Author Notes:

You know how in the last chapter I said the next chapter would be purely ASOIAF?

I lied.

Geralt

The Toad Prince lay dead at the feet of Geralt of Rivia. As the last ringing from the golden crown crashing to the ground stopped, he knew it wouldn't be long before the toxins in the air would force him to leave.

Indeed, the monster was unlike any other that Geralt had ever seen before. It was closer to a frog than the toad that the name suggested, though it was far larger than a frog had any right to be. Either a normal frog shifted through an arcane ritual, or perhaps someone suffering from a curse. He only had a second to examine it though, as suddenly the slain beast began to transform, shrinking and changing, revealing a naked man, confirming the latter option and confirming the caster's sense of thematic significance. The prince, he suddenly realized, as he looked at the dead man with his belly slit open.

Geralt knelt down, studying the slain man. Despite meeting most rulers of the Continent, this prince didn't resemble any of them. Indeed, it seemed he likely was not from the Continent at all. He remembered that the notice had mentioned something about Ofier. And it slowly dawned on him who this man likely was.

Suddenly, there were footsteps coming from both entrances into this part of the sewer.

Shit.

Geralt didn't have time to react as the foreign mercenaries entered the area, blocking both exits and surrounding him to secure the area.

It was a trap, Geralt suddenly realized.

One man who seemed to be the leader of the mercenaries said some words to his men in Ofieri that Geralt didn't know, though he didn't need to understand them. The orders were the same. Attack him.

The men all rushed at Geralt, who was able to fend off the first two with swings and used the sign of Axii to throw a third back, and he hit the stone wall with enough force to cause a loud pop, as though a bomb had gone off.

But there were too many. One of them managed to land a swing that Geralt failed to parry, hitting him in the chest, and the rest seemed to tackle him. While he might have been able to keep fighting under normal circumstances, the toxins in the air were starting to impact Geralt, and he found himself passing out.

When Geralt came too, he was overwhelmed by how dizzy he felt. Without even looking, he turned as much as he could and began to wretch, as he felt the rocking sensations of the took him a moment to remember what had happened, but soon enough he did. They're taking me back to Ofier, he judged. There they'll have me executed for slaying their prince.

His arms and legs were both well tied, and Geralt could see he was being kept in a cell with iron bars. His armor and swords had been removed, and he was wearing nothing but a white shift. Instinctively, his hands went for his medallion, but that as well was missing. Geralt attempted to break his bonds with his strength, but he could see it was fruitless. These Ofieri warriors were no fools, it seemed.

Only then did he become aware that he was not alone in his cell. "It's good to see you're awake," the man across from him said, "was beginning to expect I wouldn't get to speak in Common the whole trip."

"Who are you?" was all Geralt could manage, "what are you doing here?"

"Phelippe Calagrande," the black-haired man answered. Both his hair and beard were thick and grown out, though not particularly long. His face was plain, with blue eyes, and an unremarkable build. Likely a local of Oxenfurt, Geralt judged. "The Ofier's hired me to guide them through the sewers to lift their prince's curse, but when we got there, the prince was dead. Killed by you. They took me prisoner after that."

"Sorry to hear that," Geralt muttered.

"You seem to be a Witcher by the look of you. With the armor and those swords. What's your name?"

"Geralt of Rivia."

"Geralt of Rivia?" Phelippe repeated. "I've heard of you."

Wouldn't surprise me. "I took up a contract to kill the Toad Prince. A man named Olgierd von Everec was the one who put it out." Geralt had needed work, and with the Northern kingdoms in disarray, it seemed the best place to look for it was in Oxenfurt, where Radavid still ruled, and more importantly, lived. With Foltest and Demavend dead at Letho's hand, and Henselt dead at the hands of Vernon Roache, Temeria, Aerdin, and Kaedwen had all been left without their kings, weakening the Northern realms that had already lost Cintra to Nilfgaard years before.

After that, he had traveled to Skellige, meeting with Yennefer there, though another king had perished then too, King Bran, leaving Skellige without a ruler too. Choosing another monarch proved to be quite contentious, with the scheming of Bran's widow to put her son on the throne, and Madman Lugos going mad with grief after the death of his son. Eventually, Cerys an Craite became the queen, giving a little more stability. As Geralt had returned to the mainland, Nilfgaard and its forces had already swept through Temeria, capturing the palace of Vizima, and leaving Redania as the last true hope to oppose Emhyr var Emreis.

"They'll bring the both of us to their king, to avenge the slain prince's honor," Phelippe said. "We'll be executed."

Geralt nodded. He knew the life of a witcher was a treacherous one, and even the smallest mistake would lead to death. Now as they sailed, he guessed that death would be coming soon for him.

Their conversation was interrupted by a guard, who loudly said some words at them, before giving them a bowl of food through the bars to eat. But as quickly as the guard appeared, he left, leaving them alone again.

"Care to hear what he had to say?" the guide asked.

"No." Geralt knew it was some insult or another. Either way, he didn't care. "I need to be able to ask to speak with the captain when they come back."

"I doubt they'll let you, but it's worth the try," Phelippe said. "Vhajlth alle'khe uhl eghullath. That's what you'll want to say."

"Vhajlth alle'khe uhl eghullath," Geralt repeated, impressed by his ability to get it right on the first try.

"Very good." Phelippe yawned. "I should get some rest."

"You don't want any of this?" Geralt asked, gesturing to the bowl.

"You should eat. You haven't since we got in this boat. I have."

He would've persisted, but the growling in Geralt's stomach convinced him to accept the offer. Geralt ate the food,despite it tasting terrible, but his stomach was empty enough that it didn't matter to him. By the time he was finished eating, the guide had fallen asleep.

He nearly started to fall asleep too, forgetting about asking to see the captain, when a man called out to him. "Quite the predicament you've found yourself in, Geralt," the voice said.

Geralt looked up, shocked to see a man sitting right across from him, looking through the bars. His head was shaved bald, though his eyebrows revealed his hair to likely be black if it were grown out, with his eyes an unremarkable brown. Nobody would ever mistakenly call this man fair either, though he was clearly out of place among the Ofieri soldiers, both in garb and look.

"Do you still wish to speak with the captain?"

He bit his tongue, not wanting to answer that.

"You don't know me, Geralt, and perhaps it's for the best," the man said, with a sigh. "My name is Gaunter O'Dimm, the Master of Mirrors. I will help you, but only for a price."

"A price?" the witcher asked. "What price?"

"I need your help. Service me in the matter, and I'll remove that brand from your face."

"What brand?" Geralt had dozens of scars, but no brands on his face.

Suddenly though, he was racked with pain as he felt something hot seering into his face, burning him. Within a second, the pain was gone.

"That brand," O'Dimm replied. "If you wish to have the mark removed, service me in these tasks."

Geralt knew there wasn't a choice. Whatever this sorcerer wanted, he would have from Geralt, whether he liked it or not.

"I'll give you three wishes even," the man said with a smile. "The first will be getting you off this boat, and the third will be removing that brand when your work is done. But what will be the second?"

"To undo something I sorely regret," Geralt replied after pausing for a few moments. He wanted to be back at Oxenfurt, having ignored the contract from Olgierd von Everec, looking for work elsewhere.

"That's it?" the Master of Mirrors said with a grin. "Very well then. Once you are free, meet me at the crossroads in Yantra at midnight."

With a clap of his hands, the mysterious sorcerer was gone.

"Whe-what's goin-" a soft voice said, coming from next to Geralt.

He turned, and his face would have gone white, were it not for him being a witcher.

Sitting there was a blond haired girl, twelve perhaps. Her skin was fair, and she had a pretty face, though not exceptionally beautiful. Geralt would not have known her were it not for her eyes. Her blue-green eyes that Geralt would have had a hard time forgetting.

"I… I had a dream… I…"

You died at my hand. "I… I'm sorry, Renfri." Geralt could not think of much else to say.

"The thug… I… I killed him, and then I was…"

The one who raped you. Geralt knew this part of the story at least. She had told him it once before. "I'm sorry, Renfri," he said again. To undo something I sorely regret. It had been a long time since Geralt had given much thought to Renfri, and he had not spoken with Stregebor since the day he was banished from Blaviken. Yet here she was in front of him, a girl of twelve, pulled from the night that she had been exiled from her family, to be killed by a thug who her step-mother had hired. "I'm sorry."

"It… It was you, she said. You… You were the one who…" the girl was clearly in dismay, "where are we?"

"A boat… I've lost track of how many years it's been since you died," he confessed. "I… I won't kill you. I promise."

"What do you mean?"

"A djinn. He gave me a wish, and I asked him to reverse something I regretted. He put you here." Geralt could see how uneasy and scared the girl was. "How much do you remember?"

"I… I remember being older, somehow… like… like a dream… but… but last night I was…"

"I know," Geralt said. I know about your bad dream. "I'll keep you safe." Somehow. The mystery man had promised that he would get him out of this somehow, to avoid the likely execution that lay ahead of him.

"Why are we tied up?"

"I killed the wrong monster," he confessed, "an Ofieri Prince that had been cursed to turn into a frog. The mercenaries who captured me were trying to lift the frog's curse when I killed it."

"And I'm tied up because…"

"The djinn conjured you up that way."

"Djinn? H-how… I was… conjured?"

"I don't know," was all he could say. "That dream you had. That was your life."

"A-am I… a ghost? Am I real?"

Geralt touched the girl's face, finding it to be solid. Her skin was warm like any other human, he could sense her heart beating and breathing. Like any normal person. "I don't see any reason to believe that you aren't."

"My step-mother? The sorcerer? What happened to them?"

I haven't the slightest idea. "They're dead. Quite a while ago, I'd imagine. They'll never trouble you… they'll never trouble us. Whatever happens here, we'll stay far away from Blaviken."

"You promise?" Her eyes that once seemed so full of hate and deception had now been replaced with ears full of fear

She needs to trust me. "I promise. We'll never return to Blaviken."

As the words left his mouth, a large wave rocked the boat. He had only been dimly aware of the rain that had started to fall, but now it was getting more and more intense, as the waves were. Renfri's posture tightened, while Phelippe next to them began to stir.

"Is… Is it a storm?" Renfri's voice was nervous, and she moved closer to Geralt, as though he would have some way to keep her safe.

It couldn't be, Geralt thought to himself. All of this by the supposed Master of Mirrors, only to then kill them in a storm?

The thought was put to an end as a wave crashed against the ship again, this time breaking through the walls of the cell. Geralt and Renfri clutched each other as the water quickly rushed in through the breach. Within seconds, they were no longer sitting, but being carried by the water that was smashing through the ship.

Our only way out is through the breach, Geralt thought to himself, kicking as hard as he could while holding onto Renfri.

In the end though, he never got the chance to swim free. He hit his head on something, and the world went black again.

When he woke again, he was still tied up.

His bare back was being dragged against something rough and coarse. Sand?

Someone was dragging him by his legs. And on top of him, he could feel another body, one that wouldn't have been particularly heavy under normal circumstances, but in his weakened state did hurt him.

Geralt's eyes fluttered open. Indeed, it seemed the surviving Ofieri guardsmen were dragging him along the peach, with Renfri laying atop of him. The girl was quite pale, but she was breathing. And we're a long way from Ofier, he judged, and wouldn't be sailing there for a little bit.

Still, this was the best chance he had at escape. To his side, he glanced at the ruins of the ship, where he guessed his medallion, armor and swords would still be, and right now the majority of the mercenaries were wounded or dead. Looking around, he counted only half a dozen men, and the mage himself, who Geralt had his doubts about. Even unarmored and unarmed, it was the best chance that he had.

Geralt wondered if there were allies to be had on the beach, but looking around, he saw the severed head of Phelippe hanging from the belt of one of the mercenaries.

Renfri had been a formidable fighter when Geralt had known her last, though that had been a fully grown woman with years of experience, while this Renfri was unconscious and only twelve.

If the Master of Mirrors wants my help, he'll help me somehow, Geralt resolved, just now noticing a rock at his side, one large enough to seriously injure someone if thrown hard enough. Grabbing it with two hands, Geralt brought it over his head, carefully trying to avoid hitting Renfri, and threw it at the mercenary that was dragging him.

The stone struck the man squarely in the back of the head, with enough force to knock him over, perhaps even killing him, as Geralt took the opportunity to get to his feet, leaving Renfri laying on the ground while he began the fight.

He quickly lunged into the side of another warrior, causing the man to fall to the ground in surprise, and grabbed the man's sword from its sheath, throwing it at a third man, the sword running perfectly through his stomach. A fourth soldier reacted quickly, drawing his sword and rushed at Geralt, raising their sword above his head to cut him in two. Geralt thought quicker though, backing away from the blow, though using it to cut his binds, freeing his hands.

With his hands no longer bound, he bent over to grab the sword of the man who had been dragging him, moving first to stab the one he had shoved to the ground, and engaged with the last two remaining mercenaries.

By rights, Geralt ought to have lost this fight, with his weakened status, their numbers, and his lack of armor or a medallion, but perhaps they had also been injured as the ship wrecked, and for whatever reason it felt like Geralt was simply moving faster than they were. Each swing was met with a late parry, and they seemed unable to counter attack as Geralt took swing after swing at them.

Less than a minute into the fight, Geralt managed to get behind the first one, and with a stab was able to defeat his foe, the Ofieri sword running the man's light armor and back with ease. Geralt whirled, swinging his sword in a wild circle, and managed to cut the throat of the other, leaving both men dead.

The only foe that remained now was the mage. Raising his staff, the water around him formed into what almost seemed like a protective circle, a miniature storm, but before Geralt could figure out the mystery, the mage seemed to teleport, the storm appearing where Renfri lay, and dissipating.

"Put the sword down, or the girl dies!" the mage yelled, holding a blade to her throat.

The tactics of a man who knows he will otherwise be defeated. Under other circumstances, he might not have dropped his sword, but Geralt knew the fight was won. The mercenaries were slain, and while the mage might make for a formidable foe, he was alone, with no way home. At least none that wouldn't bring him a great deal of shame. Defeated, this man was no threat.

"Let us go," he said. "I'll gather my things from the ship, and never trouble you again."

The man's face said what he wouldn't say. You killed the prince. Still holding the knife to Renfri's throat, he looked at Geralt revealing both fear and anger.

In the end, it was Renfri who made the choice for the mage, taking hold of the man's arm and impressively managing to pull him to the ground while taking the knife out of his hand, and the roles were quickly reversed.

"Don't kill him," Geralt said, walking over to Renfri's side. "He's not a threat."

"But he…"

"He fought to avenge his prince."

"He tried to kill me."

"He didn't."

"But he would have."

"I knew a woman once who would have killed him for that," Geralt said, somberly. "She died at my sword."

"Who was that?"

"You."

"But I'm not-"

"-I don't want you to follow down her path either."

Renfri seemed taken aback by Geralt's words. "You'll kill me again, won't you?"

He stopped for a moment. "No. I promise you. I won't." The image of Renfri dying on the streets of Blaviken flashed before his mind, bleeding out after his blade had cut an artery in her leg. "I won't kill you."

"And if I kill him? Will that change your mind?"

Geralt paused again, unsure what exactly to say to that. He supposed he was a stranger to this girl, the only link they possessed being that he was the one who had killed her in her first life. "The woman I slew in Blaviken… She had let her lust for revenge consume her. It was all she could envision, all she wanted. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You're a witcher. You're a killer for hire."

"I am… But I only kill creatures that are threats. This man is no threat. Defeated, perhaps he will be grateful for your mercy. If not, we'll beat him in a more fair fight. Dead, others will begin hunting us for vengeance." He didn't give her the chance to respond to it. "Come on. Leave him there. We'll search the wreck."

Turning away from Renfri, he stood, walking over to the ruins of the ship. And while he sensed that she was not pleased about it and perhaps it was not for the right reasons, she did leave the mage behind. There may be hope for her after all.

The Ofieri ship seemed relatively intact, despite the wreck. Even with the ship having been breached wherever Geralt had been kept, it had been blown to the beach instead of sinking, resting on its port side.

All the better, he thought to himself, as he started crawling up the deck.

"So what are we then?" Renfri asked, as it seemed like she was following him. "Who are we to each other?"

"I suppose you'd be my ward," he told her. "You don't have a family or home to return to."

"I can make my own way."

Geralt managed to hold any of his immediate reactions to that. "Maybe in a few years you'll be able to. But I suspect that the Master of Mirrors made you to help with whatever this task is that he needs assistance for."

"What does that mean?" Renfri asked as he kicked down a door into the cabin. "What task is this?"

"I don't know what the task is," Geralt answered, entering into the sideways cabin, "but I suspect he was the one who conjured the storm that wrecked this ship, and I know for sure that he put you here. And the mark on my face is his work too. He said that we were to meet him at the crossroads in Yantra at midnight."

"What if we don't?"

"Then I suspect that we may fall victim to the wrath of an angry sorcerer or djinn. Whatever the task, he seems to have chosen us for it. There must have been a reason."

Renfri shook her head. "Th-this can't be."

"It is," Geralt said. "I don't know what lays ahead for us, but you have a second chance at life. Once we figure out what the person who gave you that chance wants, hopefully you'll have a full life ahead of you."

"Or we could end up dead."

Geralt nodded. "That is always a possibility."

Walking through the ship was tedious work. Everything had been knocked out of place, and the floors that they were walking on were walls, which meant that they didn't have much room to work with.

After searching for a while, they finally found his things. His armor, swords, medallion, several trophies and a soaked bag of coin. While Geralt was putting on his armor, he noticed that there were other things that did not belong to him, and he doubted they would have belonged to Phelippe either. A suit of light armor, not too dissimilar to Geralts, but clearly meant for someone smaller, a pair of swords, and a wolf's head medallion that was like his, but just different enough that he could see they were not the same. Seems this mystery man wants Renfri to be a Witcher too. "These are yours," he told her. "You should put them on."

"I've never worn armor before," she protested, "I don't know how."

Geralt sighed. "I'll help you once I'm done then."

"Why do you have two swords? Do you use them both at the same time?"

It seems she doesn't remember everything. "One is silver and one is steel. Steel is for humans and some other beasts like wolves, and silver is for monsters."

"What's that necklace for?"

"For this," Geralt made a gesture of Aard, knocking down some of the wall around them.

"Magic doesn't work on me. How do you know that I'll be able to cast signs like that?"

I don't. "I'll have to teach you first," he said as he finished fumbling with the last strap for his armor. "Your turn now," he said, after he was done putting his swords back on.

Renfri had only been wearing a loose shift, just as Geralt had been, and putting the armor on her proved to be a struggle. But eventually, he did manage it. Then he put the medallion and swords on her too.

He used Aard to break their way out of the broken ship, rather than attempting to find their way out with them wearing armor. Demonstrating the gesture to Renfri, she managed to cast the sign, as they broke through the wooden walls and floors, until they finally made it out of the bottom of the hull.

As they got out from the wreck, Geralt noticed that the Mage had fled, leaving them alone on the beach. "Where do we go now, Geralt?" Renfri asked. "Do you know where we are?"

"No," Geralt said, shaking his head. All he could gather from the area was that they were not somewhere along the Pontar, which meant they would be in Velen. "We need to make our way back to Oxenfurt, then we'll be able to learn where those crossroads are. And we'll get horses."

"So where do we start?"

"We find a road," he told her. "Come on."

Geralt decided it was best for them to start walking northwards along the beach, since if they followed along the coast, they would eventually run into some village or town. He still had not fully recovered it seemed, as he felt the urge to stop multiple times to catch his breath, though usually it was Renfri who was asking to stop for one reason or another.

Several hours in, they finally came upon their first village.

"What you two wanderers doing here?' a man on the outskirts asked them. "What business you got with those swords of ye."

"My daughter and I are traveling to Oxenfurt," Geralt answered quickly, "I was wondering if there were horses to buy here."

The man studied them, opening his mouth slightly to reveal all the teeth on the left side of his mouth had been knocked out. "We've a stables here, with Goran. See if he'll let ye buy a horse or two. And don't be causing trouble."

Renfri and Geralt found Goran, and managed to haggle a pair of horses from him. Chestnut and Steer, the two mares were named, taking up most the coin in Geralt's purse. They bought some food from the market too, just to make sure they wouldn't go hungry, and then they set off, following the road east to Oxenfurt.

"Why'd you call me your daughter?" Renfri asked as they started down the road.

"If I'd called you Renfri Vellga we would be inviting trouble. You being my daughter is your cover."

"So what now?"

"We ride until we reach the crossing of the Pontar. The war complicates things, but we'll be able to cross."

"War?"

"Twice Novigrad has made forays into the Northern Realms under Emhyr var Emreis' rule. In the first war, Novigrad managed to capture Cintra, and made it as far north as the Jaruga. The second war was nearly just as great a victory, but ultimately the Northern Kings beat him back." Geralt paused. "Now the Northern Realms lay in disarray. Temeria fell after King Foltest was assassinated, leaving the kingdom to either rally behind his young children, or his older bastard daughter. Emhyr brokered a marriage between himself and the older daughter, securing the kingdom under his rule. Kaedwen is leaderless after Henselt was killed. Demavend of Aerdin was assassinated too, and followed by his son, Stennis, who was lynched by an angry mob that overtook the castle."

"Has war begun yet?" None of these names seemed to mean anything to her, which was only to be expected for someone who had been dead for as long as she had been. The oldest of those kings would have been younger than her when she lived her first life.

"Not yet," Geralt said, "but soon the Third Northern War will begin. It's only a matter of time."

"And Renfri Vellga… What weight does that name hold?"

"You died many years ago. It must be at least fifty if I had to guess." Geralt said. "I suspect your name would hold more weight in Blaviken, though your family doesn't hold much power anymore." Or at least, I suspect that as well.

Renfri remained silent after that, no doubt thinking hard about all of it. He could not blame the girl for feeling mystified about all of this. After all, he had died once before himself.

A few more hours passed as they rode to find a crossing. Any crossings would have been for Novigrad, but Oxenfurt was not too far from Novigrad. If they rode for the rest of the day, they would be able to make it to the city by nightfall, and finding an inn wouldn't be too hard. Then the next day, they could set out for the crossroads at Yantra.

In the end, things played out even easier than Geralt expected. At the crossing of the Pontar, he was able to use Axii to convince them that he was a diplomat with important matters for King Radovid, and after that they managed to make it to Oxenfurt with around an hour of daylight to spare.

"This is Oxenfurt?" Renfri said, sounding almost amazed as they approached the city.

"It is," he told her. The capital of culture for Redenia, Oxenfurt was not nearly as large as Novigrad was to its west, but it was still a quite large city. He spotted ships in the harbor and it was clear that the city was quite busy, even as night was soon approaching.

Once inside the city, Geralt and Renfri made for the Alchemy, a pub that Geralt figured they would be able to find a room nearby. The two kept their heads low, quietly eating. He wished that they had hoods, since that would keep him from being recognized, but as it was, he just had to hope none were interested in meeting him.

But their peace was interrupted by a woman approaching them. "Geralt," the woman said in a hushed voice, "where did you go?" She pulled back her hood to reveal dark red hair.

Shani. Geralt realized he ought to have sought her out instead of just finding a place to stay for the night. "The Toad Prince… It was indeed a prince. An Ofieri prince," he explained. "After I killed it, some Ofieri soldiers captured me."

"Did she help you escape?" Shani asked, looking at Renfri.

"This… this is Renfri," Geralt said. "I… I was freed… By some sorcerer or djinn. I don't know how exactly to explain it."

"Does the brand have something to do with it? Or did the Ofieris give that to you?"

"The djinn gave it to me," explained Geralt, "said he would give me three wishes. The first would be to free me from the Ofieri ship, and he conjured a storm to do that. The third will be to lift the mark on my face. I only had the second… I asked to reverse something I regretted."

"Renfri…" Shani's voice changed as she suddenly realized who the girl was. "Oh, Geralt, what have you…"

"I don't know. But we must meet the sorcerer. The crossroads at Yantra, he said, at midnight. We won't make it there tonight, I know, but hopefully he'll forgive us the one night and allow us to meet tomorrow… Do you know where that is?"

"That's northwest of here. Maybe… Ten miles away? Fifteen? I'll bet I can find someone who can take you there."

"We need to go there tomorrow."

"I can see… Maybe…"

Geralt shrugged. "It's a crossroads. We'll meet someone along the way who knows where it is."

Shani nodded. "I… I found a letter today, Geralt. One that might pertain to you?"

"What's it about?"

"When was the last time you saw Yennefer?"

Geralt paused. "It must have been a year ago. After we attended King Bran's funeral on Skellige. There was a matter that Yennefer asked me to join her for."

"Did you?"

"No," he confessed. He had been helping Crach an Craite's children as a favor to the man as they both attempted to prove themselves worthy of Skellige's throne. "She didn't mention what she was going to be doing either."

Shani handed him a letter. "Read this later."

He took it and put it in one of his pockets. "Is there anything else?"

"Will you be joining me for the wedding?"

I don't know if I'll even still be alive in a few days, let alone able to attend a wedding. "Maybe."

Shani's look conveyed the fact that she knew not to expect him to be there. "I should be going now, Geralt."

"See you, Shani."

The medic stood and started to walk out of the pub.

"Whose Yennefer? And who was she?"

Geralt sighed. "I'll tell you upstairs."

True to his word, once they retired for the night, and went to the room that they were staying in for the night, Geralt told Renfri about Shani and Yennefer. There was less to say about Shani, a healer who Geralt had been acquainted with during some of his adventures, but Yennefer…

He might have spoken all night to her about Yennefer, but tried his best to keep it brief. He avoided mentioning Ciri or Jaskier or Eskel or anyone else who he figured that Renfri would begin asking about, hoping that she would go to sleep pretty quickly.

Luckily, she did, giving Geralt the chance to read the letter Shani gave him.

My Dear Gaspar,

We cannot rest on our laurels. True, we managed to get the witcher and his sorceress to drink the concoction we had brewed without much difficulty, but now we must gather information. Somehow I doubt this Gerard, or whatever his name was, truly will truly keep any sort of diary, even if by some miracle he is literate. And the raven haired sorceress will teleport on a whim, leaving us unable to track her. Without hard data, the Academy's governors will never renew our grant - believe me, I've been down that road before!

To keep one step ahead of events, I've already taken appropriate action. To be precise, while in Flotsam I hired a spy who will follow our witcher's every move and observe his deeds, especially those performed in the alcove. If our calculations are correct, within a year's time his sterility will be reversed, maybe sooner - proof of which fact should come quickly in the form of expanding female bellies, if the rumors about him contain even a grain of truth, even if we get nothing out of the sorceress.

The spy's wage is costly, true, but I'm convinced this investment will yield dividends. I believe a potion which restores the ability to reproduce to those who have lost it due to magic or alchemic experiments will be in high demand - and earn us a fortune.

Vivat Academia,

–Farid

Geralt had to reread the letter again to wonder if he had misread it somehow. Was this some mistake? Neither of the names Gaspar or Farid sounded familiar. Nor did he remember taking any concoctions while in Flotsam that he had not brewed himself. Certainly not with Yennefer. Unless someone had slipped something into his drink. It had been nearly a year between when he had been in Flotsam and when he and Yennefer had parted ways on Skellige, and he'd seldom thought about her much since then. In fact, his conversation with Roche the other day at the Seven Cats Inn had been one of the first times he'd actually given serious thought to her.

Based on the letter though, he was beginning to think that she had been hiding. As much as Geralt wanted to seek her out now though, he knew there was no choice but to deal with the matter at hand. The Master of Mirrors wouldn't have it any other way.

Hearing the soft breath of Renfri, laying on the bed, he knew he needed to get some sleep too, and blew out the candles, hoping that he would dream of Yennefer.

But that night, he dreamt of nothing at all.

The next morning came to prove that what had happened the day before had indeed not been a dream either. Renfri was still laying there in the bed, and he was sleeping on the floor, just as it had been the night before. As he went out to take a piss, they were indeed at the Alchemy, and indeed, there was still a letter from a man named Farid among his things.

On his return, Geralt saw Renfri was still asleep. "Wake up, princess," he said, nudging her. "We gotta get going, so we don't keep the mystery man waiting another night."

"Hmm," she said, stirring from her slumbers, "Geralt… I… Oh, I'm still tired…"

As her eyes fluttered open, Geralt remembered the last time they had shared a bedroom together. Does she remember that night? He hoped that she didn't. "Come on, sleepy head."

"Alright, alright," she said, sitting up. The girl got up quickly and went to the privy.

Meanwhile, Geralt used the time to dress himself, putting his armor back on. Whatever this Gaunter O'Dimm wanted, he doubted he had selected Geralt for his abilities as a negotiator. There would be some fight, it was only a question of when.

By the time Renfri had returned, Geralt had already finished putting on his armor, and the pair quickly got to work putting her armor on, which thankfully was not as lengthy of an endeavor as it had been the day before.

They ate a quick meal downstairs, and then set off, both mounting their horses that had been left in the stable overnight. "Go Roach," he said, spurning the horse forward onto the streets of Oxenfurt.

"That's not the horse's name," Renfri protested.

"She's my horse," Geralt countered, "all my horses are named Roach."

"Her name was Steer, remember? Mine is named Chestnut."

"Roach is a better name."

"Well then I'll call you Roach."

"Fine," he sighed. "Go Steer."

They had woken earlier than Geralt had initially thought. As they made it to the city gates, and rode out into the countryside, Geralt began to talk about his life, telling her about people he knew. He spoke of Ciri and Jaskier and Eskel and Vessemir and Triss and all the others he had neglected to tell her about the day before. She was quiet when he told her how killing her and her men had won him the nickname; the Butcher of Blaviken, but otherwise seemed to enjoy listening to the stories about his adventures..

Their stops were less frequent than the day before too. From time to time, one of them would need to relieve their bladders, or they would stop to eat, but they never stopped because they were tired, and only once had to stop to ask for directions to Yantra before Geralt got a sense of where it was.

The village was further from Oxenfurt than Shani had told, but even still, they made it there in the early evening.

When they rode into Yantra, they were greeted by a trio of children who were singing a rather strange song as they played.

His smile fair as spring, as towards him he draws you,

His tongue sharp and silvery, as he implores you,

Your wishes he grants, as he swears to adore you,

Gold, Silver, jewels - he lays riches before you,

Dues need be repaid and he will come for you,

All go reclaim, no smile to console you,

He'll snare you in bonds, eyes flown, afire,

To gore and torment you, till the stars expire,

At the last line, the children dispersed, going to play elsewhere.

"It seems we're here," Geralt muttered, dismounting from Steer.

"What do we do now?"

"We'll wait until midnight," he answered. "When the man comes though, let us talk. Just listen."

Renfri nodded dutifully. "So will you teach me to be a Witcher?"

"I suppose…" Geralt figured it would be a better use of the time than brewing potions he didn't think he was likely to need just yet or simply meditating.

The woman he had once known had been self-taught at arms, and had proven to be quite skillful. And the girl who was training with him now was similarly gifted it seemed. She fought very well for a girl of her age, better than some who were even a few years older than her.

They spared for some time, until the sun finally began to set. At that point, they rested, eating a meal, and then he taught her how to meditate as he did.

At midnight, the whistling began. From just ahead, to the same tune of the song the children had been singing earlier, Geralt opened his eyes, looking around. He gave Renfri a nudge, in case she had fallen asleep, and then looked up to see the Master of Mirrors sitting up in the tree before them. While Geralt stood and helped Renfri to her feet, Gaunter O'Dimm spoke first.

"I knew you'd come. Even when you were not here last night. I see you brought the girl even. Very good."

"What do you want, O'Dimm?"

"We're getting there. I take it you handled the Ofieris well enough."

"No thanks to you," Geralt responded. "You appear and disappear suddenly, summon storms, resurrect the dead. You some sort of sorcerer?"

"Oh heavens no," the Master Mirror chuckled, "I am loath to be associated with them. Their spells are simple tricks for children. Me on the other hand, I'm a man of power. I prefer things that are real."

"So why did you bring us here? Why did you help me?"

"As I said, I need help in a matter. One that concerns you too." He jumped down from the tree. "It concerns the man who hired you to kill a man who could yet have been saved, which you would have lost your head for if not for me. Olgierd von Everec."

"You want me to kill him, that it?"

"No, no," O'Dimm said, with exaggerated gestures. "But before we begin I must warn you that Olgierd von Everec is the worst sort of man, a horrible and vile person, whose heart has been turned to stone by the years."

"I'm not looking for revenge, and don't need your reasons to hate him either."

"Be that as it may, Geralt, you owe me a debt, as I'm sure the mark has made a very good memento for. And he owes me a debt. A debt that he is refusing to pay."

"So you want me to collect his debts for you."

"Hmm, not exactly," the Man of Glass said, "for reasons I won't trouble you with tonight, I owe Olgierd three wishes. Wishes that I am unable to fulfill myself. I must act indirectly through a proxy. Through you."

"What does that make us? Your muscle? Your sucker?"

"My ally. You'll both serve me well in this matter, I know. You have what it takes."

"And what's in it for us?" Renfri said, finally speaking up.

"Your life," the man smiled. "We cannot know what Olgierd will ask of you until he gives the request. We will meet at the Garin estate, and there we will discuss matters with him. Until then, try not to let other matters concern you too much. Who knows… Maybe when all this is done, we'll be able to get together and have a merry time thinking of the memories we made together."

Geralt still had more questions. "What's Olgierd done to you? Why do you need us for it? What debt does he owe you?"

The Master of Mirrors tilted his head a little. "That is a fair question, Geralt. However, out of respect for Olgierd's privacy and our agreement, I cannot go into full detail. But whenever I try to collect, he chases me away- he even set his hounds on me one time. I need you, Geralt, to be my champion."

"And Renfri? What is she supposed to do in all of this?"

"She is to be your companion in this, Geralt. There may come a time when you'll find yourself glad that she's at your side." O'Dimm put a finger on his chin. "I do not know what Olgierd will ask of you, Geralt. We cannot know until he asks them of you. But, if there is a task where I feel she may be a sufficient liability, I will allow you to exclude her from the task. However, if I think she can be useful, you'll work together to do what must be done."

There was only one way this would end. "Alright. We're in. Now remove the mark."

Master Mirror gave a crooked smile. "Naturally. Just as soon as you finish your task." At that, he began to walk away, whistling as he did, leaving Geralt and Renfri behind at the crossroads.

When the whistling seemed to stop, either because O'Dimm had teleported or finally made it out of earshot, Geralt finally turned to Renfri, who spoke with a trembling voice. "W-will we h-help him? I-I don't w-want to… die again."

"We'll help him." Geralt put an arm around the girl. "Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise."

Author Notes:

Thanks for reading!