The new chapter of this story is divided into 14 chapters (maybe, not sure yet) as this part of the story is about as long as the entire base story. It has also been written with zero regard to chapters at all so the divisions might be odd but it is what it is.I'll try my best to update once a week but I'm not making any promises. The story is basically fully written but the individual chapters need a lot of proofreading etc. and I have a very hard time finding time for this. There is a reason this story originally was a , we are now entering telenovela territory. The story takes place about 10 years after where my story originally began (that is 20 years after the end of the game).

Rust and honey - March 1292

-1-

"Kit! Kit, wake up!" Eskel shook her gently. When the only response that he got from her was a surprisingly deep snore, he shook her less gently. "Wake up! We have a problem."

"Huh?" Kit lifted her head from the pile of cloth on her desk where she had fallen asleep the night before. A piece of it was stuck to her cheek. Confused, she peeled it off. The cloth had left a mark on her drowsy face. She tried to blink the sleep away, failed miserably, and yawned.

"I didn't make it to bed, huh?" she remarked as she took in her surroundings, then closed her eyes and rubbed her palms vigorously over her cheeks.

"Have you ever made it to bed on your own these past few weeks?"

"Probably not. But Geralt has gotten so good at picking me up and carrying me over that I barely wake up anymore when he does it. Where is he anyway? Has something happened?" She got up from her chair, her legs wobbling under her.

"You could say he… forgot."

Kit narrowed her eyes.

"He forgot? What do you mean, he forgot? He's never left me here over night." She sulked, looking for a moment like a small child that had been scolded by its mother when it tried to touch the hearth but was unfairly denied to opportunity to burn itself.

Eskel walked to the door and scratched his head.

"I'm sure he would have remembered to do that under normal circumstances. But he somehow forgot that you even existed, so…"

"What do you even mean by that?" Kit asked him, her arms folded across her chest, as she followed him through the door that he held open for her.

He sighed.

"BB thought he was acting weird this morning. He went looking for you but ran into me first. As far as I can tell, Geralt has no memory of the last 20 years or so. He thinks he's still looking for Ciri and swears he was in Novigrad last night."

"This is a joke, right?"

"I wish," Eskel groaned.

"Well, he's going to be so happy when he finds out that he and Ciri are going to meet tonight," Kit said in a thoroughly unenthusiastic tone. She paused, the pout on her lips indicating that she was torn between not believing Eskel and fearing that he was serious. "Again, are you sure this isn't a joke?"

"Kit, I swear. If I wanted to trick you, I'd have told you he was dead. Because, come on. Amnesia for the second time? That's not very believable."

"True," Kit agreed, keeping a hint of doubt in her voice for good measure.

"Let's go, we should hurry before he just decides to get on a horse and randomly ride off to fulfill his destiny."

"He'd just do that?"

Eskel shrugged. "20 years ago, Geralt was a different person, not much into domestic life."

She shuddered.

Kit blinked and shielded her eyes as she walked through the door, not yet prepared for the bright sunlight. They made their way to the main house. It was still early in the morning but people were already swarming around the property, tending to their tasks, breathing life into the beehive that was Corvo Bianco. It was a beautiful morning. The air was still crisp and cold, and a light breeze chased small fluffy clouds across a mostly blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful day. At least as far as the weather was concerned.

Kit stopped as they reached the wall that surrounded the main courtyard of Corvo Bianco.

"Ewww! What is that?" She pointed at the decapitated head of something that, except for a set of menacing looking pincers, appeared to belong to an overgrown spider. Someone had left the head on a stake by the entrance for all to see, its black chitin glistening in the morning sun.

"No idea. Isn't this kind of decoration part of Geralt's contribution to the allure of Corvo Bianco? You should ask him."

"Do you think he'll remember the answer to that one?"

"Probably not?"

Kit shivered as she watched viscous black liquid ooze from the head where a body had once had been attached. A small puddle had formed on the ground around the stake. She suspected that nothing would ever grow on that patch of earth again and prayed that it was not contagious.

She did not get to spend too much time on admiring her husband's decapitation skills because at that moment she and Eskel were approached by the ever-reliable Majordomo Barnabas-Basil.

"Good morning," he nodded to Kit. "I presume you have heard already?" he asked cautiously.

Kit nodded.

"Would you please send a message to the palace that we will be arriving early today, and request an audience with our empress? Don't say anything else though, there's no point in worrying Ciri."

"Of course," he nodded again and, when Kit made no further effort to give any instructions, he left.

Geralt tapped impatiently with his foot on the beautiful parquet floor as he sat in front of a sumptuous breakfast spread. On any other day he would have considered it a blessing to have such an extravagant meal ready when he got up. Today, however, the sight and smell of fresh bread, jams of all kinds, honey, eggs, fruit, and cold cuts did nothing for him. This had been a very bizarre start to the day so far, and he had thoroughly disliked every moment since he woke up. Finding himself in a strange place, being questioned by a bald man with thick-rimmed glasses, and then being questioned by Eskel reminded him that he was not a morning person. Why was everyone so eager to know the last thing that he remembered? Why was no one asking the questions that really mattered: How in the world did he get here? And what had happened to Eskel's face? Where had his scars gone? And why was he here in the first place? And where exactly was here? He knew that he was in Toussaint – the scent of lavender and the other flowers, a scent so unique to Toussaint, had given it away before he had even opened his eyes. But that was about as accurate as he could place himself. Toussaint may have been a small duchy but it was not that small.

When Geralt heard the approaching sound of heavy boots on the wooden terrace outside, accompanied by a lighter flip-flop of a pair of sandals, he concluded that it was Eskel and his supposed wife. Geralt sat himself a little more upright in his chair. The idea that he would ever get married seemed rather ridiculous to him, and when the two came in, it did nothing to change his mind. But allegedly this blonde woman with the big blue eyes was his wife. Geralt was a little disappointed. He had, if anything, expected a raven-haired beauty with pale, cruel eyes and a teasing smile on her lips. But this woman possessed none of these features. She was beautiful though. If she was indeed his wife, he could have done much worse. But she certainly was not.

The whole situation gave him a headache. He felt strange. This was wrong. Even his mouth felt strange for a reason. It had really been a rather odd morning, even by witcher-standards.

Eskel had suggested that Geralt had lost part of his memory as an explanation for why Geralt was in this unfamiliar place far away from where he should be.

Somehow, Geralt thought, his first bout of amnesia had agreed much more with him as he had not remembered anything at all. Now he had two things that needed to be pieced together and he was not entirely convinced that he had really lost parts of his memory to in the first place. Maybe this was a joke.

His headache increased.

"Geralt, this is Kit."

Geralt got up from his chair – wife or not, manners were manners.

She approached him, her furrowed brow clearly showing that she was worried. If this was some kind of joke, he had to give them credit, they were all acting very convincingly.

Her gaze met his directly, her piercing blue eyes looking straight into his soul.

The woman, Kit, took his hands into hers but said nothing. Her fingers were pleasantly warm. There was something beautiful about the way she entangled her fingers with his. He noticed how his resistance melted away under the first truly pleasant sensation he had felt ever since getting out of bed.

He looked at her curiously. How old was she? Mid-twenties he guessed. If she was not a sorceress, she was much too young for him anyway. Certainly not someone he would ever entertain the idea of getting married to.

Kit closed her eyes and just stood there for a moment. A moment long enough for Geralt to wonder if something was expected of him. She stood so still that he could almost count the barely visible freckles on her pale skin that spread from her nose along her cheeks.

He had made it to 17 when she opened her eyes again and searched his for a moment. Most people avoided his gaze out of fear. But now it was he who felt uncomfortable. Who was she anyway? What could have possibly possessed him to marry her? Or anyone, for that matter.

He studied the mesmerizing pattern of her blue irises, the mountains of lighter blue, the valleys of a deeper shade. Most people did not see it but his mutated eyes picked up on such details with ease. Not a hint of violet in them and yet…

And yet…

Something. There was something that…

A small, sad sigh broke his concentration and whatever thought had been trying to form in his head just vanished.

"You really don't remember me?" Kit asked in a soft voice. It was the first time she had spoken. There was a tremor in her voice that was transmitted to their still bound hands. Her heart was beating wildly.

Geralt felt sorry for her, although he was not quite sure why. But then again, he had often pitied the people he had met and who had asked for his help. It was part of the job, he concluded. As was not showing that he cared.

"Afraid not," Geralt said.

He smelled the sharp, salty scent of tears the moment he closed his mouth but she did not cry, just blinked the tears away quickly as if they had never been there. The pressure on his hands increased – she still had not let go of them. Geralt thought about squeezing back – a small act of consolation, because he felt guilty without knowing why. But that seemed to be a strange thing to do, he decided. So he did nothing but to study her face. Another tremor, another tear that did not make it past the edge of her thick, long eyelashes.

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he could not help but find her touch to be exceptionally pleasant. Why that was, he was not quite sure. In any case, it was an unusual reaction. Strangers tended not to hold hands with him. His peculiar eyes, the abundance of scars, he had come to realize over the years, did not appeal to the masses. His reputation and that of witchers in general did not contribute to his popularity with the people.

But apparently the woman in front of him was unaware of this and simply refused to bow to the usual social expectations.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Kit asked.

Geralt, who had been asked the very same question only a few minutes ago, answered without thinking about it:

"I was looking for Ciri. Went to bed at Dandelion's for the night. In Novigrad. And then I woke up here."

Kit hesitated before speaking.

"I don't like this. Not one bit." She let go of his hands and shook her head at Eskel, who looked at her expectantly. "Can you give us a minute?"

Eskel hesitated for a moment, obviously unhappy, but then he nodded and left.

Geralt examined his hands. They felt so oddly cold without her touch.

Kit became silent and Geralt wondered if he should say something, but then she raised her eyes and spoke again.

"This is a strange situation. We've been together for a whole decade, but I can tell by the way you look at me that you really don't remember. There is nothing obviously wrong with you though."

Geralt wondered how she could know if there was something wrong with him or not, but one look into her sad face made him unable to hold on to this thought. He felt the urge to apologize but did not know what to say. He was truly sorry. Much more than he ought to be - which was not at all, considering he had no idea who she even was.

The woman – Kit, her name was Kit, he reminded himself again - looked crushed. The small smile she tried to keep on her lips faltered.

But then again, finding Ciri was more important than the feelings of a stranger. A nice, pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. And then there was still the question of what had caused this whole situation. Was he really experiencing amnesia again or was it something else entirely?

Strangely enough, the latter question did not bother him too much, at least not at the moment. His priority was to find Ciri. He had overcome amnesia once before, he would simply do it again. And since most of his memories seemed to be still intact this time, he was less inclined to investigate the matter for now. Surely someone could just give him a brief summary of what had happened during the missing years. In the grand scheme of things, there was probably nothing to be found that was of actual significance.

Ciri. Find Ciri.

"I want to ask you for one thing. Just one thing, okay?" Kit's words pulled him out of his thoughts. Geralt waited for what would come. "Please don't run away. Give me a chance to find out what's going on. Please." Her lower lip quivered briefly. Again those blue eyes searched his.

It was not an unreasonable request. The fact that he was absolutely certain that he had gone to bed at the Rosemary and Thyme last night meant that something was wrong, and he would feel better if he knew exactly what it was. He was not unsympathetic to the woman's struggles either. She seemed sweet, and he truly did not want to cause her any unnecessary pain.

Suddenly, he felt a pang in his chest and became aware of the loss of something. He felt as if a threat had been tied around his chest and something was pulling at it. But what that something was, he could not even begin to imagine. It was of no importance though, not in the face of his destiny, his responsibility.

"Have to find Ciri first."

Kit nodded as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I know. You'll meet her today."

"You know where she is?" Geralt was genuinely surprised to hear that. Then he added: "You know who she is?" Should circumstances be so lucky for once?

"Everyone knows who and where she is. Being the Empress of Nilfgaard and all."

Kit asked him to sit down and over breakfast briefly filled Geralt in on everything that had happened in the last two decades. Kit told him what supposedly he himself had once told her about his adventures, how he had ended up in Toussaint and what their relations to the palace were. He noticed that she was only vaguely describing what had led to him and her ending up together. It made him truly curious. She seemed such an unlikely choice for… really anything concerning his life.

However, that would have to wait until later, until he could be sure that his child surprise was alive and well. The thought of Ciri following in the footsteps of her father, the insufferable Emperor, soured his mood. He could not fathom what circumstances could have possibly led to her ascending the throne. She was just a child after all, royal blood or not, just a bratty teenager with a few extras. Granted, those extras were powerful. But she was just a child. His child, his responsibility. He was certain he had failed her and the thought weighed on him like a rock. A sudden fear gripped him. What if she hated him for having abandoned her? Was that why she had chosen to follow her father?

But there was nothing to be done about it now other than to wait and see.

Geralt appreciated that Kit kept her explanations short and to the point. He appreciated even more that she told him they were ready to leave right after breakfast. Knowing that Ciri was close made it hard for him to remain patient. He needed to see her and know that she was all right. That was the only thing that mattered. It had taken him so long to find her, he could hardly believe that he was so close after all this time, after following one lead after another, only to be sent elsewhere in the end. At the same time, he prepared himself to be disappointed yet again, just as he had been every time someone had claimed to know something about her whereabouts over the past few weeks. It had always turned out that Ciri was long gone and that wherever he went, there were nothing but rumors without any tangible clue.

When he and Kit were ready to leave for the stables, Eskel caught up with Geral.

"I have to leave even though the timing couldn't possibly be worse. I'll be back in two or three weeks. Don't mess things up, alright?"

"Where are you going?"

"To Novigrad and back, to pick up a friend of ours."

"And this friend cannot travel alone?"

"No, she cannot. She's quite pregnant and her husband just died. Besides, Kit insists that I accompany her." Eskel shrugged. Geralt could tell that there was more to the story, but he did not press the issue and returned to the original topic.

"And what makes you think that I can't do without you for two weeks when we haven't seen each other for years?" Geralt raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"We see each other every day… Ah, never mind. Just - just try to stay calm and wait for me to come back. I can't just stand by and watch you ruin everything you've built."

"What exactly is it that I've built? Never been good with tools."

Eskel opened his arms in an all-encompassing gesture.

"All of this. It took you years to restore Corvo Bianco to its former glory. And I promise you, if you fuck this up and eventually come to your senses, you'll regret it. Much more than that one time you decided it was a good idea to go after that vampire in Corax all by yourself."

"I was fine until you burst into the room and attracted all the attention. Up to that moment I could have done it without making a sound and..."

"It was a nest, Geralt. No way the others wouldn't have noticed you."

Eskel rolled his eyes which actually made Geralt smile and raise his hands in defeat.

When Eskel left, Geralt muttered: "They wouldn't have."

Eskel, who could still hear him, made an appropriate gesture and yelled: "Stay put until I'm back!"

Roach whinnied when she noticed Geralt and Kit. The horse bent her neck in an attempt to lightly bump her muzzle against Kit's shoulder which earned her a scratch between her ears. When Kit moved on to another horse whose coat shimmered golden in the sun, Roach turned her attention to Geralt and greeted him with a whinny.

Geralt patted the mare's neck while he examined the horse. This was definitely the very same Roach who had been with him in Novigrad, there was no doubt, he would have recognized the shape of her blaze everywhere. But if he was really missing almost two decades, how could this horse still be alive? Roach would have been over 20 years old by now - and his Roaches did not last that long. If it was not a battle injury, then it was food poisoning or some other disease. And to make things even more confusing, this horse looked younger and healthier than it had any right to be. Geralt took a look at Roache's teeth, much to the horse's dismay, but she let him do it anyway.

Something did not add up. His instincts told him that Kit was not lying but the fact that Roach did not look nearly as old as she should have, the fact that she was still alive and well, confused him. At the same time Roach was clearly familiar with Kit, which meant they must have known each other for some time or else his skittish mare would not have greeted the woman in the way she did.

20 years... Could it be? It seemed impossible, but all the evidence pointed to it being true. Except for all the parts that did not.

Would Eskel lie to him? His face had changed, the scars were all gone – which could have many reasonable explanations that were absolutely none of his business. In any case, he was absolutely certain that it was Eskel and no one else. Who else would have known about the vampire nest in Corax? They had stumbled upon it – no one else had even been aware of its existence and they had never really talked about it because the fight had turned into a shameful shitshow as they had both been way out of their depth. Certainly nothing that either of them had ever bragged about, not wanting to become the laughing stock of Kaer Morhen.

And if Eskel had been here with him the whole time, should that not count for something?

But what about this horse that reasonably should not even be alive anymore even if it had been cared for better than a witcher could ever care for it?

"Everything okay"? Kit asked while she saddled her horse.

Geralt nodded but kept eying her suspiciously whenever she was not looking. He wondered if her forehead was always half furrowed or if it had something to do with the current situation.

Before they left for the palace, Kit told him that they had to stop by her atelier. The atelier in question turned out to be a small house outside of the main compound of Corvo Bianco. From the looks of it, it was only a few years old. Unlike the other buildings it had a rather pointed roof with many small glass windows. Geralt had never seen anything like it before and wondered likewise about the purpose of the construction and who had paid for it. The amount of glass was truly outrageous and must have cost a small fortune.

The first question was quickly answered when Kit unlocked the door and they entered the house: The many small windows flooded what was clearly a workspace with light. A chaotic workspace it was: A huge table in the center of the room was buried under all sorts of fabrics, spools of yarn were strewn across the table, and measuring tapes poked out from under the chaos like snakes in hiding, ready to pounce. Sketches of dresses, which at first glance looked like wanted posters, had been pinned to several of the wooden beams that supported the roof.

In stark contrast to the center of the room was the rest of it: The walls were lined with rows and rows of dresses in every color and fabric imaginable, neatly arranged on clothes rails that buckled under their weight.

"Are all these yours?" Geralt asked incredulously. The pants she was wearing had made him think that she did not care much for dresses, at least not that much. He also could not quite grasp how one could have the means to buy so many dresses, especially since being a witcher had never paid much. Surely, if she was his wife, he had bought all these dresses for her. Which, at the same time seemed so unlikely. He had never bought a dress for anyone. Hell, he had never even bought nice clothes for himself.

Kit shook her head. "Only some. A lot of these are orders I took from all over the continent. That's how I make a living. They'll be picked up or shipped within a few weeks."

A seamstress, he realized. That explained a lot.

"What about this one?" Geralt asked, pointing to a midnight-blue gown of the finest silk that was hanging on a mannequin in the middle of the room, glittering like Toussaint's night sky in the light from the windows above.

Kit reached for the skirt, the fabric swaying lightly on the floor.

"I made this one for me. In fact, I spent last night finishing it. I wanted to wear it today. Fabric from Ofir, thousands of little glass beads sewn into the fabric." She smiled as she carefully fingered the delicate cloth. "You gave me this fabric. Of course, I had to make the most beautiful thing I could think of out of it. Fabric like this is only to be used for very important and especially beautiful things."

"It really is beautiful," Geralt admitted, silently wondering how in the world it had occurred to him to buy fabric. He reached for it, the slightly unusual shape of it almost begging him to touch it because merely looking at it was not enough. It seemed so different, so airy, so unlike the dresses he had seen before. The skirt was voluminous but did not seem heavy and stiff. The cut was so simple, no halters at all, hardly any draping, and yet it looked so intriguing.

Geralt thought better of it and withdrew his hand. He did not want to damage the delicate dress with his rough hands. Even better, he had to make sure that he stayed as far away from it as possible.

"I'm sure all the attention will be on you tonight," he said earnestly as he carefully backed away, at the same time cursing inwardly as he realized that not only were they going to the palace, but with a dress like that, it was going to be a formal affair.

If Ciri was alright though, he would gladly suffer through it. At the thought of her a knot formed in his stomach.

Kit gave him a tired smile.

"Given the circumstances, this is not the right dress for today." Her gaze lingered for a little while longer on the sparkling garment before she took a nondescript light cloth from a nearby coat hanger and threw it over the dress, making sure to cover it completely. Then she walked over to the far end of the room and rummaged around in a corner. She pulled out a bag that, from the looks of it, also contained a dress. "Maybe this one," she held it up, "will trigger some memories."

"Think that'll work?" It made no sense to Geralt that something as trivial as a dress would do anything for him.

She shrugged. "It can't hurt to try. Always works in movies. Maybe we can recreate some things from way back when. Who knows, maybe you'll remember me after all." She fingered the seams of the bag, avoiding his gaze. But Geralt noticed the pain in her expression anyway.

Suddenly he had the feeling that someone had started to tug at the imaginary threat that had been tied to his chest. He put his hand on his sternum, as if he expected to feel something, but of course there was nothing there.