A/N: The bit after the XXX break contains a little smut, feel free to skip it if that's not your thing.

"I have no idea how you talked me into this," Geralt complained while trying to stand still as Elihal took his measurements.

"Convincing you didn't involve much talking," Criss replied from across the room.

The tailor coughed, masking his laughter and Geralt smiled wryly. Sometimes he forgot how shameless she was. Maybe it was her furtive smile or her veiled response, but his mind went to a dirty place as her hands skimmed over rolls of fabric, delicate fingers gliding from one to the next, feeling their texture while she hummed.

"Have you picked one?" Elihal asked her.

"He should be the one picking, not me," she replied, pointing in Geralt's direction. "It's his doublet after all."

"Fashion is not my strong suit. You choose," he said. "Go on." He nodded to the fabrics. "Pick."

She hovered over the rolls for a few more seconds then heaved a sigh.

"Honestly, I like this black one best. Is there any colour etiquette for royal weddings? I mean, aside from the obvious 'don't wear white to someone else's wedding'."

"Why wouldn't you wear white?" Elihal asked.

"That's the bride's colour," she said matter-of-factly with her attention on the materials. "There's no greater offence to a woman than to try to eclipse her on her wedding day."

"Odd," Elihal hummed. "I've never heard of the bride having white as her colour. Where did you say you were from?"

She flinched, realizing her mistake. "Um... From..." she hesitated, looking to Geralt for an answer.

"That black one you like should work fine," Geralt interrupted. "This is overkill anyway. No one is going to care what a lowly witcher wears."

"They'll care if you show up wearing a hauberk. And you're not exactly just a lowly witcher. If you were, you'd probably not be invited to this at all."

Elihal straightened himself after taking the final measurement for Geralt's outfit. "That's it. All done. Now let's discuss the cut and detailing." He looked from Geralt to Criss, unsure which of them would be the one deciding these matters.

"Talk to her about it," he said. "Just... Please, no sequins," he finished with a sigh.

The tailor took her aside to show her his catalogue of designs and more samples while Geralt grabbed his things and donned his leather breastplate once more. Just the sight of his witcher armour turned his mind towards his brother, Lambert. Instinctively, he looked through the nearest window, gauging the hour by the length of the shadows. It was still early, so there was no use in rushing, he'd have time to properly prepare and brew some oils. He clasped his baldric over his chest and adjusted the straps with a long practised move.

"So that settles it," he heard the last bit of conversation regarding his outfit. "I'll have it ready for a fitting in two days' time."

"Amazing! You have our thanks, Elihal."

They walked back to the city, weaving between hovels and houses partially decorated with flower garlands. An elf was putting a fresh coat of paint on his front door, while another fixed a board in his fence and for once there were no witch hunters in sight to bother anyone. A few guards patrolled their usual route.

"Not that I'm complaining, but it's been years since this area was so peaceful. It feels a little unreal."

"I hope it stays this way," she hummed beside him. "Then at least all the death in Elector's Square won't have been for nothing."

"Only time will tell. This is only the beginning of the enlightened reign of Queen Adda and King Sigismund. And the war isn't over yet."

"It will be once Ciri takes the throne."

"Probably. But who knows how long it'll be until that happens. Emhyr might not abdicate for years and before we get to that point, we have to deal with the Hunt. And there's also the small matter of the next Conjunction. If that doesn't go well..." His mind was already doing its usual routine of finding new issues to tackle and new sources of discontent.

She squeezed his hand and frowned at him. "Do you ever stop thinking of the worst?"

"No, not really," he answered with a shrug. "By this point, I don't think I can help it anymore. It's just a force of habit. Every time I think things are going great and we have a shot at peace, something unexpected happens to mess it all up." He noticed the slight pout of her lips and felt bad for dragging down the mood, so he gave her a little nudge. "Go on, tell me how I'm wrong and everything will work out in the end."

"I won't say such a thing," she replied, rolling her eyes.

"Come on, don't tell me you've run out of positivity."

"I haven't, but there are no guarantees for anything and things don't just work out without putting in the effort." She gave a long suffering sigh. "But at the same time, it's not worth worrying yourself into the ground. Is that positive enough?"

"Barely. I'm starting to think my bleakness is rubbing up on you."

"Alright then," she said, smiling at the sky. "Everything will turn out great! Emhyr will stop his war even before Ciri becomes Empress, Avallac'h will take us to Tir na Lia and we'll catch Eredin with his pants down, taking a shit and we'll pull a Tyrion Lannister on him. And the Conjunction is just not going to happen. Why, you ask? 'Cause I said so! Now, is it positive enough?"

"Perfectly positive!" He chuckled at her silliness. "Just one question, though... What's a Tyrion Lannister?"

Once back at the inn, Geralt left Criss to her own preparations while he went through his herb provisions, seeing if he had enough of each to cook up a batch of oils and potions. He was a little short on mistletoe, so he knocked on Lambert's room. Keira was the one to answer.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "I suppose you're looking for Lambert."

"Yeah, kind of. Just needed some mistletoe and wanted to see if he has any extra he's willing to share. Is he here?" Geralt asked, casting a look over Keira's shoulder into their shared room.

"He went down to the kitchen to make sure they don't botch my lunch, but he shouldn't be long. You're welcome to wait if you want," she replied, moving out of the doorway.

Geralt took a few steps into the room, looking for a place to sit, but the room was so neat that disturbing anything felt irreverent. Even at Kaer Morhen, where Vesemir made sure to drill discipline and order into all his pupils, Lambert had always been the most disobedient trainee and often he showed his disdain by making a spectacle of the mess he could make. No other witcher wanted to room with him for fear of the disaster he created everywhere he went and Geralt had always suspected that Lambert did it on purpose. After all, his behavior always resulted in him having a room to himself, even if it was after Vesemir tanned his hide. Seeing his neatly stacked belongings felt... out of place.

He shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly aware that he had been silent a little too long.

"So... How did your research on the plague go? Did Alexander's notes do you any good?"

"I was almost upon a cure when that toad contract put a damper on everything," she replied. "As soon as this situation is resolved, I'll continue my work. Even if I don't need it to bargain with anyone, something like that could set us up for a comfortable living in any place of our choosing. Maybe Lambert would stop having to go down sewers and catacombs, fighting gods know what foul smelling things just so we could afford a decent room at an inn. And if you knew how he is treated... What am I saying? Of course, you know. Though you might have it better, with being famous and all."

"That's a witcher's life, not that Lambert ever cared much for it, but he understands our purpose just as much as I do. We're made to go where humans and mages are too disgusted to tread. And don't think being famous - as you call it - absolves me from any of that. I've had my share of zeugels... and rats," he added, thinking of the infested tower Keira had made him walk into.

Keira sighed dramatically and rearranged a stack of empty parchment that had nothing out of place.

"I hope you're not still mad at me for that."

"I'm not mad in the slightest, I'm just pointing out how easy it is to send a witcher to do the dirty work you're unwilling to do yourself."

"Point taken. Next time I'll..."

She stopped mid-sentence as the door of the room swung open and an annoyed Lambert walked in, carrying a bottle of wine.

"One of the girls will be up with our lunch in a bit. And it took a little convincing, but the cook agreed to make a batch of elderflower cake. Had to pay out of my ass for it, but it'll be worth it."

"You really didn't have to do that," Keira protested, but it was easy to read how delighted she was. Her fondness for gourmet meals was something Geralt had some experience with.

"Eh, I thought might as well," he said before turning to Geralt. "So, what brings you to our humble abode?"

"Just wanted to make a batch of relict oil and I'm a little short on mistletoe. Thought I'd check if you had some before I waste my coin at the market."

"Relict oil? Think it'll work on ol' Gaunter?"

"Maybe, not sure, but it's worth a try," Geralt replied with a shrug. "So you have any or not?"

"Nah, not really, but if you're up for it, I know where you can get some for free... Though," Lambert measured him from head to toe. "You might be getting too long in the tooth for that kind of stuff."

"You insinuating I'm old?"

"No, I'd never insinuate. I'm outright saying it."

"Fuck you too, asshole. I don't have time to run around looking for herbs, so if you're not going to tell me where you saw some, I'll be headed for the market. I'd ask if you wanted anything, but my old ass can't carry that much," he said on his way out the door.

"Getting a bit curmudgeonly, aren't you?" Lambert cackled one of his annoying laughs. "But... I can't let those merchants get fat off your coin. Let's get some mistletoe, old man."

An hour later, they were southeast of Novigrad, in front of a big oak, staring up at a thick branch a third of the way up, where a clump of mistletoe dangled.

"So, you up for it, old man? Or has that young piece of ass run you ragged already?"

"Fuck you," Geralt replied, giving him a shove. "And don't call her that."

"Just telling it as it is. You're an old fart, chasing young skirts all over the Continent."

Geralt shoved him again, his brows knitting together as Lambert laughed and Geralt's palm itched to give him a thrashing.

"You really can be an asshole, you know?" he replied with a shake of his head before finding the first foothold on the tree trunk. He sought the next one and began his climb. "She should have left that mark on your face, you ungrateful sod."

"Too late now," Lambert said, climbing on the other side of the large trunk. "Where did you find her, anyway?"

"Do you actually care or is this just small talk?"

"Can't it be both?" Lambert answered, digging his dagger into the trunk when no support was within reach. "Geez, Geralt, you used to be able to take a joke, but I see this one has dug her talons in deep. Does she make you say please when you ask for your balls back?"

"It's not like that."

"That's what you said with little Miss Vengerberg. Then you threw a hissy fit and disappeared off the face of the Continent for a year, only to return looking like a wraith. A drunk wraith."

"That was different."

"Yeah, yeah... Your fucking wish... Made any new ones lately?"

"I'd wish for a little silence if I could. You're really getting on my nerves with your bullshit."

"Hmm... Fine, don't tell me. I'll just learn it from Dandelion's newest composition."

"Nah-huh, not this time. He's strictly forbidden to write anything about her."

"How'd you manage that? Threaten to kill him?"

"Like that would ever work. No. He owes her for helping Priscilla, so I banked on that and told him she likes her privacy."

"Mhm, more like you like your privacy."

"Can you blame me for not wanting to hear him sing some nonsense about her creamy thighs and round…" He cleared his throat. "You get what I mean."

"Mhm... Though... they are round," Lambert cackled again.

"Point is, I don't want everyone to know our business. It does our relationship no favours to have people coming up to her with their assumptions."

"Worried about your relationship? It's that serious, huh?"

Geralt didn't deign him with an answer but gave him a look that said it all.

Lambert hummed. "You still haven't told me where you found her, and I'm asking you seriously this time. Last time we talked you were swearing off sorceresses. I mean, I know you, me and Eskel were shitface-drunk at the time, but you seemed pretty serious."

Geralt huffed a small laugh, remembering how the three of them drank themselves under a table, ransacked Yennefer's belongings and passed out dressed in women's garb.

"I didn't find her," he answered, finally taking Lambert's question seriously. "Ciri took me to her after Kaer Morhen and yeah, it wasn't my intention to start anything with another sorceress. Gods know that never turned out well for me, but…" He paused as he hoisted himself to the branch that housed a large clump of mistletoe.

"But what? Couldn't resist getting your dick wet?"

"When you say it, it sounds crude."

"I make everything sound crude," Lambert laughed. "It's my gift."

"Anyway, if you'd have seen how their women dress, you'd understand the predicament I was in. There's only so much tits and ass a man can stare at and do nothing."

"Now who's crude?"

Geralt shrugged, cutting a clump of herbs. "Somewhere along the way, sex turned to… love."

"Shit, you really are serious!" Lambert looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Does she…"

"Yeah, she does," Geralt replied with a smile he couldn't repress. It was the one he got each time he remembered how those three words sounded when she said them to him. "Can you believe she even took me to meet her parents? Well," he waved a hand and tilted his head, "actually it was her whole family, not just her parents."

"Damn! How did that go?"

"Better than you'd expect, though her mother still doesn't like me much."

"Well, that's one thing I'm glad I won't have to deal with. Keira's parents have been dead for a few decades at least, so there's no one to give me shit about how I'm a fucked up mutant not worth the dirt under her feet, let alone a worthy suitor."

"Suitor?" It was Geralt's turn to look at his brother slack-jawed. "You plan on marrying her?"

Lambert shrugged and chopped a few handfuls of mistletoe. "I plan to ask her once I manage to get her a nice enough ring."

"Huh…" Geralt nodded, thoughtfully. "Well, I'll be damned. Never thought I'd see the day you'd meet your match, let alone think about settling down."

"She hasn't said yes yet and I haven't said shit about settling down."

"I have a feeling she will. You both get moon-eyed when looking at each other."

"I have never in my life gotten moon-eyed," Lambert huffed.

"Sorry to break it to you, but you have and I've seen it."

"You need to get your eyes checked, old man."

"Mhm, keep telling yourself that. She even got you housebroken and I've yet to see anyone else coerce you into any semblance of order… If anyone needs to ask for his balls back… Well, it's not me."

Lambert grumbled something to himself and Geralt suppressed a laugh.

"If she does say yes, you might become the first witcher to marry. Who would have thought?" Geralt mused aloud before jumping out of the tree as Lambert's leather boot connected with his shoulder.

XXX

He returned to their shared room, lightly favouring his left leg. The jump from the tree wasn't his best nor his most graceful moment.

"I thought you were going to get mistletoe, how'd you end up with a sprained ankle?" she asked the moment he walked in.

"Long story, but let's just say that we might have another wedding to attend soon," he answered with a sigh.

"Whose? Let me guess," she hummed tapping her lips with her index. "Dandelion's?"

"Good guess, but no. Lambert's."

"Oh, wow! That's great! Are you going to be his best man?"

"Best man?" The image of himself corseted into another doublet flashed through his mind and he cringed. Lambert would probably make him wear one just to fuck with him. "Hold on a bit, he hasn't even proposed yet."

"But you think she'll say yes?"

"Mhm, they're both smitten," he replied, limping to his satchel. "But don't tell him I said so or you might get his other boot thrown at you."

"Come here and let me have a look at your leg," she beckoned, noting his gait.

"It's nothing major. I can walk it off. I only came up to let you know I was back and to pick up the rest of the ingredients I need before heading down into the kitchen to brew some sword oils," he said, already rummaging through his bags.

"I'll never understand men and their need to act like injuries don't hurt. Why don't you just take a seat? You know it only takes me a second to fix you up, then you won't have to limp down to the kitchen."

"You shouldn't waste your energy on this. Ever since Avallac'h collapsed on our floor, you've been pushing yourself like a madwoman and…"

"I know my limits," she said, getting up from her desk.

"You know how to ignore them more often than not."

"This isn't one of those times," she replied, tugging on his hand to get him to sit on the bed. "Boots off."

Rather than continuing to fight her, he did as she asked, taking off his boots and foot wraps to reveal a slightly swollen ankle with some faint bruising around the joint.

"It's sprained, just as I thought," she said just as the telltale warmth of her healing spread through his limb. Not even a minute later, his joint was fixed. "All done. See? No point in walking around with an injury."

"Thank you… but I'd still love to see you take it easy for a while."

"You know I'm not fond of idleness."

"Rest is not idleness. And you can do plenty of things that don't drain your magic."

"Like what?" she asked in a sultry voice, leaning over him and running her hands up his thighs.

Her thoughts were so transparent that he couldn't help a smile. That was one way to make her put her feet up for a while. He pretended to go in for a kiss but stopped an inch away just as her lips were parting for him in eager expectation.

"Like…" He placed his hands on her hips, grasping her firmly and holding her in place for a few moments before flipping her onto the bed and pinning her with his body. "Like sex," he finished his sentence. "Is that what you wanted me to say?"

"Mhm, I thought maybe you could do with a little more convincing after this morning. That's work I can do without draining my magic," she said with a smile.

He clasped one of her wrists against her shoulder, while his other hand grasped a breast through her shirt and his thigh pressed between her legs, eliciting a small excited moan. Her legs fell open for him as she bit her lower lip with flushed cheeks.

"You know, I was planning on saying 'like dancing', but if I need to screw you off your feet… then so be it."

"So noble of you to sacrifice yourself this way," she said with a chuckle.

He smiled and kissed her instead of replying, one of his hands already bunching up her skirt to get to her undergarments. Soft skin met his fingers as they drifted up her legs and his whole body stirred in response. He couldn't count the number of times they had been at it. Every pressure point she had, he knew; he had learnt her body by heart and yet, whenever he touched her, it was just as thrilling as it was the first time.

Her tongue explored his mouth as he caressed her over thin lace underwear until a small gasp escaped her when his fingers slid under the edge of the fabric. Her mouth fell open on a moan and her hips bucked forward into his hand, while she clasped his shoulders as if she was worried he'd run away. She shouldn't have worried, although, for a moment, he remembered that Lambert was waiting for him downstairs, probably pacing up and down the kitchen, annoying the inn's staff. He could wait a while longer. Geralt had no intention of stopping, not when she was halfway to an orgasm already. He delighted unhurriedly in the feel of her slick skin against his fingertips while he kissed along her neck, lingering on a little spot under her ear. She whimpered, pushing again against his hand and although he knew exactly what she wanted, a part of him yearned to hear her verbalize it. Maybe it was his male ego, but it felt undeniably good to get a woman begging to have him inside her. It was unfortunate that this was one of those occasions when he didn't have the time to give her all she desired, but he could still give her enough. For a fragment of a second, their eyes met before he pulled her shirt open and dove into her cleavage.

A broken moan escaped her as she threaded her fingers through his hair, keeping him against her breast.

"You still haven't gotten those peasant clothes back, have you?" he asked before pulling a pert nipple into his mouth.

"Not yet," she said before her words turned into a new moan.

"Too bad," he hummed, sliding his fingers inside her like he knew she wanted. "I really want to see you wearing them again."

"I'll ask Dandelion when… oh, fuck!" She broke off when he curled his fingers inside her and brushed his thumb over her clit at the same time. "I'll… ask…" she tried once more to finish her sentence, but failed to do anything other than sputter a few words. "I'll… fuck! Mmm, don't stop!"

He didn't. Smiling against her breast, he riddled her skin with kisses while working his fingers until her thighs flexed and squeezed his hand between them as her inner walls clamped down around his fingers. Every muscle in her body tensed as her orgasm hit her, arching her back and curling her toes. It was almost painful to feel every pulse of her pleasure when he ached unsatisfied, still clad in armour and having another impatient witcher waiting for him downstairs.

He pulled his fingers from her slowly and straightened, leaning away from her as she lay with her eyes closed, catching her breath. How tempting she looked with her skirts around her waist and chest bared, splayed out on the bed, flushed and satisfied. If his ears hadn't caught Lambert's heavy steps treading up the stairs, he might have continued their tryst. Instead, he took a step back and returned to rummaging through his satchel.

It took her a second to realize he wasn't coming back to bed. She sat up on her elbows and watched him with a frown.

"You're leaving?"

"I need to brew my oils. Lambert's almost at the door." A short rap punctuated his words and her eyes turned to the entrance as she instinctively rearranged her skirts and closed her shirt.

"Hey, pretty boy," Lambert's annoyed voice came through the door. "The cook said he needs that stove in an hour, so if you don't come down soon we'll have to go find a brazier of the Eternal Fire to brew over."

He grabbed the rest of the ingredients he needed and gave her a quick kiss.

"I'm sorry. I promise I'll come back as soon as I can."

She sighed and looked out the window at the darkening sky. "Go. I'll change and gather my things and meet you downstairs. It's late as it is."

A few hours before midnight, the two witchers, Keira, Margarita and Criss met behind the inn.

"Alright, which one of you gals will do the honours?" Lambert asked.

The sorceresses looked at each other debating without words and Lambert sighed, annoyed.

"How about you talk instead of doing your mind-reading crap?"

"Sorry, darling. We were just checking to see which one of us has a better recollection of the Temple. Portalling isn't something to toy with. If you don't have a good grasp of the place you're travelling to, it could well end in disaster."

"And? What was the conclusion?"

"Unfortunately none of us have been inside it in ages, but Margarita passed through the area before she was captured by the hunters, so she'll portal us nearby and we can walk the rest of the distance."

"I knew we should have just ridden there," Geralt grumbled under his breath.

"We didn't have time for that," Lambert countered. "Besides, we don't all need to suffer just because you fear portals."

"It's not fear, it's common sense."

"Call it what you like. I call it inconvenient. Now," he said, waving a hand in Margarita's general direction. "If you would be so kind. I'd like to get this over with."

Margarita uttered the spell, moving her hands in the proper patterns and a golden ring of light opened before them. Through it, the side of a rocky hill was visible. Keira was the first to step through, followed by the witchers, Criss and finally Margarita herself.

A chill wind blew in, wrestling the tree branches and bringing with it the scent of winter. Keira wrapped her hands around her shoulders and rubbed vigorously before diving into the cave for cover. Lambert rushed after her.

"Hey! Wait up! We don't know what could be lurking in that cave!"

"I forgot how much I despised Velen and its horrible weather," she bemoaned. "How can it be that it's colder here than it is in Novigrad?"

"There's an upwards current that brings in humid air from the sea," Margarita began an explanation befitting a schoolmistress. "It meets the colder front coming down from Kovir and the result…"

"Is the absolute shit called Velen," Keira finished. "If this damn place wasn't so strategically positioned, I swear they could wipe it off a map and no one would mourn. Actually, come to think about it, a little fire and brimstone might do the place some good. Warm it up, you know."

Lambert chuckled and Geralt shook his head.

"I swear, you two have been spending too much time together."

Geralt pulled an unlit torch from a bracket and formed Igni over it. The oil-soaked end caught fire and lit the first chamber in the cave system that spread before them.

"Anyone remembers which way to the temple?" he asked.

None of them replied, so he gave a long-suffering sigh and looked around for footsteps or other markings showing the way forward.

"Let's just go. We'll figure it out along the way," Lambert said, already climbing up a mellow slope.

"Figures you'd say that," Geralt grumbled, but still followed. "You ladies stay behind us. Lambert might be an asshole, but he's right. We don't know if anything made its nest in this cave."

"Wasn't this supposed to be a temple?" Criss asked.

"It is, but worshippers are in short supply these days. Between Radovid's purges and the war raging on, people don't go on pilgrimages anymore. They've either fled or don't want to risk being burned on the Eternal Flame pyre," Geralt replied.

Lambert stopped once he reached the top of the slope and squinted, looking from one side to the other.

"That way seems to be another entrance, so I guess it's this way," he said, pointing to his left.

A series of tall ledges with no steps stood before them.

"Might have to do a little climbing."

"Come on. Get up there and I'll help the ladies up," Geralt said, nodding to the first ledge.

With the witchers' help, they climbed a couple of ledges and Lambert went on to the third. He got up and whistled, then cursed, kicking something with his boot.

"What?" Geralt asked from below.

"Dead troll. Fresh. Well, as fresh as a troll can be. Maybe a few hours since he breathed his last."

"So we're not the first to get here tonight. Gaunter or Olgiert?" Geralt asked once he was next to the dead body.

Lambert shrugged. "Who can tell?"

Geralt knelt next to the dead troll and inspected it. It never hurt to know a potential enemy's capabilities and he knew next to nothing about the two "men" they were about to meet. He frowned as the cause of death wasn't immediately apparent. There wasn't much blood loss, no trace of a blade's cut, but oddly enough, an old shoe lay next to the creature.

"This is strange. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the troll fell and hit his head, then simply expired," Geralt concluded.

"Unlikely. Trolls are robust, and their noggings are pretty hard to crack," Lambert countered. "I've yet to see one simply… expire as you put it."

Criss leaned over Geralt's shoulder, scanning the corpse with a quick glance followed by a wave of her hand over the body.

"Its soul was drained, so I bet this was Gaunter. Unfortunately, he seems to be exactly what I feared. A demon."

The two witchers exchanged a glance. It was a known fact among their profession that demons were a thing of myth invented by fearful peasants and encouraged by some morally questionable mages. One of those mages, Geralt had met and killed decades before, but his more recent experiences convinced him that some myths were real.

"Normally I'd say you lost your marbles, but considering what I've seen at Olgiert's mansion…" Lambert hesitated. "Who the fuck knows?"

"There must have been some fucked up shit in that house to make you believe in demons," Geralt said, surprised at Lambert's willingness to accept something so outrageous.

"You have no idea…" He turned to Criss. "If it is a demon, you wouldn't happen to know how to kill it, would you?"

"I don't know if we can. It depends on which kind he is, but our best bet would be Geralt's blade."

"Regardless of what he is, we still need to make it there before midnight, so I suggest we get going. It looks like we still have more ledges to climb," Keira said, gently nudging Lambert's side.

Taking her advice, they began their ascent anew with Lambert still leading the way. A few more ledges and they came upon a flat rocky area that stretched out to a deep crevice in the floor.

"Guess I'd better start looking for a makeshift bridge," Lambert sighed. "Maybe Geralt and I can make the jump, but I doubt you ladies can."

"That won't be necessary," Margarita answered, already moving her hands in a complicated pattern while uttering words in Elder Speech.

Geralt's recollection of the language was a little rusty, but he recognized some of the phrases and deduced the incantation was an illusion spell. An ornate bridge appeared out of thin air, first wavering like hot air over heated rocks, then gradually steadying into a clear image with solid form. For a moment he didn't understand why seeing the black and white pattern of stone in the pavement sent a shiver down his back, and then a distant memory came to him. It was the same design as the bridge on Thanned Isle. The rational part of his mind told him that as long as Margarita would maintain the illusion, he had no reason to worry as he crossed over, but his visceral reaction was one of recoil as he remembered how easily those stones could disappear from beneath his feet. He beat that part into submission and walked across the bridge, although he probably quickened his step a little more than usual.

In front of them, a little higher than his height, an opening in the cave wall revealed the night sky and a stretch of wood. A row of steps descended from that entrance down to their level.

"Ah, so that's where we should have come in," he commented. "It explains the lack of steps at least."

"Too bad none of us knew about it," Margarita replied. "I think we're supposed to go down that way."

She pointed to another opening in the wall on the side of which a torch burned. Through the doorway, the flickering light illuminated a descending staircase carved in stone. More torches hung in brackets fixed to the cave wall. Geralt's witcher ears listened to the hastening heartbeats as they followed the lights in silence, wary of any hidden dangers.

A stone archway opened up to a platform guarded by a female deity's stone countenance. It was surrounded on three sides by the cave walls, with the remaining fourth open to the elements. Far in the distance, the ocean stretched out beyond the forest and aside from the statue, there was nothing and no one waiting for them. The temple looked utterly abandoned, dirt covered the once-polished mosaic floor and vegetation burst through the cracks in the base of the offering table. How quickly nature reclaims the areas humans have moved on from , Geralt thought.

"Huh, this feels a tad anticlimactic," Lambert said, sweeping over their surroundings and finding nothing of note. "When you mentioned demons, I thought something more dramatic waited for us."

"What were you expecting? Fire and brimstone?" Criss asked.

"Maybe," Lambert replied with a shrug. "I guess I was expecting not nothing."

"Do you think we're too early?" Margarita asked, taking a seat on a nearby ledge.

"Doubt it," Geralt said. "That troll didn't kill himself. Someone got here before us. Why or where they left? I suppose we'll find out soon enough." He tilted his head towards the entrance. "Steps. Someone's coming."

A well-built redheaded man, dressed in sharply decorated Redanian garb came out of the darkness of the cave. Geralt sized him up, paying special attention to the gruesome scars littering the side of his head; the way they were positioned, their depth, their size, no man could have survived the hits that inflicted them. This had to be Olgiert von Everec and the faint white line around his neck was probably Lambert's doing.

"I was expecting one witcher, instead I get two and a whole welcoming party. How novel. Any particular reason for this gathering at such an unusual place?"

"Oh, you know, we were in the area and we thought we'd drop by," Lambert replied with unrestrained sarcasm as Olgiert approached. "If you'd have half a brain you wouldn't be asking. It should be obvious that this place wasn't my choice."

Lambert pulled out a small pouch and opened it to reveal a perfectly preserved blue-tinted rose. He held it out to Olgiert's scrutinizing gaze.

"Here, your last wish has been fulfilled."

"I hope you didn't pluck this from another bush."

Lambert huffed. "It's the real deal this time. By the way, your wife sends her best from the afterlife."

"You… you spoke to Iris?"

For a second, Olgiert's stone countenance broke as he uttered his dead wife's name and Geralt noticed that it gave Lambert pause.

"Yeah…" Lambert answered in a softer tone. "She was trapped in your mansion along with your creations and even after all the shit you put her through, she didn't wish you harm."

Olgiert took the rose and gazed at the petals with the intensity of a mourning man.

"Poor Iris, she deserved a better match than I. Had I known…" He sighed and shook his head. "I'd not have made the same choice. She might not have been mine, but she might have been happy…" His words broke off and turned into a pained scream. "Aaah, my chest! It's like a hot iron running through me!" He fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

The hair on Geralt's nape stood on end as his medallion bounced off his chest, hit by a wave of powerful magic. Both witchers turned in unison to the source of the disturbance - a very self-assured Gaunter O'Dimm in mid-air, climbing down invisible steps. Although neither of them had any allegiance to Olgiert, they stepped between the fallen man and the merchant with swords drawn.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he said, unbothered by the show of steel baring his way. "So glad to see such a welcoming committee. You're right on time to witness the conclusion of a contract executed to the letter."

Out of thin air, he pulled out an unravelled parchment, signed in blood. His dark eyes swept over all who had gathered on the platform, stopping briefly over Geralt's blade and finally landing on Criss.

"You know what this is, don't you? You've seen one before? Mhm, thought so. Then why don't you tell them that I'm completely within my right to take his soul?" he asked her with dark glee.

"You're… We had a deal…" Olgiert mumbled, trying to regain his feet. "The pact states that you can take it when -"

"- when I fulfil three wishes by means of proxy-" Gaunter cut in.

"- and we stand together on the moon," Olgiert finished.

"Exactly," Gaunter said with a wicked smile.

With a sweep of his hand, a cold wind blew into the open-air temple and the dust covering the mosaic floor scattered to reveal a moon. Of course. Lilvani was a Moon goddess.

"Now, kindly step aside and let me collect what is due."

"And what if we don't?" Lambert asked through gritted teeth.

"Really? You'd want to take the side of a man who tricked you into killing a cursed prince and got you sent to the gallows? He's nothing if not wretched and this is the bed he's made for himself."

Even Geralt had to hand it to Gaunter, he was right. Nothing Lambert had told them about Olgiert gave an inkling that he'd be willing to defend him. The only reason he drew his own sword was that he was dealing with an unpredictable monster. The look Geralt gave him said exactly that, but Lambert grinned in response.

"You know me Geralt, I've always liked being the contrarian." He shot Olgiert a look across his shoulder. "Besides, if anyone's going to kill him… It's going to be me."

"Hmm, too bad there really isn't any way to stop this from happening," Gaunter said extending an open palm in front of him.

Lambert's eyes shot wide open, pupils shrinking to the prick of a needle as his sword dropped from his hand. The dark tether extending from his chest became visible and tugged on the trickle of light coming from Lambert's heart. He fell to his knees with clenched fists, fighting to keep from screaming and Geralt reacted on instinct. His own blade shot forward as he lunged at Gaunter, but hit only air. Two strikes of lightning hit the ground where Gaunter had been a moment ago. Keira let out an angry scream and more lighting fell around them as Margarita joined her efforts to strike down the cloud of smoke hovering around them. A manic laugh rang out from nothingness and a flash of light had them all wrapped in a shield. He didn't need to check who cast it, he'd recognize that light anywhere.

Dark smoke circled the dome of light and laughter echoed.

"As long as he has entered into this agreement of his own free will, there's nothing either of you can do about it. This is simply a delay," Gaunter's voice rang out.

Geralt cast a glance over Criss and knew Gaunter was right, she couldn't keep this up for long. Beads of sweat were already trickling down her temple as she grew paler.

"This is temporary," she gasped. "The pact he made… I can't break it. It has to be honoured one way or another -"

"Yes. He played a game with me and lost. Now, I will have my due."

"So you like games, huh? What if I play you for his soul?" Lambert asked, lifting himself onto one knee, now relieved of the pain inflicted through the tether.

"You?" The laughter echoed again. "No, I have no interest in you."

For a moment, Gaunter's form took material shape and his eyes shined with interest as he looked at Geralt.

"The White Wolf on the other hand… Well, that would be a worthy prize. A chance at his soul would be more than enough to compensate me for my troubles."

Geralt's lips pursed as he met Lambert's eyes.

"You think this dipshit is worth it?" he asked, nodding towards Olgiert.

Lambert shrugged. "Maybe. I just don't want that devil to have him."

Geralt hummed and turned to Gaunter.

"Geralt… Don't…" Criss warned, her voice strained from maintaining the spell.

It was too late, his mind was already set and the demon grinned as the world warped and changed around him.

A/N: Alright, for those of you who made it this far and are still reading and are willing to give me your opinion... Is the plot still easy to follow given that the updates are 2 weeks apart or do you find yourself forgetting what happened so far? I'm asking because I'm trying to decide if I should keep updating every 2-3 week (as time allows) or if I should write out the rest of the story and then post it at shorter intervals. Right now, I estimate that we're about 8 chapters away from the end.

Thank you for reading :) Comments are always welcome :) Oh, and sorry for the cliffhanger, but I couldn't fit everything in one chapter. Next up is Gaunter vs Geralt, but not like in the game at all.