A/N: The decor was inspired by my playthrough of The Witcher 1, but the contract is original content that isn't in the games. Enjoy!
The Lodge sorceresses continued to scheme behind closed doors and make secretive trips into the city, while Yennefer made no further mention of her joining them - not that she cared. Whenever she could, she stopped by to chat with Margarita, mostly to check on her. The sorceress regained full control of her magic and grew bolder by the day. The memories of her trauma dimmed and under the sad eyes and grim visage, Criss discovered a good-natured woman with a soft spot for children. She also let slip that it was a fondness Yennefer shared - although the latter would never openly admit it. Underneath the snide remarks and occasionally haughty attitude, was a woman with maternal instincts, and Criss saw more of the softer edges of her character through her friend.
Criss was thankful that the sorceresses kept busy. It made it easier for her to take her secretive trips, the kind she'd rather keep from the Lodge, even if they weren't as successful as she had hoped.
One evening, as she was returning from the latest in her long string of spectacular failures that left her singed, she collected the anchor from the stone ledge on where she had placed it and made her way to Novigrad. Trudging through the streets of the city, she observed the merchants who were closing their stalls for the evening. Men and women were scurrying from building to building to avoid the rain and somehow she felt like the city had become a little cleaner, the roads a little airier. She couldn't quite put her finger on what the difference was, but something had changed. Perhaps the beggars were fewer, or perhaps it was just the late night and the bad weather that had chased the crowds into their houses and washed the muck from the pavements and piss-stained walls.
Her latest failure had put a dampen on her spirits and she needed a break, so she decided to dedicate the next day to tending patients alongside Von Gratz.
The good doctor always had some helpful advice for her, even if he didn't know it. And this day was no different.
He greeted her with his usual calm demeanour and took the bottles and jars from her basket to arrange them. She offered her help and followed him, crossing the hospital ward on her way to the storage area. They passed by bed after bed, each occupied by a patient, one sicker than the other. She sighed at the seemingly Sisyphean task they were undertaking.
"Do you ever feel like all of this is for nothing?" she asked, her mind still on her endless failures.
"Helping people is never for nothing," he answered, following her gaze.
"Yes, but… I mean, we're hardly making a dent. It's like running on a hamster wheel."
"Hamster wheel? I beg your pardon?"
"Something we have back where I'm from," she said. "We have hamster pets and we keep them in cages, but because they need exercise and their enclosure is too small, we put in these wheels that spin in place. So the animal gets in the wheel and runs until it tires. To them, it feels like they're doing something, but in truth, it goes nowhere. That's how I feel some days. I try, and I try, and I don't see any progress. Ever get that feeling?"
"Sure, but I suspect it's common in this profession. Hospital beds are never empty and there's always something to heal. But that doesn't mean there's no progress." He began arranging the bottles on shelves as he spoke. "Take the Catriona for example. That's the worst we have nowadays. The mortality for it is near ninety-five per cent. Maybe even higher. It's rare that anyone survives it, and yet that doesn't mean that treating the sick and easing their suffering is pointless. We do what we can. It's our purpose as healers."
She thought for a moment, measuring her words carefully. "How far would you go to achieve your purpose?"
"Is that a practical question? Do you know of a cure?" Von Gratz asked.
She shook her head. "No. Just a theoretical one. Actually, it's more of a personal dilemma I'm struggling with."
"We're not talking about healing anymore, are we?"
"No, not really, but the stakes are just as high." For a moment, she wanted to ask for his advice but realized that she already knew what his answer would be. She knew it because it was the same answer she would have given a few months ago, before meeting Geralt, finding love and giving a shit about her life again. Back then, she wouldn't have cared about endangering herself as long as it served the Plan, and perhaps that is how it should have been. The least she could do was ask what the price was. An experiment could mean anything, after all.
After inquiring about Ciri once more and finding her busy with meetings yet again, Geralt donned his armour and strapped his sword to his back. He made his way out of the palace and towards the larger city of Vizima. His first stop: the noticeboard next to the watchtower.
The city had changed little since he'd last been there a few years back. Only the uniforms of the guards were now black and gold instead of silver and blue. Otherwise, the inhabitants were still mostly Temerians, haughty in the merchant's quarter and meagre in the trade quarter where they had shoved all the non-humans.
The board next to the watchtower was conspicuously empty. There wasn't even a notice for a missing pet, let alone anything more worthy of his time. In fact, it was so empty that he wondered if anyone had come by to rip off all the parchments fixed on it in an act of blatant vandalism. But there were guards posted all around, so that couldn't have happened without them stopping the culprit. It was as if no ill could happen inside the city walls.
All over the city, it was the same. All the noticeboards stood empty. Not a problem in sight. The only parchments pinned on doors and walls announced the obligation of every man to report to the watchtower or nearest garrison to be taken into evidence to fulfil their duty of service to their new master, the Nilfgaardian Empire.
As all witchers knew, the next best place to find a contract was at the local tavern. He weighed his options, then headed for the Hairy Bear Inn, the tavern in the poorer part of town. If he was going to take a contract, he wasn't going to do it for the coin. His purpose was to alleviate his boredom, but while he was at it, he might as well help a less fortunate soul out of a pickle.
The tavern stood hidden in the slums of the trade quarter, but all knew this was the best place to see a fistfight. The braver of the bunch even played poker here, but that was always a gamble. You never knew who tricked the dice, as most were not above cheating.
The innkeeper was not the same as last time he had passed through, so with a smooth movement, Geralt pulled his witcher's medallion over his leather breastplate to sit in full view. It was the quickest way to advertise his services without saying the words. He headed for the bar and ordered an ale instead of the hard liquor he would have preferred. After all, he wanted to keep sober.
"You a witcher?" the man tending the bar asked as he set the mug of ale in front of him.
With a finger under his chain, Geralt lifted the medallion a little higher, so the edges of the silver wolf caught the light better.
"School of the Wolf," he answered, knowing more questions would follow.
"The city watch hired you for something?"
"No, this is just a stop. A short one, judging by the empty noticeboards around town. Seems the Nilfgaardians are doing just fine without my services. Soon I'll be heading on the Path to someplace where I can make some coin plying my trade."
The barkeep coughed and leaned in. "Some would disagree that things are fine, but don't let anyone know you heard it from me. Men have been disappearing from the city and the nearest village for the past few months."
"No one thought to report them missing to the authorities?" Geralt asked.
The barkeep scoffed. "Of course they did! But they were shown the door each time and told the men were likely cowards who fled for fear of being conscripted into the army."
"I've seen the posters." He took a gulp of his ale. "It's not unheard of for men to flee the draft. Especially when it's for the invading army."
With a wave of his hand, the man dismissed him. "No, these men were not cowards. One of them was my friend. He was thriving under the rule of the black cloaks. He would have gladly served, but unfortunately, he's gone missing for a fortnight." A swift look of appraisal swept over Geralt. "You wouldn't be interested in looking for him, now would you? I mean, I know witchers hunt monsters and all, but I'd be willing to pay you for your time."
"How much?" Geralt asked although he had no interest in the man's coin, but offering to work without pay was bad for other witchers' business.
"A hundred florins."
"Make it a hundred and twenty and I'll set out at once."
"Alright. A hundred and twenty it is."
"Where was your friend last seen before he disappeared?" Geralt asked after emptying his tankard.
"He went to the swamps, fishing. Has a boat of his own and used it to navigate the waters. Knows where the good spots are to catch some nice-looking perch and bass. Used to sell them to the cook in charge of the palace kitchen and made nice coin from them. A few of the other missing men were doing the same."
"Any chance one of them might want to eliminate the competition?"
The man shook his head without a second thought. "No. There was plenty of demand to fill all their pouches with coin. They all disappeared after going out for the morning catch, so your best bet is to start in the swamps."
After getting a thorough description of who he was looking for, Geralt took the man's advice and set out for the outskirts of the city to catch a boat to the swamps. Neither the docks nor the swamps had changed much. Perhaps they were better organised and now he even received a receipt for the fee paid, but the price was the same and even the boats were old and patched up, just like before.
The bargeman left him on the dock next to the fishing village that worshipped the Voldanoi. With a sigh, he marched towards the village, intent on learning more about the rest of the missing men from Vaska - assuming she was still alive.
Sure enough, he found the old woman in her hut, leading the daily prayer to the water gods as she had done the last time he had seen her.
"Ah, white-haired one! Praised be the water gods! You've returned to us in our time of need!" she greeted him with fervour.
"Good day, Vaska. I'm here looking for some missing fishermen. I was hoping you knew more about where they were last seen."
"Aye! They were all throwing their lines in the lake near Melitele's altar, but they didn't perish in the waters. The water lords wouldn't allow it!"
Geralt refrained from rolling his eyes at her unwavering faith in the fish people. It was true; they had a pact with the village, so it was unlikely any of their kind was responsible for the disappearances, but that didn't mean one of the many drowners, kikimore or bloedzuigers haunting the region didn't attack the fishermen. He tried to pry more information out of the old woman, but however he spun it, she'd end up praising her lords without giving him anything useful.
Having learned all he could, he headed for the lake to do some scouting of his own.
The lake water shimmered lightly in the afternoon sun, its waters lapping lazily at shore. Across from where he stood, on the other bank, a boat was moored. He circled the edge of the lake, heading for it, all the while looking over the shore for any sign of fresh blood, human remains, or traces of a scuffle. Alas, there was no such thing. Even the drowners weren't showing their faces as often as they did in the past.
Before he reached the boat, the smell of rotten fish hit him in a nauseating wave. When he approached, he found a perfectly functional fishing rod, along with a few rotten fish and bait. Whoever went fishing, left their catch behind and judging by the state of the fish, this happened two days prior. Exactly when the last man went missing. At least he was in the right place.
Without preamble, he looked around for tracks or signs of someone being dragged off, because no respectable fisherman would abandon his catch in these conditions. Something must have drawn his attention or carried him away.
After a few minutes of inspecting the soil around the boat, he found a single set of prints leading from the boat into the forest nearby. As far as he knew, there was nothing of great importance in that area, but if the man had gone that way, he needed to follow. With sure steps, he followed the tracks deeper through the trees until the lake was no longer visible if he looked over his shoulder. Still, the tracks went on.
It was near dusk already, the light slowly fading through the trees, but his eyes adjusted. He walked on, half-wondering if he was on some wild goose chase, tracking crazy men through the uninhabited wilderness, when a song suddenly rang in his ears, taking over his mind. His legs kept moving, but he no longer had any control over them or his other limbs. He stumbled on through the brush, scratching himself on branches without even lifting his hands to protect his face, his pace quickening as the rhythm of the song picked up. His mind was in a daze, caught in between a dream-like state and reality, his sole focus was reaching the source of the beautiful song.
He almost tripped over roots in his mindless march, and each time he did, the jolt would shake his mind a little, drawing him a little closer to reality. Enough that he understood the need to fight the song. If this was what had lured the fishermen, he was likely heading to his death with eager steps.
When he reached the entrance to an underground cave, the song echoed powerfully off the rock walls of the entrance. Without being able to stop himself, he descended the winding path into darkness. His mind fought harder to regain dominance over his body, but it was yet too weak in the face of the song. Still, his will was stronger than it had been a few minutes prior and even if he couldn't control his body, he could take stock of his surroundings. He could see the dark mossy rocks and feel the damp smell inside mixed with something else more foul. Decay. It only grew stronger the deeper underground he got.
At the end of the path stood an underground lake with dark waters and, on its edge, a beautiful nymph was singing her mesmerizing song.
For a moment, he relaxed in his fight against the song. Nymphs were rarely violent without being given cause. But then his eyes landed on the woman's hands and feet. She was bound tightly in her sitting position and whoever had placed her there only allowed the soles of her feet to reach the water that was so essential for her survival.
His eyes darted quickly over the room, searching for the woman's captor without success, his mind fighting feverishly for its freedom. Bellowing footsteps approached from a passage at the other end of the room and soon a big, fat rock troll showed his ugly face, carrying a large spiked club in his chubby hands. The spikes dripped with a green-coloured ooze. Poison. The troll wasn't taking any chances.
"Dinerrr! Well done fishy!" his voice boomed as he approached, waving the club menacingly.
That's it, he thought. He was going to die in the most idiotic fashion possible, clubbed to death by a rock troll and made into supper. His thought went to Criss and Ciri, how neither of them would ever know what happened to him, how he had failed them both. He shut his eyes, waiting for the blow to fall, but for some unknown reason, the mesmerizing song stopped and, in a moment, he was free of the spell.
The troll was already a few steps from him and he barely had time to sidestep. The club landed first over his shoulder blades and back, the brunt of the hit taken by his armour, but still knocking the air out of him and breaking a rib or two. He had the wherewithal to roll and the second hit only got his thigh, but a few of the spikes passed through the padding, skewering his leg. A low groan left his chest as he rolled a second time, ripping out the spikes and avoiding the third blow.
The third strike saw the club hit the ground instead, and its spikes lodged themselves into a crevice. It gave Geralt enough time to get off the ground while the troll struggled to pull it free.
"Sing, fishy!" the troll warned the nymph as he dislodged the club and swung it at Geralt.
The witcher took a step back, leaning away from the hit while reaching for the hilt of his sword. His injured leg wobbled under him and he almost fell on his ass, but he caught himself and regained his balance. The wound in his thigh stung and whatever had coated the spikes was now spreading through his body, shooting searing heat through his muscles, rendering him sluggish. He pushed through the pain and sidestepped again, swinging his sword at the troll. His blade drew blood and left a deep gash across the troll's wide back, right under the rocky skin covering his shoulders.
"Fishy! Put fishy spell on human!" the troll bellowed again, but the water nymph remained silent, watching their fight with wide and hopeful eyes. For that, Geralt was grateful. He wasn't sure if he could muster the mental power to fight off her song, even if he expected it. Not when whatever was poisoning his body was slowly edging its way to his head, threatening his ability to think. He took a deep breath and gathered his wits, aiming to end the troll before that happened.
The sword swung in his wrist, drawing a circle, then another, while he closed in on the troll. He ducked under a blow and dealt one of his own across the monster's gut, this time, one deep enough to spill his insides. The troll dropped his club and hunched over, looking distraught, grabbing the bowels as they were leaking out of him. Another blow against the back of his head ended his suffering.
With staggered steps and sword still in hand, he headed towards the water nymph. As she watched him approach, she burst into tears and scooted along the ground away from him. Tied as she was, she didn't get far, and even with Geralt's impaired gait, he had no trouble catching up to her. Two quick slices of his blade cut the rope that tied her wrists and ankles. As soon as she was free, she dived into the dark waters of the underground lake, disappearing from sight.
Geralt patted his belt, looking fitfully for a vial of Golden Oriole. His vision was already getting cloudy, and he had trouble telling apart the colours of the potions in his stash. With horror he realized he had not even one vial of what he needed, so he did the next best thing he could think of: drink a Swallow and hope its effect kept the poison at bay until his mutated body's natural resistance fought it off.
As soon as he downed the potion, his legs gave out from under him and he fell to his knees and landed on his side. In a matter of seconds, the world grew dark around him.
Slowly, but surely, he regained consciousness. Not enough to move any part of his body, just enough to open his eyes and see he was lying on his stomach with his cheek pressed against the cold stone floor. He was still in the underground cave, the same stench surrounding him, but there was something else in the air: the scent of herbs. His whole body hurt, not just the ribs that were broken and the wound on his thigh, but every part of him. It was like someone had taken a meat hammer to every inch of his body and, on top of the pain, he felt feverish as well.
His pupils expanded to catch as much light as they could and his eyes searched for the source of the fresh scent, only to see the water nymph sitting with her legs tucked under her, grinding herbs with a stone against the rock and mixing them into a poultice. He made to move, but even the slightest shift in position felt like a chore and something was pulling at the skin on his back. It took this to make him realize he was lying almost naked on the stone floor.
The water nymph caught his gaze as he fought harder to get up. Her mouth opened and out came her song again. His control was ripped from him and his muscles relaxed into the surface below him as the woman stood to approach him. She spread the cold and soothing poultice over his whole back and legs. It seeped into his skin just as her song permeated his brain, and he once again fell under, the world growing dark around him, eyelids heavy with sleep.
The next time he woke, the cave was a little brighter. Strands of light came down through the cracks in the ceiling, and little particles of dust shone in the bright rays. The nymph was still with him, this time swimming at ease through the dark waters of the underground lake.
He reached back to feel his wounds and found raw skin where the rusty nails pierced him. It was painful, but no longer inflamed, and he wasn't feverish anymore. He rolled to his side and sat up, searching the cave for the rest of his clothes. The nymph pointed to a corner where his items formed a neat pile with his sword laid on top.
As he got up and strode to retrieve his things, the woman spoke using Elder speech.
"I must thank you, witcher. It is not often that one of your kind helps one of mine. Even more seldom when one has lured him into a trap."
His eyes measured her as he pulled on his trousers.
"You stopped singing. If you hadn't, I'd be troll soup now, so I suppose I should be equally grateful. Why did you stop?" he asked.
"It was more for my benefit than yours. I saw your armour, the hilt of your sword, and the medallion around your neck, so I knew what you were. I took a gamble on you winning the fight."
"Yet you thought I'd kill you."
She grimaced. "I wasn't sure how miffed you were that I lured you here, and when you waved that sword around, I feared you'd kill me before I had a chance to explain myself."
"Don't often do that. Kill without cause, I mean. And since you were tied up, I doubted you were a willing participant in the troll's plan."
"I wasn't. The big oaf caught me one night when I was lounging by the water's edge. There wasn't much that I could do. My songs don't affect his kind. Ever since that night, I was made to sing for my life each time he wanted a meal. Otherwise, he wouldn't let me near the water."
"And to think people always say that trolls are stupid…" Geralt huffed and pulled his shirt over his head with a grunt. His ribs still ached.
"People say many ignorant things about non-humans," she said and dipped underwater with the grace characteristic of her kind. She resurfaced closer to the edge where Geralt stood. "You haven't thanked me yet for healing you."
He raised an eyebrow at her forwardness. "A slip on my part. Thank you… I didn't catch your name."
"Seira. My name is Seira."
"Well, thank you, Seira. It was kind of you to help me. Especially when you could have left as soon as you were free."
"I couldn't have," she said and Geralt sensed she was about to hit upon the real reason for her help. "The lake is too far for me to reach on my own. I get weak when I'm not in water and I'd only perish on the way… Unless someone helped me."
"Ah, and there's the rub," Geralt huffed.
She frowned, not catching his meaning.
"I'll help you. One good turn deserves another."
Her face brightened up at his words. With a grin, she pushed herself off the edge of the lake and sat down on the rocky shore with her calves still in the water. "Can we go now?" she asked, excited. "I can't wait to see my sisters again. They must miss me something awful."
Geralt let out a huff of laughter. "Hang on a bit. If I'm to carry you there, I'll need to take another potion before we leave. My leg isn't exactly at its best."
"How long?" She pouted.
He was already rummaging through his things, looking for another Swallow potion. When he found it, he unstoppered the vial and put it to his lips, swallowing with a disgusted grimace. Even the best potions tasted something foul.
"Soon. When this takes effect. Meanwhile, I need to search the cave for something useful to bring back to my contract giver. I'll be back in a bit."
He left her sitting on the edge and walked towards the back of the cave from where the troll came at him. Behind him, a splash rang out as the nymph rejoiced in her freedom.
In a room farther down, he found the troll's little treasure trove or his garbage pile, both equally plausible knowing their kind's fondness for human baubles. Next to a pile of bones with teeth marks on them was an equally large pile of discarded garments, both coming from his victims. Scavenging through the remains, Geralt hit upon a beaded necklace the barkeep had mentioned his friend wore. It would have to do as proof of a contract fulfilled. He collected a few more items from the pile, thinking that perhaps the barkeep could pass them on to the families of the victims, then he returned to the water nymph.
"Alright, Seira. We can leave now," he said to her.
It took no more than that for the woman to jump out of the water, beaming. Clearly, she was more than eager to get back to her kind.
"Can you walk part of the way? Don't want to tax my leg more than I need to or we both risk ending up stranded in the woods before we get to the lake."
She nodded and made for the exit with quick steps. Geralt followed right behind her.
The road back was difficult, and they were only a quarter of the way through when he had to carry her. By then, the Swallow had taken sufficient effect to make the pain tolerable, but as he went on, the potion faded and each step felt like a stab through his thigh until he finally reached the lake. The nymph was passed out by then, her chest barely lifting with each shallow breath. Her kind was sensitive to changes in their environment, which was part of the reason they had become so rare once men took over the Continent and shaped it to suit their needs with disregard for the creatures that inhabited it.
He walked into the lake and crouched down to set her in the water. Even as the first wave lapped over her skin, she twitched and her eyes shot open, a gleeful expression on her face. She hugged his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek, then moved away from him in an instant and disappeared under the water's surface without a word.
He got up from his crouch, not without difficulty, and limped away towards the main road. The last thing he needed was to come across a group of monsters.
Later that day, after another trip on the barge, he made it back to the Hairy Bear Inn to collect his fee for the contract. The barkeep wasn't happy with the news of his friend's death, but paid him nonetheless, as agreed.
After that, he went straight to the palace. He had planned to be gone for no more than a day, but now he was returning three days later, limping like a novice first set out on the Path. He made for his room after asking that a hot bath be drawn up for him, making sure to mention that this time he didn't need help bathing.
He had barely taken his breastplate off when the door to his room swung open and Ciri barrelled down towards him with a worried look. She hugged him tight, and he winced in pain from his still tender ribs.
"What happened?" she asked, taking a step back and examining him. "Guards said you were limping." She poked his side, and he shied away. "Did you get into a scuffle with someone?"
"No, took on a witcher contract, that's all."
"A contract?" she asked, frowning. "But there aren't any in Vizima."
"So they would have you believe. But if you ask the locals, you'll find work in no time. Took me a full half-hour and an ale to find this one."
"So what was it? A bruxa? A fiend? No… let me guess, a forktail?"
He shook his head after each guess. "No, none of those. You'll laugh me out of the room when I tell you."
"What?" she asked, eager to know with that glimmer in her eyes she got when he spoke about his contracts.
"A rock troll. A fat one."
"A troll?" She gaped at him. "A troll did this to you? Geralt, you're getting old! Perhaps you should retire if a troll is enough to best you."
He guffawed. "Might be right, but you haven't heard the full story yet."
"Let me guess, he was larger than average…"
"Sure, but only if you mean the girth of his belly. But that wasn't it. He caught himself a water nymph and got her to sing to bring him dinner. Almost ended up on his plate myself. My luck was that the nymph was sick of being used and stopped singing just in the nick of time. Still got banged up pretty bad by a spiked club doused in poison."
"I'll have the Imperial medic come look at you before we leave tomorrow. Just to make sure you're healing well."
"Ciri, there's no need to fuss over me. I've seen worse over the years." He paused for a moment as everything she said finally hit him. "We're leaving tomorrow? You're done with the negotiations?"
She nodded with a crooked smile. "Would have left yesterday if you hadn't gone off by yourself. But you just couldn't be patient and wait here while I was dealing with Emhyr."
He scratched his nape with a rueful look. "Shit, sorry."
"Save the apologies for Criss. Just take a bath and get a good rest. We leave at the break of dawn." She turned on her heels and walked out. "Can't wait to see her face when you tell her you got outsmarted by a rock troll," she said with a laugh.
A/N: Hope you liked the chapter, I'll probably rework it a bit and also post it as a separate one-shot since it lends itself to it. If I get myself together and write an ending for it, I might post the second chapter in the smut fic as well. Fingers crossed!