out. "W-we... i-its a monster... i-in our cellar."

She took a deep breath and he noticed a wide-eyed young boy clinging to her skirts and gazing up at him in horror.

Shit, now I'm reduced to frightening children.

He let out a long sigh and made a concerted effort to change his demeanor.

"Calm down and tell me what happened," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

It seemed to work somewhat. The young woman approached him hesitantly and made a stuttering explanation of her ordeal.

"Th-there's a m-monster in my cellar, sir. It's k-killed my cat and is eating all our winter stores. We'll s-starve if it keeps on. W-will you help us? Please?"

"What kind of monster? How big is it? Did it eat your cat whole or just fight it until it died?"

She blinked at him in confusion, then answered hesitantly, "I-I don't know, sir. It's bigger than the cat... was... and it has glowy eyes and pointy teeth."

"Does it walk on two legs or four? Or does it have tentacles? Fur?"

She looked confused, but answered slowly anyway. "F-four legs and fur... I-I think, but I didn't get a good look at it. It made horrible, awful noises. I was too scared to go see."

It was probably just a wild animal, he concluded. There were very few monsters with fur. But even so, it could be something that could legitimately cause this woman harm. If so...

He gazed at her intently, then glanced down at the wide-eyed face peeking out from behind her skirts. Big blue eyes blinked and a small thumb made its way into the child's mouth.

Shit.

He nodded and sighed. "Meet me downstairs in ten minutes."

Her face relaxed with obvious relief and she nodded back, then ushered her small charge along down the darkened hallway to the stairs.

He turned back to Solona who was still deeply asleep. He couldn't leave her alone. He looked at Lusa. Was the dog enough? Definitely not.

He donned his heavy vest and strapped his swords on, then his cloak. He stepped out the door and closed it.

The tavern on the first floor was bustling and it took him several minutes to attract the attention of the innkeeper and express his needs. A moment later he was back in their room explaining to a young kitchen scullion to keep watch over Solona while she slept. Her eyes grew wide when she saw Solona's sleeping form.

"It's Gwynrhena in the flesh!" she gasped.

Geralt cringed realizing that she still resembled the posters very closely, particularly since he hadn't taken the time to strip her armor.

"Yes," he said, deciding to take advantage of it for a change. "And you need to watch over her while I'm away. If she wakes up, make sure she gets whatever she needs."

The girl nodded emphatically. Then she spied the dog and her eyes grew wide and fearful. Lusa wagged his butt at her and rolled onto his back, showing her his belly. She seemed to relax and laughed nervously.

"I'll pay you when I return if you've done a good job," Geralt said.

"Oh, yes sir. It will be my pleasure to watch over her, to be sure."

He nodded at her and stepped out the door, hoping the "monster" problem would be quick and easy to deal with.

Dusk was settling over the city when he stepped out of the inn behind the young woman. The snow was only coming down in sporadic flurries now so they could easily see where they were going. The young woman's house was across town and took some time to reach. When she let him into her small dwelling, he could hear the sounds of some creature beneath them. At least she hadn't been lying. She and the child huddled together on a chair near the kitchen stove as he flipped open the trapdoor to their cellar.

He paused for a moment, gazing into the blackness beneath him. He pulled a small vial containing a potion from his vest which he swallowed quickly, stowing the empty back where it had come from. He felt the familiar shift in his eyesight that allowed him to see more easily in dark places and then swiftly descended through opening into the darkness beyond.

He drew his silver sword and looked around.

He was in a wide open space with shelves along all the walls and crates and odds and ends littering the spaces in between. There was very little open floor, but he could hear the creature's snuffling nearby. He silently stalked in the direction of the sounds, stepping quietly over crates and boxes as he moved.

He saw small claws reach up to a low shelf of potted goods. He watched silently as the claws pulled a ceramic jar down and pried the lid off, then began lapping up the contents.

When he saw the creature's face and the black and white stripes on it he began laughing to himself. It was a common beast. A badger no less. Burrowed in from the outside somehow. Probably starving and looking for food. Now it was ransacking some poor woman's root cellar just to survive.

He sheathed his sword and stepped forward quickly, attempting to grab the creature by its scruff. It shied away and scurried behind a pile of crates.

"Fuck," Geralt said. "Come back here, you little shit."

He crouched down, stalking it to its hiding place. His enhanced vision gave him a bright view of its beady eyes staring back at him defiantly from the corner it had backed into. He looked up and around seeing its exits and plotting which way it could possibly escape to if he couldn't catch it.

He stood up and walked away for a second, hoping to give it a false sense of security that would encourage it to come out of its corner. He slowly and quietly looped around to the back of its hiding place, stepping over crates and around shelves.

He could see its tail sticking out beneath a fallen stack of crates. He stalked forward quietly. If he could just get to it without it noticing...

He lunged and gripped coarse fur, but it slipped out of his grip.

"Shit!" he yelled in frustration.

He saw its grey furry figure scurry into another corner behind another pile of crates. He wouldn't be able to get behind that one.

His nose pricked up. It liked fruit. He walked back to the spot where he'd first seen the creature and found the upended jar it had been eating from. Potted fruit.

Geralt picked up the remains of the jar and carried it to the other end of the cellar. He set it down in the shadows near where he was certain the creature was hiding. He dumped a bit of it out on the dirt floor and set the container down, then backed off and waited quietly.

He heard it snuffling and grunting softly and within moments a shiny black nose emerged from the shadows, seeking out the sweet aroma of the potted fruit he'd spilled. The second the creature began lapping up the fruit, Geralt swooped down in a blur and grabbed it by its scruff in one large gloved hand.

"I got you, you little shit," he said to it triumphantly.

The creature let out a high garbled wail as he held it up. It scrabbled at the air with all four legs but was unable to escape his tight grip on it.

"That's enough stealing for you," he said, looking into its dark, beady eyes. He climbed the steps out of the cellar with the creature still clutched tightly in his grip.

He grimaced at the screech that greeted him when he emerged from the cellar door. He thought he preferred the sound of the badger.

"Here's your monster," he said impassively, holding the wriggling beast up before the young woman.

The woman's scream subsided into a whimper and then a confused murmur. The little boy next to her appeared utterly fascinated.

"T-that's all it was?" she asked, incredulous.

"That's all it was," he said.

"W-why didn't you kill it?"

"It isn't a monster. Witchers kill monsters, not badgers."

Her brows creased as she processed the information. Geralt grew impatient.

"I'll just get him out of here. You have a hole in your cellar somewhere where he burrowed in. You need to barricade it at least, perhaps set a few traps. Get a dog instead of a cat. A dog that can hunt."

The woman nodded at him, her eyes wide.

"B-but... you're leaving. I haven't paid you yet."

"Were you planning on paying me with coin?"

She seemed taken aback. She shook her head and averted her eyes.

The badger wriggled in his grasp.

Geralt sighed and grumbled, "Just consider it a favor. Pay it back to the next witcher you meet."

She nodded to him and he stalked out the door with the creature writhing in his grasp. The crowds parted as he continued towards the gates of the city. He wasn't sure if they were just frightened of badgers or if it was the look on his face. He was sure he couldn't have looked particularly friendly considering how pissed he was about the entire pointless ordeal.

He finally made it to the gate and called for the gatekeeper to open it. He stalked out several yards and with a heavy swing tossed the wriggling creature into the woods beyond. He waited a second to see it scurrying off away from the city, then turned and walked back through the gates.

He grumbled to himself.

"No monsters... no payment. What a waste of time. He'll probably be back in her cellar by morning, too. Nobody ever listens to me."

He thought he should have killed the beast and left the body for her to clean up. But he still wasn't sure if he could have accepted whatever "payment" she'd been planning to offer him. He wondered if it was his own business practices or that of other witchers that had left women with the impression that certain favors were sufficient payment for their work. He idly wondered if he should feel bad about denying the woman the pleasure of compensating him for the task he'd just carried out. He didn't think so.

It was just growing dark when he made it back to the inn. He pulled off his cloak and pushed open the door to their room.

The bed was empty.

He tried to remember if he'd seen Solona in the tavern below. He hadn't. He would have noticed.

He stepped into the room, a feeling of dread seeping into him. He turned his head and saw Lusa's dark shape lying motionless on the floor inside the door. The kitchen girl was gone.

Solona wouldn't have left without the dog. Lusa wouldn't have been sleeping if she was gone, either. He'd either be with her, or he'd be tearing throats out trying to get to her. Or he'd be unconscious.

He felt a chill wash over him. The images from the dream two weeks prior hit him hard. Had he lost her?

No... he couldn't believe that. She couldn't have gone far in the time he'd been away. She'd been delirious frequently lately. She must have just wandered off. She must have accidentally put her dog to sleep. He couldn't imagine another scenario. He wouldn't let himself imagine another scenario.

He cast a quick Heliotrop sign on Lusa and the dog whined softly before sitting up and licking him squarely on his face.

"Where is she, boy?" he asked, laying his hand on the dog's head in mutual comfort.

The dog whined again then left him to sniff around the room. He lingered for a moment on Solona's pack and whined again. Geralt stepped over to look and found nothing missing besides the grimoire. That was odd. Maybe she'd just taken it somewhere to read?

"Good boy," he said to Lusa distractedly. Geralt thought the dog looked genuinely chagrined about the situation. Like he would be blamed somehow.

"We'll find her. She can't have gone far." At least he hoped she hadn't.