A/N: this.....was supposed to be a one-shot....and this isn't even the part I originally meant to write and post. It just...got away from me so there will be a couple more parts to this.
Warnings: none, I don't think
Word count: 2k
Summary: being different doesn't make you a monster, but people can be cruel to those they don't understand
You've always been…..different. More in touch with the world around you. From a young age, you were able to discern the thoughts and feelings of people and animals alike.
It started out innocently enough. Helping the alley cat get a thorn out of its paw. Running an errand for your mother before she had the chance to tell you it needed doing. Assuring the butcher's boy that his feelings for the innkeeper's daughter weren't as unrequited as he feared.
You always kept quiet about the nature of your abilities. You had grown up in this village, but that meant you knew exactly what the people thought of those who were….different. You'd heard the rants in the tavern while you were serving drunkards and travelers for hard-earned coin you squirreled away in the hopes of traveling far from here someday. Your abilities were too similar to sorcery, you knew they would look at you with fear and hatred if you were discovered.
So you kept your head down, did your work, and tried to make what small differences you could. Your mother thought you were just particularly clever, with a gift for women's intuition. When bar fights inevitably broke out, you were able to soothe the drunken men with a few soothing words and a touch to their arms, allowing you to project your calm demeanor over their anger with a small mental push that no one need ever know about.
Things continued on, safe and same as always.
Until the Hirikka.
Risuld, the barkeep, came in one night, bleeding from a gash on his temple with an ugly bruise blossoming in a shape awfully like a hoof print. He was raving about an awful creature that had attacked him, trying to convince the men to go hunt it down with him.
Frowning, you focused your attention on Risuld enough to brush over his memories.
The creature was tall and ghastly, it was true. But it had done nothing until the barkeep had thrown a stone at it in an attempt to chase the thing away from the gardens it was sniffing around.
You sighed deeply as you withdrew from Risuld's memories. The thing was thin as a skeleton, probably starving. You pitied the thing, listening to the growing hysteria of the townsfolk. The growing panic of their voices, the cloud of fear and anger like a miasma tainting the air, it was giving you a headache, making it hard for you to focus.
You closed your eyes and set down the tray of drinks you'd been carrying, taking a deep breath and withdrawing until the only thoughts and emotions you could sense were your own. It made you feel cut adrift, isolated and unmoored, but the throbbing in your temples subsided a fair bit.
You opened your eyes in time to see the man who'd been brooding in the corner all night rise from his table. He finished his ale in one swig and, eyes locked on Risuld, announced "I will take care of your creature problem" in a voice whose low rumble traveled through the room like a roll of thunder, silencing everyone as they turned to gape at him. He stared back calmly, unfazed by the scrutiny.
You narrowed your eyes, taking in the white hair and amber eyes, the musculature and - most importantly - the swords strapped to his back over heavy armor. A Witcher. A monster killer.
Edging backwards, you slipped into the kitchen as Risuld spat a hostile "we don't need your help, damned mutant". You didn't stay to hear the rest of the confrontation, hastily stuffing some bread and apple chunks into your apron and fleeing out the back of the tavern.
You'd seen Risuld's memories of the creature fleeing, you could guess which way it had headed. You jogged into the woods as the dusk air swept coolly around you. You shivered, took a deep breath, and forged on, trying to watch for broken branches or tracks, anything to keep you going the right way.
It wasn't long before you encountered a cave by a stream, hearing quiet snorts and snuffles inside. Pausing to catch your breath - in your apron and dress you weren't exactly dressed for a trek in the woods, but time was of the essence - you reached out with your mind, searching for the creature's thoughts with your own.
You were right - when you made contact, you became aware of hunger so bad it made your belly twist with nausea, dizzying and harsh. Breathing deep to ground yourself, you asserted your own thoughts. As the creature senses your presence a low growl was heard, and you caught sight of amber eyes studying you from the gloom of the cave.
Staying calm, you thought of the crunch of a crisp apple, and the taste of fresh bread. When you shared these thoughts, the growling ceased, replaced by a low whine. The eyes moved closer as the creature moved hesitantly towards you, nose snuffling hopefully.
You knelt down, placing the food from your apron in the grass, never taking your eyes off the beast. Its nostrils flared and it lunged forward. You sensed no ill intent, no malice, but you still couldn't help the small shriek of alarm when the beast knocked into you in its haste to get to the food, knocking you into the shallow water of the river bank. The shock of cold water wrenched a yelp from you, and you leveled a glare at the creature devouring the morsels you'd provided.
"This is the thanks I get for feeding you?" you grumbled, pulling yourself out of the water with a huff.
"She's a simple creature, you can't expect much else," a deep voice rumbled behind you.
Gasping, you lurched to your feet and stumbled to face the Witcher, putting yourself between him and the creature that was now snuffling in the grass for more food. He raised an eyebrow coolly, arms crossed as he leaned against the tree.
"What are you doing out here?" he asked, voice like a growl, pushing off the tree and splashing through the stream towards you. His brows furrowed and his amber eyes looked stormy. You took note of the swords on his back again and, after hastily looking around, snatched up a somewhat-sturdy-looking branch, brandishing it in front of you.
"Stay back!" you warned rather than answering him. He halted in the shallow riverbank, eyes narrowed to slits. You shivered - partly because you were still wet, but mostly because he was much bigger and stronger than you, and you were in his way, and you'd heard the stories about Witchers not having emotions, and you certainly couldn't sense anything from him so maybe that was true, oh gods be merciful he was probably going to kill you--
"I'm not going to hurt you," he huffed, scowling, interrupting your panicked thoughts. He crossed his arms and you huffed. Thinking quickly, you sent a ribbon of thought out, contacting the creature and trying to impress upon it the urgency that it run, flee, get far away right now.
Instead, it came by your side and shoved its snout in your apron's pocket, snuffling for more food. Its large head pushed you off-balance and you once again fell on your butt in the dirt with a yelp, your meager defense knocked from your grasp on impact.
The Witcher huffed and took another step towards you--
"I said stay back!" you cried, and unthinking you formed the warning into a thought, hurling it at the Witcher like a rock as you flung out a hand towards him, as if you could somehow keep him at bay.
You saw the moment the impact hit him, his pupils narrowing to slits like a snake's as he inhaled sharply.
Had he been anyone else, you knew, he'd have frozen, eyes glazed over as he obeyed the command. But to your dismay, he seemed unaffected beyond a tensing of his muscles. He approached you and the creature crouched over you. In your desperation, you scrambled out from under it and flung yourself on top of the beast, hugging it and trying to shield it with your body.
"It's done nothing wrong," you insisted,eyes squeezed shut as you braced for the agony of a sword piercing you, or perhaps a spell would be how you met your demise-- "It was simply hungry, it meant no harm, leave it be!"
There was a quiet scuff in the grass, then a cool touch to the back of your neck and you sucked in a sharp breath and went rigid, braced for pain--
"I already said I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to kill the Hirikka either," the Witcher growled. "They're harmless, and have already been hunted to near-extinction by idiot humans. I've no reason to harm her."
"....her?" you asked in a small, timid voice. Daring to lift your head, you glanced over your shoulder at the Witcher up through your lashes; he was glowering at you impatiently. You noted with relief that his sword was still sheathed, relaxing marginally.
"Yes, she's a female. And harmless, as you said." Slowly, you released the creature - a Hirikka, he'd called it - and sat up. A large hand gripped your arm above your elbow and pulled you to your feet and you yelped, squirming and struggling and glaring at the imposing man holding you tightly.
"You have magic," the Witcher said, appraising you intently, amber eyes hard to read. "Earlier, you used it to try and influence me. Is that why you came after the Hirikka, you thought you could handle it yourself?"
You felt all the color drain from your face, leaving you abruptly light-headed. But you lifted your chin and met his gaze as you said, "I came to protect an innocent creature from the cruelty of those who don't understand it."
An odd expression flickered over his features, there and gone before you could decipher it, and he released you abruptly. You stepped away from him, rubbing absently at where his fingers had left red marks, sure that they'd bruise.
"And you….understand this creature, do you?" the Witcher asked quietly, regarding you steadily, face stoic.
Most people, even without trying you could sense their surface thoughts and feelings with no effort. The constant chatter and hum, while overwhelming at times, was a soothing background you were used to. This man, however….it was like slamming up against a wall; there was nothing you could sense, and the silence was unnerving. It made you shiver, and he noticed the tremor with a slight frown.
"I understand it enough to not be afraid," you muttered, hugging yourself. Why were you defending yourself to him? You made to move past him, wanting to go home and warm up.
"What's your name?" he asked quietly when you were shoulder to shoulder with him, making no move to stop you, but his eyes were fixed on your face intently.
Turning slightly to meet his gaze again, muttering "Y/N. And yours, Witcher?"
"Geralt, of Rivia." His gloved hand suddenly traced your cheek and you jerked at the unexpected contact, eyes going wide-- "You're hurt," he informed you.
Frowning, you touched your own cheek. Sure enough, there was a thin cut and your fingers came away gleaming with blood when you pulled your hand back to look. Nausea made your stomach churn again and your knees went weak.
Geralt sighed deeply. "Sit down. I'll start a fire," he said quietly, and began walking off, presumably to gather wood.
"What--why--I don't need--" you sputtered, watching his retreating figure in bewilderment. He turned and fixed you with a stern glare that made your weak knees buckle dangerously, so you heeded his advice and sat on a nearby log.
"You were injured doing what was meant to be my job," he growled. "So you will sit, and I will start a fire, and then you will let me treat that wound with a salve."
"But--!" He ignored your protests, vanishing into the thicket. Heaving a frustrated sigh, you made eye contact with the Hirikka. "What have I gotten myself into?"
She blinked at you and had no wisdom to offer. Instead she came and laid on the ground at your feet. Sighing, you patted her head and settled in to wait for Geralt's return.
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The hirikka seemed to lose interest when she realized you had no more food to offer and wandered away, leaving you alone in the gathering twilight. Suddenly every snap of twigs, every rustle of leaves seemed sinister. You shifted uneasily, considered just heading home. But just as you'd gathered your courage for the walk back through the darkening woods, Geralt returned, firewood bundled in his arms.
He fixed you with an unimpressed glower until you slowly sat back down and looked away. He snorted quietly and set about building a fire.
You found your gaze drawn back to his profile as he murmured an incantation that set the wood ablaze. Before you could look away his eyes flitted up and locked on yours, reflecting the firelight so they seemed to glow like simmering coals.
He reached for you and without thinking you shied back, recoiling from the attempted contact. He frowned, expression turning stony. Well. Stonier.
"Stay still," he growled, reaching into the small pouch tied to his belt and pulling out a small glass jar. Using his teeth, he pulled off a leather glove before dipping his fingers into the jar, coating it in a salve.
"Sorry," you muttered, unmoving this time as he began to slather the concoction over your cheek. It was cool and the vaguely unpleasant smell made your nose wrinkle.
But the touch of his callused fingers to your bare cheek sent tingles skittering over your skin. You caught brief flashes -- bitter and dark and hurting, aching like a wound you've had so long you've forgotten to be bothered by the constant throb, and yet that same darkness contained gentle pulses of light and warmth struggling not to be consumed -- brief glimpses of his thoughts flashing by too swift to comprehend. Usually such a touch would have you reeling, swept up in the current of the other person's mind until you struggled to maintain the boundary between their thoughts and your own sense of self. Clearly a Witcher's defenses weren't so easily penetrated.
Attempting to distract yourself, you found yourself studying his face, watching shadows and light play there as the firelight danced over his features. Watching his face -- stoic, focused, impersonal -- you caught another flash, a glimpse of yourself as he must see you: muddy, scraped and bruised, but sitting tall with your shoulders back, eyes narrowed as they watched the Witcher's movements warily. You sensed his hesitation as he reached for you again. That dull ache he carried in his chest became more acute, harder to ignore as he carefully smoothed the salve into your skin, as though you were made from spun glass.
"It's not because I'm afraid of you," you blurted before your mind could catch up to your wayward tongue.
Geralt froze, his hand withdrawing as he looked at you. He said nothing, but he watched you intently, as though waiting for you to elaborate.
Swallowing, you lifted a hand towards him, pausing just before your fingertips made contact and meeting his gaze. Amber eyes narrowed slightly but he made no move to stop you. Emboldened by taciturn permission, you grazed your fingertips along his jaw, tingles racing along your hand and up your arm.
"When people touch me," your voice came out as an unintentional whisper, afraid even now of sharing something you've fought to keep hidden so long, "When I touch them, skin to skin…..it opens some sort of link from them to me, intensifies everything I can sense from them until I can't tell their thoughts from my own. It's become instinctual to avoid such contact. It's overwhelming and….and it would e-expose me." You stuttered because, still touching his jaw lightly, you sensed a flare of thoughts rising to crash over you like a wave, anger and sadness and then bitter acrid fear--
His hand pried yours away gently before releasing you as though your touch had burnt him. Huffing out a breath, you dropped your gaze and slid back until your knee no longer pressed against his -- and when had you gotten so close, anyways? You were always so reserved, where had all your caution gone?
"You lack control," Geralt grunted. He turned so he was facing the fire rather than you. "Not your fault," he added, hearing your indignant huff as you wrapped your arms around yourself. "I imagine you've had no one to teach you what you would need to manage such an ability."
"Of course not," you murmured, rubbing your arms. The fire was doing a decent job of warming you physically, but speaking of this so openly, to a near-stranger, left you feeling cold in a different sense, vulnerable and uneasy. It was a struggle not to tremble.
"I could teach you," he muttered.
Blinking, you turned to stare at him -- surely you hadn't heard him correctly. But when he slanted a glance at you from the corner of his eye, he seemed completely serious. "What you tried to do earlier, it's not a bad start. You just need to refine and focus your power--"
"How do we start?" you interrupted eagerly, sliding closer again on the log but stopping before your leg pressed into his. He blinked, and you were fairly certain the glint in his eyes had been amusement. He twisted slightly so his torso turned towards you, locked your gazes together--
--and his mind devoured yours. Vivid colors and memories whirled through you, taken in through senses so sharp it was almost painful, monsters and screaming and laughing and ale and a string of lover's eyes flashing by in a bluehazelgreenbrown dizzying rush, gentle caresses and rhythmic motions of warm flesh pressed to yours giving way to the phantom sensation of claws and teeth and blades tearing through skin and muscle, bones being crushed and bent and broken, agony making your vision go white and your hearing full of static--
You came back to yourself lying flattened in the dirt, panting and staring up at the stars through twisted tree branches high above.
"That was an awful first attempt," you heard Geralt grumble nearby.
Attempting to haul yourself up to a sitting position was met by sickening vertigo and a large hand on your shoulder, pressing you gently but firmly back down. Focusing on your breathing, you tilted your head to glare at him.
Geralt's lips were pressed together tightly, and you took it to be irritation based on his scathing words. But a closer look and you realized his shoulders hunched slightly, almost…..guiltily.
"What happened?" you questioned in a hoarse voice. He kept one hand on your shoulder to prevent you from moving again and hovered over you, checking your vitals. Strands of his hair spilled over his shoulders to brush gently against your neck, surprisingly soft.
"I thought you would have defenses up, but you were open and unguarded. When I lowered my defenses it….overwhelmed you." He shot you another look, his fingers on your shoulder digging in almost painfully. "Any other human would not have emerged from that intact. …. what do you remember?" He seemed reluctant to ask.
Closing your eyes, you cringed as you thought back, head throbbing painfully and tears pricking your eyes, slipping from beneath your closed lids.
"Not--not much," you muttered hoarsely. Had you cried out? Everything was a bit of a blur beyond amber eyes and the following cacophony, but if you thought back past the initial strain, there were a few hazy impressions.
Involuntary spasms making your body twitch and jerk around, your shoulders being shaken...and perhaps a low voice growling your name. Possibly...fingers tracing through your hair.
But Geralt was avoiding your gaze, so you weren't sure what to make of that.
You slowly sat up, aided by his gloved hand at your back helping you stay steady. Squinting, you realized the sky was lightening and gasped in dismay. "What time is it?!"
"Approaching dawn -- that romp through my memories took a lot out of you," Geralt said gruffly, pulling you with him as he rose to his feet.
"I need to go -- I've been out all night, someone's bound to have noticed!"
"I can't be sure you're fully recovered--" He began to protest, amber eyes narrowing at you.
"I'm fine!" you insisted as you cut your gaze away, ignoring a brief dizzy spell. "Thank you for--" For what? Not killing the hirikka? The migraine? "--the salve. But I must go!" Before he can try to further dissuade you, you fled, splashing through the creek and back through the forest towards the village.
***
Your mother was still asleep when you slipped into your home in the grey light of dawn, you noted with relief. After a cursory scrub of your skin with a damp cloth and a change of clothes, you felt a bit more ready to face the day.
As you were tying your hair back you paused, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Studying your reflection, you saw no evidence of your misadventure. Perhaps darker-than-usual rings under your eyes. But Geralt's salve had done its job well. At first glance your cheek was perfectly smooth, but as you tilted your head the light brought into relief a very faint white line, like a years-old scar long healed.
You traced it gently, recalling the memory of leather-clad fingers following the same path…..and later, callused but gentle fingers….
Blinking, you shook your head to clear it of your dazed musings, dropping your hand and turning away from the mirror briskly. As you came to the top of the stairs you heard voices speaking in hushed tones downstairs.
"--haven't seen Y/N, I don't think she came home last night." That was your mother, Allene, concerned and soft-spoken. You frowned and creased your brows, gathering your thoughts before reaching out a tendril, trying to pick up what you'd missed of the conversation. Allene was still half asleep and Risuld' s thoughts were….unpleasant to dwell on, dark and lecherous and made you shudder and withdraw as though scalded. Neither was very informative, so you settled on the top step to listen, looping your arms loosely around your legs.
"If you do see Y/N, tell her not to run off again," Risuld spoke sourly. "She has a job to do, and if she wants to continue working in my tavern she can't run off chasing flights of fancy whenever she pleases."
"I'll tell her, Risuld," Allene assured. You expected Risuld to go, then, grumbling. But you only heard the creaking of the floorboards, as though he was shifting his weight foot to foot. ".....was there something else?" Allene prompted gently. Probably only you could hear the impatience in her tone, and you smirked a bit.
"The way Y/N conducts herself, it's not proper for a lady," Risuld finally groused.
It was silent for several moments.
"The way she conducts herself." No longer patient or gentle, Allene's flat tone made you wince. You were glad you weren't the one it was directed at.
"Yes," Risuld insisted blithely, "she's reckless and disrespectful and unruly--"
"I'll let her know you stopped by, Risuld," Allene interrupted, and moments later the door slammed. Stifling a grin, you slipped down the stairs, looking around the corner to see your mother, standing slightly slumped with her forehead on the door, eyes shut.
A prickle of guilt tightened your chest; you never meant to complicate your mother's life, hated seeing her look so weary. But before you could speak, she called your name. "Y/N. How much did you hear?" she asked, and you didn't bother asking how she knew you were there. There were times you wondered if maybe your powers might be hereditary, but you could never bring yourself to ask.
"....not much," you spoke quietly. You went to your mother and hugged her. She returned the embrace fiercely. Your face tucked into her neck, you were showered in warmth and love and protective rage, but you could sense how tired she was. You clung to her a bit tighter.
"Have you been causing trouble again?" she asked, fingers sliding through your hair.
"Nothing uncalled for,"you promised. It earned you a soft laugh.
"Still your father's daughter, I see."
"Father didn't raise me to read and write and hunt as well as the men in our village just so I could snivel and cower before them," you spoke, a melancholy ache in your chest. The loss of your father did not hurt less for being a familiar pain, having lost him when you were still young.
"No, he didn't," Allene agreed, touching your cheek. "Neither did he raise you to be such a hellion." But the twinkle in her eyes gave away her teasing.
"I'm sure he'd say I got that from you," you replied somberly. Darting away with a laugh when she swatted at you.
"Off to work with you, then, you've been sorely missed."
Still laughing, you slipped out and made your way to the tavern, heart light and a spring in your step.
As you passed the alley outside the apothecary, you had no warning before a hand snaked out and seized your wrist in a vice grip and jerked you off your path.
You stumbled and were pinned to the wall, disoriented by the suddenness of it and by the pressing swirl of thoughts from whoever had grabbed you, dark and wanting and vile. Before you could cry out another hand clamped over your mouth.
Hot breath panted against your ear and a press of moist lips made you cringe, struggling as your heart raced. "You should pay more attention, Y/N," Risuld's voice hissed in your ear. Lust and greed poured through him and beat at you, making your stomach turn. "Witchers and beasts lurking about, it's not safe….something could happen to you and no one would ever know."
Panic unfurled in your chest and you stared at him but he wasn't looking at your face, no his eyes were glued to your chest as he released your wrist to wrench at the front of your dress.
You bit his hand until the metallic tang of his blood touched your tongue and he swore. He sank his fist into your stomach, forcing air from your lungs and tears from your eyes, and his hands were scrabbling at you--
Your thoughts crystallized as adrenaline rushed through you, sharpened like a dagger that you hurled in his direction with all the force you could muster: GET OFF OF ME!!
With no breath in your lungs the command was silent, but you saw it hit him, felt him shudder against you and withdraw. When you dared to glance up, wheezing, you saw his eyes glassy and dazed, a thin line of blood leaking from the corner of his left eye and tracing down his cheek like a tear.
Sickened and afraid and enraged, your only thought was to get away. When you shoved Risuld, he staggered and fell to his knees. You spun on your heel and fled.
Half blind from tears, you had no direction in mind beyond escape, following the road as you fled, thoughts racing in a panicked incoherent whirlwind.
What did you doWhat I had toWhere are you goingAwayWhat will you tell motherI don't know….How will you explainI don't knowYou dazed him but he'll recover, and he'll tell everyone what you didI didn't mean toThey won't care. They'll kill you. Unless You go back and kill him, hide what you didI can'tYou have toI can't I didnt mean to it was an accident he was going to--i didn't mean to--I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean to I'm sorry--
Since you weren't paying attention, you slammed straight into Geralt without pausing. The impact sent you reeling -- it was like slamming into a wall, he was tall and solid with muscle and you didn't even budge him, despite knocking a few glass phials out of his hands -- but before you could fall he steadied you.
You blinked blearily up at amber eyes. His brows furrowed as he looked down at you. "Y/N? What are you running from?"
He let go of your arms but your fingers, instinctively fisting his shirt front, were reluctant to let go. He ducked down a bit so his face was on the same level as yours. Breathing raggedly, you found yourself unable to speak around the lump in your throat.
You abruptly remembered that he kills monsters, and hidden Risuld's face came to your mind again, eyes glassy and shedding tears of blood. You had no idea what you'd done to him, but it was...monstrous. Grotesque. Everything you'd sworn you'd never be. If Geralt found out what you'd done--
Your breath hitched and you tried to tear away but he grabbed onto you again. A shriek tore its way out of your throat, finally, and you struggled like a wild animal, clawing and kicking and screaming.
"Y/N," Geralt snarled harshly, "look at me." You resisted but then his hands -- no longer gloved, when had he removed them? -- were holding your face, his forehead pressed to yours and the contact was too much, he was too much and you sobbed brokenly, struggling and beating at him.
Then, his mind still enveloping yours, everything went....still. Silent and calm, his thoughts smoothing out before being replaced by tranquil silence that enveloped you like a blanket. It smothered your panic and you gulped in air, gradually calming down and going still, gaze still locked on his.
That's better. His lips didn't move, but you heard his voice echo in the space shared between the two of you. Can you tell me what happened?
Your hands trembled as they came up to cup over his, holding them to your jaw as you shut your eyes. You couldn't make yourself speak the words, but you reluctantly let him see your memories. The panic swelled up again, but in this space it was distant, blocked out by the security of Geralt's mind shielding yours. You did sense his controlled rage and you sniffled quietly.
I didn't mean to….. Your guilty thought trailed off, unable now to stop seeing Risuld as you'd left him, what you'd done to him.
"Never apologize for protecting yourself," Geralt growled out. By speaking aloud he shattered the peace he'd created and the outside world came rushing back in. Opening your eyes,you saw his amber irises shining with rage and disgust and you recoiled--but he was still holding himself open to you,you knew that his anger wasn't directed at you.
In his eyes, at least, you were not the monster.
The knot in your chest loosened a bit, allowing you to breathe easier.
And your ears finally registered the sound of shouting and the thunder of footsteps before a stone struck Geralt's brow.
He grunted and finally pulled away from you, glaring over your shoulder.
As you twist around, fear lanced through you again. A mob had gathered, glaring at you and Geralt.
"You've overstayed your welcome, witcher!" someone called, to a chorused agreement. More stones sailed past and Geralt jerked you behind him, swearing under his breath as he lifted his arm to shield his head.
"Release Y/N, you beast!" "Y/N we won't let him hurt you!" "Get away from her, butcher!" they shouted over each other.
"Stop!" you cried hoarsely, trying to move around Geralt but he easily held you back. "Stop, leave him be!"
"He's bespelled her!" "Get him!" The mob surged forward and Geralt drew his sword. Your heart seized. You didn't think you could stand any further violence today.
"No!" The word burst from you with a scream, and something was wrenched from your chest and burst forth, the very air rippling as the whiplash hit the mob. As one they froze mid-stride, and Geralt went rigid.
Looking out at them, you felt a sting of betrayal at the fear and hatred in their eyes as they found themselves unable to move. But some part of you always knew this day would come, when you could no longer remain hidden.
When you could no longer remain here.
Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, you grabbed Geralt's wrist and tugged. "I don't know how long that will hold...we should go," you whispered, throat raw.
He looked at you, a question in his eyes. Unable to speak again, you nodded. He studied you for a long minute before sheathing his sword and led you off quickly.
Sniffling, you followed him to the stables by the inn. He went in and emerged with a chestnut mare. She pawed at the ground, but seemed to calm at Geralt's gentle touch to her neck. Wordlessly, Geralt put his hands on your waist and lifted you up onto the saddle before swinging up behind you.
His chest pressed against your back, and you felt his legs squeeze the mare, urging her to a brisk pace.
You realized that even this close, you were getting nothing from him. He'd closed himself off once more.
Racing from the only home you'd ever known, you'd never felt so alone.
A/N: Y'aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall. I just....Ugh. This chapter fought me. Like you have no idea how many drafts of this I trashed before finally deciding it was good enough to post so I can get on with the rest of the story.
Huge, huge thanks to @afterthenightprevails for pulling my head out of my ass and helping me realize that it's okay to have a bit of a filler-y chapter and being so encouraging <3
Warnings: flashbacks of trauma (Geralt's), Y/N exhibits some depression
Word Count: 2.9k
Part 1 | Part 2
Hours pass, marked only by the movement of the sun across the sky and the steady beating of the mare's hooves as you rode. Geralt didn't break it, and you were too shell-shocked to try and do so yourself.
Your first day traveling with Geralt passed in silence.
At dusk, Geralt dismounted and led you and his mare -- Roach, he informed you, was her name -- into the woods a ways before picketing her and setting up camp. You were in a daze as he efficiently started a campfire before vanishing into the thicket. He was back before you had a chance to feel uneasy, rabbits clenched in his fists that he roasted over the fire. He offered one to you, but you only shook your head and murmured that you weren't hungry.
You felt his scrutiny, but you didn't look up. You found a relatively soft patch of grass and laid on your side, the fire and Geralt at your back and your gaze on the dense foliage. You listened as he ate, polished his swords, settled on the ground with a few grunts and a muffled curse. You stayed silent.
When his breathing slowed and went even and deep, you finally allowed yourself to cry.
A fist pressed to your mouth to muffle any sounds -- you didn't want to wake the Witcher -- tears slipped down your cheeks and your breaths hitched in your throat, shuddering you as you sniffled.
The fire was dying down when you finally calmed, and you were shivering slightly. But you were too exhausted to move, and your heavy eyelids fell shut at last.
Your sleep was uneasy, plagued by indistinct figures grasping at you from the shadows. When you jerked awake, the sun was just rising over the horizon -- you were alone, but Roach was grazing nearby and…..
And Geralt's cloak was laid over you like a blanket.
You touched it almost reverently with your fingers as you sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with your fists.
"Geralt?" you called quietly. Your voice was hoarse but you'd pretend it was only from sleep. You hoped your eyes weren't puffy. A quiet grunt had you twisting around to see Geralt returning from the woods. He had a deer over one shoulder and an array of herbs bundled in his other hand. "Good morning," you offered meekly. He only hummed and sat, the deer carcass flopping next to him as he set about getting the fire going again. He gathered a few vials from one of Roach's saddle bags, as well as a knife, before settling back down.
"Can I help?" you asked, moving closer.
He fixed you with an unimpressed look. "I need to prepare some potions before we continue traveling today."
".....I know nothing of that," you reluctantly admitted. "But I can skin a deer," you added. "My father taught me, and if I work on the deer and you focus on your potions everything will be ready that much quicker."
"Hm," Geralt huffed, appraising you. He picked up his knife and flipped it in his hand so he held it by the blade, with the handle towards you. He inclined his head slightly.
Easing out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, you settled on the ground and took the knife from him. He watched you silently slice the deer carcass for a few moments before focusing on his own work.
It'd been a few years since you'd had to use the knowledge your father passed on to you practically, so you took your time. The busy work, having something to focus your mind on, was actually soothing. And the quiet clink of glass, fragrant herbs, Geralt's presence a steady hum at the edge of your awareness, it was relaxing. Something coiled tight in your chest eased like a knot being tugged loose. You sighed quietly, a faint smile tugging absently at your lips as you started cooking pieces of venison, drying them out so they'd last longer on the road.
"Thank you," you murmured suddenly, finally allowing yourself to meet Geralt's gaze.
"Hm?" His eyes flicked up to yours, reflecting the flames with an eerie golden tone that made him seem...otherworldly. Your heart skipped a beat but you responded steadily.
"Your cloak. I just....thank you." You cleared your throat, cheeks warming slightly. He gazed at you silently for a long minute. This time he was the first to look away, shrugging dismissively. You hesitantly added, "It was….kind of you." He didn't respond and didn't seem to plan to anytime soon. But the set of his shoulders had loosened a bit. Smiling faintly, you finished preparing the deer.
When that was done, you felt too restless to sit still, so you packed up the campsite. You fidgeted with Geralt's cloak before carefully folding it over your arm and going to return it and his knife to him.
"Keep them," he muttered as you approached.He barely spared you a glance, voice gruff. "You'll probably need them more than I do."
"But--"
"If it comes to needing weapons, I prefer my swords. And I've coin to replace a cloak." He finally looked at you, raising an eyebrow. You fell silent, pursing your lips. He made a fair point -- in your hasty departure, you hadn't thought to gather provisions. All your savings from working in the tavern were stowed away at home (you fervently hoped your mother would find it and put good use to it).
Thoughts of your mother, coupled with the stark reminder that you now had nothing, shattered the peace you'd managed to gather for yourself, and you felt your fingers fisting the material of the cloak you still held.
"I'm going to go fill up your waterskin," you announced abruptly, turning away from Geralt. Leaving his cloak draped next to him on the log where he sat, you snatched up said waterskin and moved quickly in the direction you hoped the stream was.
Melitele was kind and after a few minutes of searching, you found a stream. Kneeling in the grass, you dipped the waterskin under the surface so it would fill up. The cool water felt pleasant against your skin, which gave you an idea.
Once the waterskin was filled you capped it and set it to the side. Then you dipped your hands under the surface and cupped them, lifting the water to splash your face gently. It felt soothing, and you sighed pleasantly as a few drops traced down your throat.
Geralt had followed you. He was good, you gave him that, silent as a specter. But you could sense him, the power of his magic like the caress of a feather brushing against your skin, light and tingling. You spoke without turning or opening your eyes. "I know you're there."
A pause, and you thought maybe you'd managed to surprise him. "You left the knife behind, and all manner of beasts lurk in the woods. It seemed prudent."
"And that's the only reason you followed me?" you asked. You finally turned to face him, so he could (hopefully) see in your face that you weren't angry with him.
Something intense brewed behind his eyes as they fixed on you, but he was guarded and you were too tired to figure out what.
He paused again. Seemed to consider and reconsider his words. You waited patiently and he finally huffed, voice brusque. "You seemed a bit of a flight risk, and it's often safer to travel in company. I wanted to make sure you weren't going to do something.....reckless."
A smile tugged at your lips, and you knew it wasn't a happy expression. "Where would I go?"
He only shrugged, evidently not having thought that far. Swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth, you rose to your feet and dusted yourself off. "Are you ready to move on?" you asked him, passing his waterskin back to him as you drew close. He nodded curtly, and the two of you returned to your campsite.
Geralt doused the fire and packed up his potions. You fastened his cloak around your shoulders; it fit you more like a cape, but it was warm and had a sheath in the sleeve that held the knife easily, so you weren't complaining. Then, Roach's reins in hand, the two of you returned to the main road. You walked at a brisk but easy to maintain pace. You suspected Geralt was slowing a bit to accommodate you, as his legs were much longer than yours, but he said nothing and you followed his lead, determined not to be a burden more than you already had been.
As the day passed, you and Geralt chewed on dried venison and sipped from the waterskin, traveling in companionable silence. It wasn't until midday that you finally spoke again.
"Where are we going?"
Geralt grunted and didn't reply for a while. "Does it matter?" he finally asked.
"I suppose not," you allowed. Then, after only a beat of silence, "Will you continue training me?"
He turned to look at you right as you shifted your gaze to his face, and as your gazes locked it was like the faint hum you always sensed from him doubled in intensity. You felt goosebumps raise along your arms as his nose twitched, nostrils flaring slightly.
His fingers flexed at his side before curling into a fist, and as he remained silent you regretted broaching the subject. He'd said himself that your first attempt had gone terribly, he probably wasn't interested in teaching you.
He exhaled suddenly and turned away sharply, taking a step forward. It was only then that you realized you'd both stopped walking and you hastened after him. "You're right. Now that you're on your own, it's more important than ever that you learn control."
On your own. The words are like a slap to the face but you try to hide your reaction.
Of course he wasn't going to stay with you. He was a witcher, he traveled the Continent killing monsters for money. The fact that he allowed your path to coincide with his was probably just a begrudging kindness from him, an escort to the next safe town and then he'd be done with you.
You hadn't allowed yourself to think about the future, so you hadn't really hoped for anything. Still…. your eyes sting and you have to blink hard as Geralt looks at you sharply, eyes narrowed to slits.
You steady yourself with a deep breath. "You're right."
He stares at you for a long moment. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, you sped up a bit until You walked slightly in front of him. His voice behind you was quiet, but you heard him nonetheless.
"We'll continue tonight, then."
You were glad your back was to him, so he couldn't see the anxiety flit over your face. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you followed the road onwards.
**°~°~°~°**
--bitter cold that ached all the way down to your bones, numbness that seemed to reach your very soul until you couldn't remember any more what it was to be warm and you weren't entirely sure you were already dead--
"Y/N."
--surrounded by darkness on all sides and the cold was so sharp it was painful, but your throat was too raw to cry out--
"Y/N!"
--you only hoped this wasn't death, because if you weren't dead then you could still die, and finally be free of this torment--
"That's enough."
--and then when warmth finally came it felt like fire igniting your insides, burning you to cinders until all you could do was scream and scream and scream, blood gurgling in your mouth--
"Enough. Come back to me."
The voice, gruff as it was, was gentle as it reverberated through you like a rock making ripples in a pond. The shock was enough of a jolt to make you realize that these memories weren't your own, gain some distance from them. Grasping weakly at your own recent memories, you felt a bit steadied as you were able to place the voice.
Geralt…..?
"You're back." Just an echoing thought, but it seemed to carry a sense of powerful relief.
Almost…..not quite. Give me a moment....
Withdrawing further, you were slowly able to reestablish the boundary you'd crossed between Geralt's mind and your own, retreating back to your side. As you regained some clarity you focused on amber eyes locked on your own.
"Are you back now?" Geralt's voice was a low rumble, grounding and anchoring, and you shuddered an exhale.
"I--I think so," you murmured, putting a hand to your forehead. Your skin was clammy.
A glass phial was shoved in front of your face. Recoiling slightly, you frowned at Geralt.
"Drink. It will help."
You looked warily at the bottle, not taking it. "I don't have a Witcher's fortitude. Are you certain it's safe?"
Geralt huffed. "I would not endanger you so carelessly."
"That's not what I--"
"Just drink it," Geralt almost snarled. He shoved the vial into your hand and you made a face at him before uncorking it. Taking a sniff, you barely held back a retch.
"Sweet Melitele, what is in this?" you protested.
"Herbs, that will ease your headache and replenish your energy. Plug your nose and drink," Geralt groused.
Making a face, you did as he bid. After forcing down a couple swallows you gave it back to him, grimacing. "Pass me the waterskin." You held out your hand and he wordlessly passed it over. You rinsed out your mouth, spit, and then took a grateful swallow.
But….the dizziness was passing, you noted. You looked at Geralt, barely able to detect the smug quirk of his lips. "Better?"
"Getting there." You rolled your eyes, sighing. "I didn't do any better, did I?"
"You didn't faint this time," Geralt mused. "But other than that, no. Not really."
You groaned and slumped down on the ground, hugging your legs. "If you'd tell me what I'm supposed to be doing--"
"Building your defenses and trying to keep me out. Staying centered so you don't get overwhelmed. If we keep building your strength, you'll get there."
"How long will that take?" you wondered, trying not to show how warmed you felt by his easy confidence.
"That depends on you. We'll try again tomorrow. For now, I want you to meditate."
".....come again?" You raised an eyebrow at him. He rolled his eyes and sat on the ground, crossing his legs and sitting up straight and gesturing for you to do the same. You followed his lead, closing your eyes when he did.
"Breathe deeply, in on a four-count, then out on the same. Clear your mind, focus on your awareness of your surroundings and it will sharpen. This will sharpen your discipline and make it easier to remain in control."
His voice was almost soothing, and you peeked an eye open. In the gathering dusk, moonlight turned his skin pale as porcelain and his hair shone like spun silver. He looked serene as he slowly breathed in and out.
Suddenly, eyes still shut, his mouth twitched, hinting at an amused smirk. "You aren't focusing."
"Sorry," you breathed out in a whisper. Closing your eyes again, you tried to do as he'd said. It was hard to clear your mind, so you focused on the quiet sound of his breathing and tried to match yours to it. As you focused on that, everything in you went…..still.
You could sense Roach nearby, tired but content, and your sense of Geralt sharpened. The hum of his magic was stronger, like sparks of electricity dancing on your skin, but it didn't disturb you, rather it honed your focus.
You could sense his mind. Not like before, when it's current swept you up and carried you away. Humming with awareness, but smoothed down and blank, like a perfectly polished stone. You touched it briefly but that made your awareness fixate a bit too much on him, the hum of his magic buzzing through you like an electric current. You withdrew as you heard him inhale sharply.
You sent a flicker of an apology his way before focusing again on achieving that same stillness.
Gradually the rocks digging into your legs, the cool breeze stirring your hair, the familiar hum of Geralt's presence, all of it faded and you became aware of your own consciousness, open and welcoming like a flower blossoming in spring.
Defenseless. You saw exactly what Geralt had been talking about.
As you continued to meditate, focusing and trying to put up defenses, you lost track of time ticking steadily away. You didn't grow tired, or bored; all your focus was centered on building barriers that would, with luck, protect you the next time you practiced.
You're not sure how much time passed like that, but when you opened your eyes the moon was high in the sky and Geralt was laying down, breathing even.
You huffed quietly, laying down yourself and tugging his cloak around you. You watched his back for a while, mind still peaceful and still so you weren't thinking much.
"Go to sleep, Y/N," he rumbled, and you flinched. You'd thought he was asleep and his quiet command had startled you. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled and settled down.
You still ached with sadness when you thought of your mother all alone, but the ache had mellowed some and didn't feel as raw.
"Good night, Geralt," you whispered.
"Good night."
You shed no tears that night, soothed into an easy sleep by the lingering peace of your meditation and the steady lull of Geralt's quiet breathing.
A/N: HERE IT IS. I bet y’all weren’t expecting me to update soon, I bet y’all forgot about this series of mine, B U T ya boi came through (just took me a while to get here, y’all have been saints and so patience and I love you all for it). Thanks as always to the darling @stretchkingblog97 for beta reading and guiding me through blocks! <3
Warnings: None I don’t think?
Word count: 5.7k goooooooooood i need to learn some self-control and make these shorter
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV
When you next rouse to awareness, you can’t open your eyes or move your limbs, but you don’t feel alarmed. Everything is distant and hazy, like you’re floating in a thick fog. There are voices, far away and only reaching you as echoes; it sounds like they’re shouting, and you think you hear your name being called, but before you can muster the energy to respond you fade away again.
For a while you drift in vague greyness, no awareness of time passing.
There are echoes, dim impressions. Voices in your head and outside of it, but they echo and talk over each other and you’re unable to process what’s being said.
Your faculties slowly return to you. You still can’t quite move, but you realize now that you’re sedated, heavy medication fogging your brain and making you groggy. It takes a long time for information to reach you in your muddled state, but as the effects of the medicine slowly abate you begin to process bits and pieces.
The awareness of others' mental presences is the first to really reach you. Your body isn’t quite awake yet, but your mind is finally alert again. You stretch out your thoughts, seeking. There’s a healer in the room, he just changed your bandages after checking your injury. You gather from him that you lost a great deal of blood and fainted due to being in a state of shock.You shy away from the memories of what led to that happening, skipping to the next nearest consciousness: Lord Dorian. You see yourself through his eyes, supposedly asleep; you’re vaguely pleased that you sense no ill intent towards yourself in him, only gratitude and admiration for how you’d stepped in to rescue him. He’s there to check on how you’re healing and demands the healer send for him as soon as you wake.
You’re already tuning out from him, because the next one is Jaskier, sitting in the hall outside. He’s sick with worry and feeling guilty, blaming himself for your injuries because he’d invited you along. You make a mental note to reassure him when you wake.
All that quickly gets brushed aside when an approaching presence commands your attention.
Geralt. Wounded himself, he’s slipped past the guards that tried to keep him out and is storming down the hall. Yes, storming, that’s the word: his rage is like a tidal wave, swirling and powerful and ready to destroy anything in its path, and you instinctively shy away from it, even though part of you is glad he’s coming to see you.
He freezes mid-step and his mind chases yours like a hound after a rabbit, sensing your retreat.
The brush of his thoughts against yours has become familiar in your time together and fills you with warmth; as soon as he feels the touch of your thoughts he calms, the rage in him quieting down to concern.
You’re alive, he thinks at you, and it’s like sunbeams breaking through storm clouds, light with relief and quiet happiness.
You’re here, you reply, warm and appreciative. The two of you begin to swap thoughts back and forth in a dizzying exchange.
I’m sorry I said those things, I’m sorry I hurt you, forgive me you push at him, and in return you get a rush of There’s nothing to forgive; I returned to town to rumors of a thwarted assassination attempt and a flash of memories: Geralt in the tavern, wanting his coin. Geralt, hearing Jaskier’s name and listening hoping to hear about you; hearing instead about an assassin, about a hero being rewarded by a lord with a spot in court; speculation that the rescuer was dying from injuries sustained; Geralt hearing your name and storming out before he could process what he wanted to say, only that he needed to see if you were okay.
The images passed by you in a dizzying rush and you pulled back slightly, overwhelmed. You were stunned he was being so open to you, sure he was still going to be furious with you. Even in your head, you couldn’t form words, and Geralt was likewise silent.
He continued down the hall. Stopped briefly to speak with Jaskier, the bard scrambling to his feet and tripping over his words trying to tell the Witcher what happened and Geralt just grunting and pushing the door open impatiently. He ignores the sputtering of the healer and comes to stand at your side.
“Open your eyes,” his gravelly voice commands. I know you can hear me, he adds silently.
I’m trying, you respond.
“She’s under heavy sedation and recovering from severe blood loss, she needs to rest. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the healer spoke firmly. You admired his mettle, unwavering as Geralt fixed hawkish eyes on him.
“How severe are her injuries?” Geralt demanded. His attention was focused on the healer, but you were certain he was aware of you brushing over his thoughts. Why he allowed it, you weren’t sure, but you were grateful nonetheless. You could sense the itch in his fingers to inspect you himself for injuries, but he was restraining himself, not wanting to cause further pain or damage while he was unsure of the extent of the harm you’d taken.
“She hit her head when she collapsed and has a sizable lump, and she lost a dangerous amount of blood from multiple lacerations from the would-be assassin’s knife, along with a deeper stab wound in her shoulder. She’s being given the best care and medication, she’s not in any pain. She’ll wake up when she’s ready, but I must ask that you not disturb her.”
“I will stay here until she wakes.” Geralt’s flat tone left no room for argument as he sat at your bedside. The healer sighed and moved away and you felt Geralt’s attention shift onto you, demanding to know if his statements were accurate. A brief self-assessment allowed you to assure Geralt that no, you weren’t in pain, you just felt tired and...heavy. He relaxed and prodded at your memories, wanting to see what happened, and you granted him access; the fight was a blur in your mind but you felt Geralt’s pride at the way you’d stopped the attacker without being hurt worse as he watched your memories play out, sensed his understanding and respect when you refused the offered payment.
It shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did, but warmth trickled through you regardless.
I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, you thought at Geralt. He brushed the thought away dismissively.
You already had the potential in you, and it’s the control you’ve learned that allowed you to use your powers as such. I won’t take credit for your deeds.
I’m still grateful. And I’m sorry for what I said--
You don’t need to apologize.
I do, you insisted, Geralt, that’s no way to treat a friend. Whatever comes next, you are my friend, and you’ve done so much for me; I should not have been cruel to you. I know you’ve experienced loss, and you were there for me when I most needed someone, helped me in ways that no one else could have. I don’t want you to accept cruelty as the norm, because you deserve better. I’m sorry.
Geralt withdrew from you slightly, went quiet and reserved until you prodded at him gently, worried you’d said something wrong again. He stirred, his mind touching yours once more, but not as closely as before, more guarded. I….accept your apology.
Thank you. You felt like a heavy weight had slid off your shoulders, the shared space between your mind and Geralt’s felt light and warm to you, as though filled with sunlight. Do you know where you’ll go, after this?
Wherever there’s work for me, he replied. There’s always a monster in need of vanquishing. And you? Are you going to stay, accept Lord Dorian’s offer?
I haven’t given it much thought. What would I do at court? you mused.
You’ve already done good here. You’d be an advisor, a confidante for the lords and ladies. No one could keep secrets from you, you’d be an invaluable asset, no doubt. You could do worse for yourself.
It took all the training Geralt had given you to hold back your thoughts so he wouldn’t see, but you recalled your weeks in Geralt’s company, the smiles and banter and quiet evenings shared together. You wistfully thought you could do better, thought that there could have been something with the two of you, could still be if you stayed by his side as you wanted to. But you could sense how relieved Geralt was that you’d found a place for yourself in this town, and he was still musing about the good you could do here; you had to agree with him, as an advisor you could help many people. If you lost what lingered between the two of you, at least you’d part ways on good terms.
Geralt touched your mind tentatively and you locked down your thoughts before he could see. Sorry, just...thinking.
Something the matter?
No, I’m fine. Just….considering. I think I am going to stay here. It’s better than being a maid at an inn, at least.
Good. That’s good. How are you feeling?
Better. You realized as you thought it that it was true. Your heart still ached with grief for what might have been, but you’d made your peace with the future that was laid out before you. Although I’m starting to hurt again, so I think the medication is wearing off, you added.
Can you open your eyes yet? I can feel you, but you’re lying so still and pale and I don’t like it. You could sense his unease and it warmed you, knowing that even if he didn’t want what you wanted, he did care enough to be concerned for your well-being.
It took a few moments, and you winced as the bright lights made your eyes sting when they fluttered open. But it was worth it to see Geralt leaning over you. You felt the corners of your lips turn up. “Geralt.”
“Good to see you awake,” he responded quietly, mindful of your headache. He was already pulling away from your thoughts as he stood, leaving you alone. “I’ll fetch the healer--”
“Wait.” You meant to grab his wrist but you were still groggy, you fumbled and latched onto his fingers instead. He could have gotten away easily, you knew, but he paused at your request. “Don’t….don’t go just yet. I don’t want to be alone.” I’m not ready for you to leave me just yet. You were glad he’d pulled back, so he wouldn’t hear that errant thought.
His fingers squeezed around yours before withdrawing as he slowly sat back down. You gingerly turned onto your side facing him, pillowing your head on your arm as you drank in the sight of him, the dirt making his hair dingy and stringy, filth streaked across his features, fading cuts and bruises. “Rough hunt?” you asked quietly.
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve had worse. Nothing that won’t heal.”
You hummed. “How long are you going to stay in the city?”
“Another day or so, to gather supplies and prepare for the road.” He watched you with an unreadable expression. You were tempted to pry at his mind, but that door went both ways and you didn’t want him to see too much of what you were feeling, so you kept to yourself. “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“Nothing. It’s just…..I’m very glad to have met you,” you told him. His gaze slid away from yours, and you smiled. You were aware he didn’t quite know how to respond to kindness but he deserved to hear it. “I really am. You’re a good man, Geralt, and you’ve helped me become someone I never thought I could be.”
“You’re not like most people, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I’m...glad our paths crossed as well.”
“Will I see you again?” you asked quietly, trying not to sound wistful.
Geralt hesitated before looking at you again. “My work takes me all over the Continent.”
“You’re not sure,” you said. He looked down, and that was answer enough. You touched the back of his hand lightly as you continued. “That’s okay. We’ll just have to see what plans destiny has in store for us.”
Geralt snorted quietly. “That’s a fickle and unpredictable force to put your faith in.”
“I’m not so sure about that. After all, it brought us together.”
Golden eyes finally met yours again. “You believe that? That it was destiny?”
You nodded. “I do.”
Geralt studied you and you let him see whatever he wanted, hiding nothing. If this was the last you’d see of him for a while, you didn’t want to part with secrets between the two of you. After a few moments his stoic features shifted, softened minutely. You smiled. “I don’t have your faith,” he admitted quietly. “But…”
“It’s okay, Geralt. Not having all the answers is one of the grander parts of life, I think. It leaves room for mistakes, for taking chances.” You slowly sat up as you spoke, reaching to work your hair loose -- the silver ribbon you’d decorated it with was long gone, but your simple leather tie was loosely holding your braid in place. You tugged it free and gestured for Geralt’s hand.
He tilted his head at you but didn’t protest, placing his hand in yours. Allowed you to pry his fingers open so his palm lay flat. You put the leather tie in his hand and curled your fingers over his so you held his hand closed over it.
“Y/N?” he questioned quietly.
“I want you to take it with you -- a token from a friend. A reminder that I saw the good in you, and others can, too, so try to give them the chance. And a reminder to have a little hope.” You smiled softly at him. Geralt dropped his eyes, pulled his hand gently away from yours. He took the leather tie and wrapped it around his wrist like a bracelet. You gently tied it off for him.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“I’m going to miss you,” you admitted quietly. Geralt shifted and you sighed. “Would...would you mind going to fetch the healer? He and Lord Dorian will want to know I’m up.”
Geralt hesitated, and you sensed him teetering. You held your breath, wondering if he was going to say….whatever it was, holding him there.
Instead he rose to his feet. “Of course. Try to stay out of trouble until I get back.”
You felt your shoulders sag a bit in disappointment, but you forced a smirk onto your features. “I don’t get in trouble, I cause trouble for others.”
Geralt sighed but you caught repressed laughter in the faint shake of his shoulders. “I’m all too aware of the fact. Gods have mercy on the fool that you cause trouble for, because he’ll find none here.”
“Oh whatever,” you muttered, slowly laying back down. You ached and you were so tired your limbs felt like lead -- but you felt good.
Geralt paused in the doorway, looked back at you one last time. You forced a small smile, which he returned. “I’ll be right back.”
You nodded, watched him turn and disappear down the hall. You closed your eyes, hearing him speak to Jaskier. Geralt’s footsteps are quiet so you don’t hear him walking away, but you can feel the retreat of his presence as he gets farther and farther. You can also sense Jaskier coming closer, hesitating outside the door to your room.
You call out to him. “You can come in, Jaskier, just keep your voice down please. I’ve a bit of a headache.” You smile faintly, sensing his surprise.
“How did you know it was me?” he asks as he enters, sitting by your side. You smile wearily.
“The same way I knew about the assassin before anyone else. I’ve always kept it a secret, but after last night I feel like that’s a lost cause.”
“Are you a mage?” Jaskier asked curiously. You snorted.
“No, I’m not nearly so powerful. But I’ve been able to read thoughts since I was a child, and Geralt’s helped me hone my abilities in our time together so now I can properly utilize them.” You reach out, squeeze his hand gently. “I’m sorry for scaring you, last night.”
He holds your hand between both of his, sighing. “I thought you were going to die and Geralt was going to skin me alive.” He shuddered. “But you….you were incredible. I don’t know many who would have done what you did.”
You shrugged, uncomfortable with the admiration in his voice. “I only did what I felt was right.”
“And put yourself at risk doing so.”
“I….didn’t think of that,” you admitted. “I just….knew something bad would happen, and I had the power to prevent it. I couldn’t do nothing. Maybe who I was before would have stayed back and let it happen, but….that’s not me anymore.” You knew as you spoke that it was true. The scared girl Geralt first met in the village would have been too terrified of exposure to put herself at risk to save another like that, but you’d come a long way since then. “How is the Lord Dorian?” you asked, hoping to change the subject.
Jaskier smiled wryly. “Eager to see you. Were he not already engaged I believe he’d be asking for your hand. He’s desperately hoping you’re going to accept his offer. …. Are you?”
“I am,” you confirmed, nodding. “I think it’s the best I can do for myself right now.”
Jaskier gave you a rueful smile. “I suppose you came to a decision regarding Geralt, then.”
Your wistful smile matched Jaskier’s. “It was more his decision, but I’m not going to push him for something he doesn’t want. My mother told me that if you love something, you have to let it go. I….have to let him go. But I’m not giving up hope,” you added. “His work takes him all over -- perhaps it will bring him back to me some day. If it does, then I was right and I’ll fight for him.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Jaskier asked quietly.
“Then destiny has different plans for us, and I will have to accept that.”
“You’re very mature for your age, Y/N. I hope Melitele smiles upon you.”
“Thank you, Jaskier.” You hesitated, reluctant to ask this next part. “Jaskier? Are you going to go with Geralt, when he leaves tomorrow?”
“I probably will,” Jaskier admitted. “It’s not unusual for us to share the road when our paths coincide. Why?”
“I’ll feel a bit better, knowing he has you with him, watching out for him. Both of you stay safe, alright?”
Jaskier laughed. “Geralt’s line of work tends to lead us in the opposite direction of safety, but we’ll try to stay alive and in one piece.”
You could sense Lord Dorian approaching, so you sat up and kissed Jaskier’s cheek. “Thank you, Jaskier. For everything. Do visit me, I want to stay in touch.” You smiled warmly.
“I will,” Jaskier promised. He kissed your hand that he still held before letting go and standing up. “Take care, Y/N.”
“And you, Jaskier.” You sat up as Jaskier slipped out the door. Lord Dorian stood in the doorway, watching you.
“Good to see you awake. Y/N, was it?” he asked.
You nodded. “Lord Dorian. I’m glad to see that you’re well.”
He smiled faintly. “May I come in? I’d like to speak with you, if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Of course.” You nodded and he stepped in, pulling the door mostly closed behind him but leaving it ajar. He took a seat by your side.
“How are you faring?” he asked, crossing an ankle over his knee and watching you. You lifted your non-injured shoulder and dropped it in a shrug.
“Sore, and a bit tired,” you admitted. “Much better, though. Thank you.”
“And have you given any thought to my offer? Will you stay and be an advisor in my court? I can’t help but believe you’d be an invaluable asset, and you’d want for nothing while in my service.” He offered you a smile, and you thought Jaskier was right -- you could sense his interest in you, and you were glad he was promised to another because you weren’t interested in fending off the advances of an infatuated nobleman.
You took a deep breath. “I have given it much thought, and I would be honored to accept. But in the interest of full disclosure, I feel pressed to tell you that I have….abilities.”
“Abilities?” Dorian echoed, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. It’s how I knew the assassin was after you, and how I was able to overpower him despite being smaller in stature.” Your heart pounded with anxiety, but Geralt was right -- you’d lived a lie in your village, and you couldn’t go back to being like that. You took a deep breath to fortify yourself, fists clenched around the sheet over your lap as you continued. “Since I was a girl, I’ve been able to sense thoughts and emotions of others. Lately I’ve been getting stronger, honing my abilities, and that’s what allowed me to stop the assassin.” You forced yourself to meet Dorian’s gaze, relieved when you found no outrage or revulsion there. “I hope this won’t change your opinion.”
“Quite the contrary, actually. This only makes me more convinced that you’ll do much good at my side. I’ll have you for as long as you’ll stay.”
You managed a small smile. “Then I suppose I’ll be here for the foreseeable future.”
Dorian grinned and leaned towards you. You pulled back slightly, sensing his intentions -- he paused, squeezed your hand instead. “I’m pleased to hear it. My servants will prepare a room for you at the manor at once, and we’ll get you settled right away.”
His touch set your skin buzzing and you felt his interest curling through him and reaching for you; gentle, wanting, but not a desire you returned. You gently withdrew your hand, smile now forced. “Thank you, my lord. I’d like to rest a bit more now, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. I’ll return to check on you tonight.” Dorian stood, but paused in the doorway when you called for him.
“Dorian? Thank you,” you told him. He looked at you, warm and fond, and if your heart had been yours to give, you thought perhaps things might have blossomed between you after all.
“Not at all. It is I who should thank you. Rest easy, my lady, and I’ll see you this evening.” He gave you a little bow and retreated.
You sighed, resting your head in your hands and closing your eyes. You hadn’t been awake for very long, but you were exhausted. Sitting alone in the quiet it was easy to slip back under.
**~*~*~*~**
You drifted as the day passed, dozing on and off as the healer monitored you and kept people from bothering you as you rested. You appreciated it -- you feared too many people right now, when your head was still tender from last night and your defenses weakened, would only worsen the headache your medicine was making an effort to stave off.
After watching you get down an easy supper of soup and bread, and one last check of your vitals, the healer declared you fit to leave, so long as you took it easy.
You promised with a smile, sliding gingerly to your feet. When you stepped into the hall Geralt and Dorian were having some sort of intense staring contest. Dorian’s shoulders were tense, his jaw set; Geralt appeared at ease, only mildly interested, but you could sense the undercurrent of irritation he was keeping hidden behind that neutral mask.
You cleared your throat quietly and both men looked at you sharply. “Since you’re on your feet, I take it that means you’ve been deemed fit to leave?” Dorian asked with a hopeful smile.
You nodded, glancing curiously at Geralt but he shook his head minutely, gaze still locked on Dorian. Deciding not to press for now, you looked back at Dorian with a small smile of your own. “I’ve been instructed to take it easy for another day or so, but he said I can go if I wish.”
Dorian clapped. “Wonderful! I’ve already got a room at the manor set up for you, let’s go get you settled.” He turned and walked away, clearly assuming you would follow. You glanced at Geralt, but he only inclined his head with an arch of his eyebrow. You hesitated only a moment before giving Geralt a small smile.
“Come see me in the morning, before you leave. Please.” You turned on your heel and went after Dorian before Geralt could respond, but you felt his gaze on you as you went, making the back of your neck prickle. You smiled to yourself and resisted the urge to look back.
**~*~*~*~**
The manor was splendid, and Dorian was a gracious host. Jaskier had already had the clothes he’d purchased for you brought over and put in the closet, and your room was spacious and had a gorgeous vanity and a claw-footed porcelain bathing tub that was obscenely decadent. You traced your fingers along the lip of the tub as you walked past, smiling to yourself.
Far more lavish quarters than you were accustomed to, but you supposed it would do.
You met Jarom and Sesilia, the servants who attended the manor and they were quick to assure you they’d be happy to help should you need anything. You realized they were grateful to you for saving Dorian -- he treated them well, better than the other lords who might have inherited this home (and them with it) would have if Dorian had died. The thought made you warm and you squeezed the Sesilia’s hands.
“If you need anything, even just to talk, my door will always be open. Promise me you’ll come to me,” you asked her.
She looked at you with wide eyes. “Yes, my lady.” She did a little curtsy and you laughed gently.
“Just Y/N is fine. And what would you prefer me to call you, Sesilia?” you asked.
“Oh no, you’re a lady of the house, we must address you properly, it’s only right! And you can call me whatever pleases you, but--”
“But she prefers Sesi,” Jarom interrupted with a quiet, private smile.
You felt a grin break across your features as Sesi ducked her head. “I think we’re going to be friends. But for now, I’m tired and would like to retire to my chambers.”
“Of course, my lady! Have a good night, pleasant dreams!” Sesi smiled warmly and Jarom gave you a smooth bow before walking away with her. You smiled, watching them bend their heads together to talk, before turning to go up the stairs to your room.
As you went through your nightly routine preparing for bed, you couldn’t help thinking that maybe you could really be happy here after all. It left a smile on your face as you laid down for bed.
**~*~*~*~*~**
A gentle presence nudging around the edge of your conscious, like a cat seeking attention by butting its head against your leg, stirred you from sleep. Even drowsy, you recognized the presence.
Good morning, you told Geralt.
A pause, as though you’d surprised him. Good morning.
His response rippled gently through your subconscious, but it was….muted. Dim, as though he were talking to you from the other side of a wall. He was holding back, and it made you ache a bit but you supposed it was for the best. He was leaving today, after all. Best to make it a clean break.
No dreams? he asked you, drawing your focus away from your musings.
I had dreams….earlier. Good dreams, I think, but I can’t quite recall. Why do you ask?
I just found it odd that you sensed me so easily.
Heightened sensitivity due to being so familiar with you, I think. As you responded you were rising from your bed and padding over to the window, the floor cold under your bare feet. You pushed the window open and leaned your arms on the sill, looking straight down where Geralt lingered near the wall in the shadows with a smile. “Hi.”
Geralt looked up when you spoke. His amber gaze was neutral, guarded. “How did you know I was here?”
“I felt you,” you replied quietly. “Stay there, I’ll come to you.” You slipped back inside, barely catching his grunt before you pulled the window shut again.
The sun was just barely rising, painting the sky beautiful shades of pink and orange as it climbed past the horizon slowly and allowing dim early morning light to slip into your room as you slipped on a pair of shoes and pulled Geralt’s cloak over your sleeping clothes.
Slipping down the stairs and out the back door was an easy feat. You pulled the cloak tighter around you as you stepped into the chilly morning air, staying close to the side of the house as you walked round to meet Geralt. He met you at the corner and you smiled softly.
"Join me for a walk? The garden is lovely. I'd just like to clear the air between us," you added when Geralt hesitated.
He grunted and you took it for assention. You turned and walked through the yards towards the garden. You couldn't hear him, but when you glanced back he was there, silent as a phantom but his presence was warm and soothing. You smiled and fell back so you walked next to him into the garden.
You wandered the path in comfortable silence as Geralt slowly relaxed, tension gradually leaving his shoulders. When you glanced at him from the corner of your eye you saw the leather tie you'd given him holding his hair and something warm unfurled in you.
You could sense him teetering, and you gave him time. Words weren't his strong suit so you let him say or not say whatever was on his mind.
Finally he took a deep breath and exhaled it in a short, sharp sigh. "I don't know what to say to you," he admitted when you glanced at him curiously.
Your chest ached but you gave him a small smile. "I know you're a man of few words. It's okay." You paused and caught his wrist so he came to a stop by you. Your fingers curled gently around his wrist and you gazed steadily into his shining amber eyes. "You're going to leave soon, and I want us to part on good terms. So say whatever it is that will give you peace, or say nothing at all if there are no words plaguing you."
He sighed again but there was a hint of a smile on his face now, more in the softening warmth of his eyes than with his actual mouth. "You really are something else, you know that?"
"So I've been told," you agreed. Suddenly you stepped in close, sliding your arms around him and resting your head on his chest.
He froze as you hugged him, going stiff. His hands hovered uncertainly in the air, but you just held onto him gently. "Y/N?" he asked in a slightly strained voice. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to giggle at the panic he was trying to quell; no one else would have sensed it, but you knew him more intimately than most, he'd have a harder time hiding it from you.
"It's a hug, Geralt. We're friends." You leaned back slightly without dropping your arms, looking up at him with a small smile. "Friends hug. Relax, you won't break me if you hug back," you teased him.
He huffed, but his arms slowly encircled you, barely squeezing. Gods, he was strong, but he was always so careful about keeping that strength in check with you. It made you feel warm inside.
He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to yours. You closed your eyes as well when the contact made your mind buzz, your nerves lighting up with awareness of him. But the shared space between you was quiet, a warm resting place where the two of you just basked in each other's presence, like a sunlit meadow.
Your mind drifted, thinking of Geralt, of his quiet laughter and the secret smiles he kept hidden in his eyes; of your time together and the companionship that had blossomed between the two of you. And you thought of Dorian, warm and gentle and soft; he seemed kind and generous, from the brief interactions you’d had with him. And as you thought of them you saw two paths for yourself, past and present twisting and crossing over each other, one last chance to turn back and choose another path.
Taking a deep breath, you allowed yourself one last lingering glimpse of the past and the future it could have offered before withdrawing, mentally and physically. In the near-oppressive silence, Geralt's arms still around you were grounding and reassuring. Amber eyes opened to meet yours and you smiled at him gently.
"I'm glad to have met you, Geralt of Rivia," you told him softly. His arms briefly tightened around you before dropping.
"I should get going." He hesitated. "I don't like saying goodbye."
"Don't say it, then. Just….maybe tell me you're happy to have met me, too?" you asked hopefully. You were friends, you knew he was closer to you than most, but the reassurance would still be nice.
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the ground at your feet. You almost thought you detected a faint blush. You barely caught his muttered "of course I am", but it made you grin nonetheless. He may be reserved and gruff, but seeing him flustered was almost…..adorable.
"Be safe. Try to be, at least," you told him.
His eyes met yours one last time and he nodded. "Take care of yourself, Y/N," he told you. "Perhaps we'll meet again." He turned sharply on his heel, long legs carrying him swiftly out of the garden.
"I hope so," you whispered as he left. He paused, looked back at you over his shoulder -- and smiled.
A/N: Here it is! Late but only a day so not too bad. Huge, huge, huge thanks and love to the darling angel @stretchkingblog97 for being such a helpful beta and helping me get past my writer’s block.
Warnings: Angst, arguing, blood, canon-typical violence, death (This is a fun one, buckle up buttercups)
Word count: 5.4k holy crap I didn’t realize it was that long oh my god no wonder it took me so long
The days pass in a similar fashion. You and Geralt travel during the day, mostly silent. And at night you train, and then meditate.
And you slowly learn more about Geralt of Rivia.
You learn that he has suffered much, as you delve into his memories and experience his pain (which you always claim not to remember afterwards, the idea of you knowing those things seems to worry him).
You learn that he has a love of knowledge, seeing the various studies he's undertaken and occasionally waking up to find him sitting up with his back against a tree, reading books of lore.
You learn that he keeps a journal. Mostly documenting the creatures he encounters and the jobs he undertakes. His writing is efficient and a bit blocky, and when he writes his brow furrows in deep thought. There were even a few herbs and flowers pressed within the pages, a few illustrations scattered among the text.
You learn that he talks to his horse, and it makes you smile a bit sadly to think he is so lonely that he speaks to Roach to fill the silence he often finds himself in. (You also learn that he likes animals in general, but most other than Roach are too wary to come near him. It makes him more sad than he wants to let on.)
You learn that his senses are sharper than yours, and his nose is particularly sensitive.
You learn that he's a light sleeper, rarely relaxing beyond a light dozing state.
You learn that, under his gruff exterior, he is gentle, his heart guarded because he has been wounded in the past, but it hasn't hardened him as much as he claims it has.
You learn that night is his favorite time of day because everything slows and settles into near-stillness, and moonlight is less harsh to his sensitive eyes than the sun.
You learn that his hair is surprisingly fine and that he prefers to wear it down, but mostly ties it back because it's more practical.
You begin to understand his body language, the minute shifts in his expression and the subtle tensing or relaxing of his muscles.
You wonder what he learns from you in your time together that you didn't mean to share.
And as you learn these things and improve under his tutelage, you notice changes in his behavior. Nothing major, as though he's trying to avoid having you notice and make a big deal of it.
He picks up that the isolation gets to you, and he keeps his defenses low. Not so low you can read him as easily as a human, but lowered enough that you catch the occasional stray thought from him, can sense him easier, and it eases the lonely ache you were just getting accustomed to.
He lays down closer to you when the two of you retire to rest for the night, close enough you can feel the heat radiating from his body. (He quietly marvels to himself that you don't shy away from him, and you pretend you aren't aware of his insecurity or the dark image he has of himself.)
He allows you to ride on Roach with him when he notices you slowing down. He refuses to take his cloak or knife back whenever you bring it up.
He makes sure to split food evenly with you, though you think he probably has a higher metabolism and needs it more than you do.
Showing kindness, in his own way. It leaves you with a feeling of quiet warmth. Sometimes you'll feel him watching you, when you're skinning a rabbit or polishing the knife he gave you or when you're meditating, and you sense...something.
His emotions are there, but they're muted, not as easy to read as a human's. But you sense....warmth in him, when he watches you. And interest. Like maybe he doesn't just tolerate you, he might even enjoy your presence.
Things between you become easy and time passes quickly, days blurring together in a pleasant haze of training and meditation and banter and travel.
The two of you fall into a routine, working together seamlessly as you move around each other, learning each other's habits and preferences without needing words.
It's nice, and you find yourself happy traveling the road with him as your companion.
**°~°~°~°**
You've been on the road for nearly two weeks when Geralt mentions stopping in the next town.
"Why there?" you wonder as you walk alongside Roach.
"Saw a flyer. Could be a job," he muttered. You hummed. "It's not a bad city," he added. You squinted up at him, catching a few stray thoughts and reading between the lines when he seems to be avoiding your gaze.
".....you mean to leave me there," you accuse. He shrugs one shoulder but his hands are curling into fists around Roach's reins.
"This was never meant to be a permanent solution," he says without looking at you. The words are like a knife to the gut but you've learned much from him, enough to hide your reaction so he can't detect a hint of your pain as he continues, "This isn't the kind of life you want to live, believe me. It's all I know but that's no reason for you to get involved in it. You could build a life for yourself--"
"I had a life," you object, tone snappish. You knew things wouldn't continue like this forever, but….you'd fallen into the routine of it, let yourself be distracted. Allowed yourself be deluded into thinking he enjoyed your company, think that he might've wanted…..
Now reality was slapping you in the face with the reminder that this was only ever a temporary arrangement and now it was coming to an end.
Geralt is quiet. "I know."
"You don't know! I had a life, I had savings and a future I was working towards--"
"You were living a lie in that village, hiding and afraid; it's not like you left behind much," he retorted.
His casual dismissal of your loss stung, and your temper snapped as all the grief and anger you'd been reining in boiled over as you snapped at him.
"I had a family, and a home! I didn't even get to say goodbye to my mother! You've never had those things so perhaps you can't understand the loss, but before you came along I had everything I needed and now I have nothing."
You regret the venomous words as soon as you spit them out, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.
Geralt is silent, and when you dare to look at him, his eyes are cold yellow like the winter sun. He says nothing, riding ahead, and you winced guiltily, letting him slip away. It was….best to give him space for now, you supposed.
You followed the road at your own pace until you came upon the promised town. You hesitated, but before you'd decided on a destination you spotted Geralt speaking to a man with light brown hair and dressed in bright blue silks. You approached timidly, wanting to apologize.
"Geralt?" you spoke meekly. Yellow and blue eyes turned to you.
"Oh-ho!" the brunet exclaimed cheerfully, eyes bright with curiosity. "Is this lovely maiden the reason you're so wound up, my dear friend? Geralt you sly dog--"
"Enough, Jaskier," Geralt interrupted with a growl.
"I--" You tried again but Geralt again interrupted brusquely.
"I've a job to attend to. Excuse me." He strode off and you worried your lip, watching him go.
"Don't take it personally. He's like that," Jaskier spoke cheerfully.
"You're….a friend of his?" you asked, turning to look at him.
"He'll deny it til he's blue in the face, but yes. Julian Alfred Pankratz at your service, but call me Jaskier." He offered you a bow and a warm smile. "And you are?"
"Y/N." Since he bowed, you curtsied clumsily. He didn't seem to mind.
"Well Y/N, how about this: accompany me for some food and drink, tell me how you know our dear Geralt, and I'll help you get some new clothes." You looked down at your clothes, tattered and worn from travel, and grimaced. Tried not to think about how your most presentable garment was Geralt's cloak tied around your shoulders.
"Deal," you agreed.
"Marvelous!" Jaskier proclaimed, and offered his arm. With a faint smile, you tucked your hand around his arm and followed him into town. As the afternoon wore on, you did your best to try and allow Jaskier to distract you from the sense of guilt sitting heavy in your stomach. He chattered away as he led you around town.
Being around so many people after weeks of just Geralt and Roach was….overwhelming. Your training with Geralt had sharpened your focus, but it had also put you more in tune with the information you received, more aware, and in this case it was making you hypersensitive. The collective hum of dozens of voices that had once been soothing was suddenly deafening and you winced.
You tried to focus on just Jaskier, hoping that would help, but it was a bit like staring at sunlight reflecting on the surface water, bright and lovely but a bit too much for the senses to comfortably take in. His thoughts flitted from one subject to the next like a hyperactive hummingbird and trying to follow his mental track was almost dizzying. You abruptly stopped walking as your head throbbed and your vision swam, sinking into a crouch in the middle of the street.
You dimly heard Jaskier calling your name, but it was lost in the cacophony.
Breathe, you told yourself. Don’t put all that training to waste. In, two, three, four…..
You breathed and centered yourself, as Geralt had taught you, fortifying your mental defenses. With each breath the noise grew quieter until you had managed to block out everyone else’s thoughts; the sense of vertigo gradually faded.
You became aware of a hand rubbing circles into your back and lifted your head to look at Jaskier sheepishly. He looked concerned. “Are you alright?”
You flushed light pink. “Fine,” you assured him, moving to get up. Jaskier slipped a hand under your arm, his other grasping yours to help you rise to your feet. You cast about for a plausible excuse and settled on, “I haven’t eaten yet today and I was feeling a bit light-headed.”
Jaskier’s concern faded into annoyance, muttering about damned Witchers, “so inconsiderate, can’t even remember basic needs people have” and you winced guiltily.
“It’s not his fault,” you protested. “We set out on the road early this morning and….and I said something I shouldn’t have, and I didn’t even realize how late in the day it had gotten until now.”
Jaskier tutted. “Well this just won’t do. I insist you let me buy you a meal, and perhaps a room for the night.”
Your stomach churned. You tried not to cringe. “Jaskier….”
The bard blushed when he realized what his words had implied and quickly raised his hands. “I didn’t mean--no. That’s not--I only meant, you should have a safe place to rest, and the good people of this town are quite generous to humble bards, so I’ve plenty of coin.”
You frowned at him. “That’s really not necessary….I don’t want to take your hard-earned coin.”
“At least let me buy you a meal,” Jaskier insisted, frowning. Sighing, you acquiesced, allowing him to lead you to the nearest tavern. But you gently extracted your arm from his grip, not really wanting the contact; it made it harder to keep barriers up between the two of you.
Jaskier eyed you curiously. “That cloak. Is it Geralt’s?” You felt your face flush.
“He lent it to me,” you muttered defensively. “Because I got cold at night. And...I didn’t really get a chance to bring anything else with me.” You hugged it around you like a security blanket.
“I see.” Jaskier raised an eyebrow, opening the door of the tavern for you. Noise and odor wafted out the door at you in a wave and you had to brace yourself, barely restraining from making a face as you went in. Jaskier’s entrance received raucous cheers and catcalls from the crowd and he beamed, lifting a hand in greeting as he walked alongside you. Uncomfortable, you raised your hood and went to sit at the bar.
“I’ll get something to eat and drink and be right back,” Jaskier told you as you perched on a seat. He flagged the barkeep. “Ensure my good friend’s every need is seen to, and put it on my tab,” he announced grandly. You hid your burning face behind a hand but you knew Jaskier was only trying to be kind. The barkeep came over to you, seeming amused.
“What’ll you have?” he asked you.
You pursed your lips. “A tankard of mead,” you decided. “And….some work, if you have it.”
The barkeep raised an eyebrow as he went about getting you your drink. “You want to work in my tavern?”
“I was a barmaid in my hometown,” you replied, thinking quick on your feet. “I’ve been taking a break to...travel a bit, but I think I’ve traveled enough and I ought to settle. Working here would be familiar.”
He pursed his lips, setting your drink in front of you. “I’ve no work for you here, but the innkeeper’s daughter eloped and left him all on his own. You’d do well to see him.”
You offered a grateful smile, taking a gulp of mead. It slid down your throat smooth as silk and soothed your nerves a bit. “I’ll bear that in mind. Thank you, good sir.”
He left you after that, and you enjoyed the relative peace as you sipped your mead slowly, savoring it.
Jaskier returned before you’d had a chance to enjoy the peace for long, carrying two steaming bowls of soup and grinning broadly. “Excellent news! I’ve been invited to perform at a ball being hosted by a duke tomorrow night.”
You smiled faintly, accepting the bowl from him. “That’s great, Jaskier.”
“And! My invitation is extended to include you.” You froze in the act of reaching for your spoon, looking at him with wide eyes. “I noticed you seemed to be in low spirits, and nothing is better for improving a sour mood than excellent wine, decadent food, and the company of handsome lords and lovely ladies.”
“Jaskier I don’t know…..”
“I know. Trust me, this will be a good distraction.”
“Maybe, but….” He touched your arm gently, eyes kind.
“He won’t be back. Not tonight, anyways,” he told you gently. You felt your cheeks flush. “You’re hoping he’ll come by the tavern after he’s finished, right? You’re probably correct, he usually wants a drink after a job. But I know the look he had on his face, he’ll be out all night at least and probably tomorrow too, venting his wrath with that monstrous sword of his.”
You felt exposed that Jaskier read you so easily, hunching your shoulders as you stared down into your soup. You sighed. “The things I said to him, Jaskier….”
“You can always apologize tomorrow. For tonight, let’s drown your sorrows and have some fun,” he said coaxingly with a charming grin. “We’ll get you clean and prettied up, and it will be grand.”
You sighed. “You aren’t going to take no for an answer, are you?”
“Unlikely,” he grinned. “Eat your soup so we can begin preparations.” You shook your head, but in spite of yourself you found yourself smiling as you took a sip of warm, hearty broth. It settled pleasantly in your stomach, filled you up and steadied you as Jaskier kept you company and chatted your ear off, fingers dancing over the strings of his lute in no particular melody that you could pick out. After he’d paid the barkeep, he practically dragged you out, obviously excited. His good mood was contagious and warmth spread through you as you allowed the happiness that radiated from him in waves to wash over you and sweep away your worries.
Jaskier insisted that you needed new clothes. You tried to protest but Jaskier pointed out that Geralt’s cloak was the most presentable thing you were wearing, and you had to admit he had a point.
And that’s how you found yourself in a dress shop, being measured by Arelie, a girl a few years younger than you, while Jaskier sat on a chair nearby debating with her about what colors would look best on you. She suggested black, but Jaskier shook his head.
“It’s a party, not a funeral. And black certainly would make a statement, but that’s not what we’re going for. We want elegance, simplicity, refinement. We want it to say “I’m gorgeous and I know it, so I don’t need to flaunt it”.” You watched Jaskier tap a finger against his chin in contemplation, bemused. All this seemed unnecessary, but it was entertaining to indulge his whims. “I’m thinking perhaps grey,” he declared. “Would you be so kind as to fetch a few options for Y/N to try on, dear?” Jaskier asked Arelie as she finished taking your measurements.
She smiled sweetly. “Of course. I’ll be back soon.”
“Is this really necessary, Jaskier?” you asked.
He gaped at you like you’d just sprouted a second head. “Of course it’s necessary! You must always dress your best when going to such events as this! Don’t you worry, I’m going to take care of everything.”
“That’s exactly what I was afraid of,” you sighed dramatically, smiling so he’d know you were teasing.
“You sound like Geralt,” Jaskier groaned. “He must have rubbed off on you during your travels together.”
You thought of the hours you’d spent with Geralt, the memories he’d unwittingly shared with you and all the instances you’d caught him suppressing a smile, the nights falling asleep in his company and waking up to his steady presence each morning. Your heart fluttered and your smile suddenly felt a bit forced. “I suppose.”
Jaskier’s eyes on you were suddenly sharp as they studied your face, but Arelie came back before he had a chance to say anything, a few dresses in tow. “I’ll help you try these on, see if you like them. Come behind the changing screen with me,” she told you. You obediently followed her, eager to avoid Jaskier’s questions. You took Geralt’s cloak off reluctantly and Arelie draped it over the top of the screen before helping you out of your tattered dress, worn from weeks of travel.
“What exactly is your relationship with Geralt, Y/N?” Jaskier asked. You could sense him nearby, he was leaning against the wall opposite the changing screen, arms loosely crossed. You sighed; of course he couldn’t leave it be.
“It’s….complicated,” you replied evasively. Arelie helped you into the first dress, but it was far too snug as it clung to your hips and the neckline plunged too low for your comfort. You shook your head adamantly and Arelie only smiled and helped you back out of it, setting it aside.
“Can I ask what he is to you?” Jaskier asked after a moment. You almost tripped stepping out of the dress, quickly bracing your hand on the wall.
“Does it matter, Jaskier?” you asked a bit tersely. The questions were only a reminder of the fact that, whatever it was between you and Geralt, it was temporary and coming to an end, leaving you aching and melancholy.
“It does,” he replied, voice suddenly shrewd. “It matters, because Geralt matters to me. I can see that he’s dropped his guard enough to let you in, which is not something he does easily or lightly. So, I ask again: what is he to you?”
You sighed, allowed Arelie to guide you into another dress as you tried to gather your thoughts. She fastened the back of the dress one clasp at a time as you pondered the question. “Geralt is…..he’s….I don’t know,” you struggled. “Important,” you finally settled on, feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable, cheeks heating up. Jaskier was silent and you turned to Arelie with a question in your eyes. She studied the dress on you and shook her head. You sighed, how long was this going to take? But you turned back around so she could unfasten the dress.
“What do you want him to be?” Jaskier finally asked.
“Jaskier--” you groaned.
“I’m serious. I told you, Geralt doesn’t often let people in, not unless he deems them worth his time. Which, I assure you, is not an easy bar to reach. So, you need to decide what you want from him, and if that’s worth pursuing.”
You were quiet, mulling over Jaskier’s words as Arelie helped you into yet another dress Arelie. “How will I know?” you asked, holding your hair out of her way as she zipped up the back.
“That, I can’t answer for you,” Jaskier hummed apologetically. “You’ll have to search your heart and discover it for yourself.”
You sighed, turned to Arelie. Her eyes were sparkling, hands clasped under her chin as she looked at you. “This one,” she nodded. You raised an eyebrow but she grabbed your hand, pulled you out from behind the screen and pulled you over to the mirror on the wall. Jaskier let out a soft whistle as he took in the sight of you.
“That looks lovely, Y/N,” he told you with a warm smile. “Absolutely stunning.” Arelie turned you to face the mirror, and as you met the reflection of your own eyes your jaw dropped.
You didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror. True, your hair was a bit ratty, and you had dark circles under your eyes. But still…
The fabric was soft against your skin, probably silk, certainly more expensive than your own homespun dresses. It clung to your skin, bringing out the curve of your waist and hips. The fabric, a pale grey it almost shines in the dim light, clings to your skin and brings out the curve of your waist and hips. The long skirt was slit midway up your thigh, exposing a fair bit of leg when you moved or stood a certain way. The bodice, though, was truly the most breathtaking part.
Sleeveless with thin straps that displayed your shoulders and met to wrap around your throat like a collar, you had a hard time believing the amount of detail on the bodice, intricate lace in a swirling pattern, an exquisite design that drew the eye to the way the dress emphasized your chest flatteringly without showing off any cleavage. Your breath caught quietly as you stared at yourself, trying to reconcile the girl in the mirror with yourself.
She looked….elegant, poised, refined. Her shoulders were set proudly, her posture upright with confidence.
She was someone you could see standing at Geralt’s side and looking like she belonged there. Your heart thudded painfully in your ribs as you looked at Jaskier, eyes a little misty. He smiled warmly. “That’s the one,” he said. You could only nod, a lump in your throat making it hard to speak. Jaskier paid for the dress and Arelie handed you a carry sack. You looked at her quizzically, you thought you were only getting the one dress. Jaskier cleared his throat and you looked at him. He smiled sheepishly. “You mentioned that you didn’t bring anything with you when you embarked on your journey with Geralt, so I thought you could use some day clothes as well. It’s all taken care of.”
“Jaskier, this….this is too much,” you shook your head. He waved off your concerns with a vague sweep of his hand.
“Think nothing of it. We’ve only a few hours left before it’s time, and we still need to get ready. Best be off,” he declared. You took the dress from Arelie, thanked her warmly before following after Jaskier.
**°~°~°~°**
After Jaskier paid for you to have a bath at the inn and convinced you a bit of makeup couldn’t hurt, you really didn’t recognize yourself. Smoky eyeshadow that made your e/c irises pop, lips painted with a warm nude that made them look shiny and plump, rouge giving your cheeks a healthy flush. You stared at yourself as you worked a comb through your hair, detangling all the knots before pulling back into a simple plait that you tied off with a bit of silver ribbon you’d scrounged up.
You had to give it to Jaskier, he was right: already, you were feeling better. Clean, warm, fed, it had done wonders to relax and distract you. When his knock came at the door, you were smiling softly.
“You look very handsome,” you told him. He was wearing a violet doublet with gold embroidery over a white shirt with long sleeves that clung to his slender arms, and simple brown trousers. He flushed and grinned at you.
“And you are positively radiant. You clean up quite nicely, Y/N.” You flushed, rubbing your arm self-consciously.
“I’ve rarely had occasion to do so,” you admitted.
“Then this was most needed indeed,” he insisted, offering you his arm with a grin. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’m going to be, I suppose,” you replied, taking his arm and tucking your other hand over it so you held the crook of his elbow gently. He led you out, keeping your spirits high with lively chatter and grandiose claims about his plans for the night. You listened indulgently as you followed him into the lavish manor where the party was being held. It was already in full swing, loud and cheerful and raucous. You found yourself smiling and Jaskier squeezed your arm.
“This was a good idea,” you admitted.
Jaskier’s eyes gleamed. “Do me a favor, and tell that to Geralt when we next see him. He doesn’t believe I have those.” You laughed and grabbed a glass of wine from a passing server.
Jaskier stayed with you for as long as he was able, but he was being paid to perform so he was inevitably drawn away. You didn’t know anyone else so you avoided mingling, opting to sit at a table and people-watch instead, tentatively opening yourself up to the cacophony of the party. Not dropping your walls completely, but just enough to let the general buzz of the party wash through you and over you, hearing the thoughts but not being absorbed by them, staying firmly grounded in your own head.
You were sipping from a cup of wine and watching Jaskier flirt with the buxom flutist accompanying him when you heard it.
The time has come.
You frowned and straightened up a bit. Something about that thought made you uneasy; it was dark, carried nasty feelings when you prodded at it more closely. Slowly you followed that thread of thought and burrowed deeper. The man you traced it back to had defenses, but you’d been practicing with Geralt; they were easy to dismantle and then his thoughts were yours to dig through. You caught a series of images, coin exchanging hands and the flash of daggers, bitter jealousy and rage, and you sensed the man’s intent: he was there to assassinate Lord Dorian, the host of the party.
You gasped and leapt to your feet, ignoring the spilled cup of wine you left behind as you started running. You stumbled in your damned heels, kicked them off, ran barefoot up to Jaskier, grabbing his arm and interrupting him mid-song. “My cloak - where is it?” you demanded.
He looked at you with wide eyes. “Y/N? What is it--”
“There’s no time!” you cried. You dug through Jaskier’s memories to see where he’d stowed your cloak and then you were off again - you couldn’t hesitate, the assassin was preparing to act and you didn’t have long.
You found your cloak safely stowed with Jaskier’s lute case. You reached up the sleeve, grabbed your knife, and cast about, trying to locate the assassin with your mind again. The cacophony of the party kept him hidden. You swore, shut your eyes, and went to find Lord Dorian instead. He was easily located, and your eyes darted about as you moved through the throng towards him.
There. A handsome man, a few years your elder, watching Lord Dorian as he moved with intent through the crowd. Your heart raced and you quickened your pace, elbowing people out of your way. The assassin drew his blade and there were a few cries of alarm as he raised his arm, poised to strike.
Stop! You flung the thought at him right before you tackled him,making him freeze just long enough for your body to collide with his and send you both sprawling. The two of you tussled; he was stronger physically, but you rained mental blow after blow down on him, slowing his reflexes and preventing him from gaining the upper hand. He was strong, mentally, but you were stronger and you weren’t going to let him win.
He rolled so he was on top of you and tried to bring his blade down over your heart. You swiftly brought up your own knife to parry the blow, the clang of metal ringing in your ears. He growled.
“This doesn’t concern you,” he hissed. He buried his blade in your shoulder before you could block the blow, and you cried out as he twisted it viciously. Tears of pain stung your eyes but you gritted your teeth. You thought of Geralt - Geralt who had withstood so much worse, whose memories you’d seen and experienced in agonizing detail, and the thought steadied you.
“Fuck you,” you spat back. Your knee slammed into his groin and when he doubled over in pain, you acted while he was still stunned, bringing the knife up and shoving it into his throat up to the hilt. You felt nausea twist your stomach as blood spurted from the wound and burbled out of his mouth. He collapsed on top of you, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs and dislodging his knife from your shoulder. You hissed in pain as it sliced your shoulder open.
You panted, a few tears spilling from the corners of your eyes into your hair as the impact of what you’d just done hit you. You started to hyperventilate and struggled, squirming out from underneath the assassin and scrambling away on your hands and knees, too shaky to rise to your feet.
His blood stained your face, your dress was ruined, and you were going to be sick. You heaved once, twice, but nothing came up, your stomach just spasmed painfully as you silently cried. Your ears were ringing but a pair of polished, shining black boots entered your view. You tearfully looked up into the face of Lord Dorian. He offered you a hand, and you took it, sniffling but allowing him to pull you gently to your feet. He steadied you with a hand under your arm.
“You saved my life,” he marveled. He looked pale and you could hardly blame him. You were still trembling. “What’s your name?”
“Y/N,” you whispered.
“Such a feat cannot go unrewarded,” he announced, voice carrying across the room. As the ringing in your ears faded, you realized the music had stopped, the only noise the hushed, anxious whispers of the onlookers.
Reward. The word echoed in your head and you swallowed hard. He wanted to reward you for killing someone. “I...I want no reward,” you forced out. Were your teeth chattering? You weren’t sure, but the edges of your vision were going a bit dim, that couldn’t be a good sign.
“If you will not ask for a reward, then I will honor you myself. How would you like a place in my court?” Lord Dorian offered, his hand squeezing your arm gently.
Your head was reeling. This was all too much, you could hear and sense and feel too much, all the control you’d learned shattered so the thoughts of everyone in the room beat at you like a battering ram.
You heard Jaskier crying your name as you collapsed, everything going dim around you.
You'd forgotten how good it could be, opening up like this. Not having to constantly hide and shield yourself. Geralt's mind still joined with yours, humming like a pleased cat as his fingertips traced the dip of your spine.
But nothing lasts forever. Before long your thoughts turned wistful, and you could sense him withdrawing.
With a quiet sigh, you sat up, wincing a bit. His hand on your waist made you pause.
Thoughts passed between the two of you swifter than you were able to process, a jumbled mess of StayYou'llonlyleavemecomemorningAllthemorereasontoenjoytonight and without actually planning to, you found yourself laying down on your side, facing him.
Your acquiescence got a flicker of surprise followed by a pleased hum, though he kept his face neutral. Reaching out, you swept a strand of hair back from his face.
"What is this?" you whispered, not wanting to disturb the peace but needing an answer.
"I don't know," Geralt admitted. You could sense what he was thinking, but you waited for his words regardless as he sorted through his own thoughts. "Does it matter?" he finally asked, catching your hand in his own and holding it to his chest.
You swallowed hard. "It does. It matters to me." You matter to me, you thought but didn't say. You saw when he caught the tendril of thought, face softening ever so slightly.
"It matters," he affirmed, squeezing your hand. "But…"
"But in the morning, you'll get your coin for finishing your job, and then you'll leave." The words made you ache, but he didn't deny them.
"I'll come back," he promised instead.
"When?"
"Whenever I'm able. Will that be enough?" Can we make this work?
The ache inside you didn't lessen, you still felt the loss of knowing you couldn't keep him here. But you knew this wasn't his place, wouldn't keep him here and miserable for your own selfish wants. You tried to project as much to him and felt his responding gratitude.
"Thank you," you murmured suddenly, finally allowing yourself to meet Geralt's gaze.
"Hm?" His eyes flicked up to yours, reflecting the flames with an eerie golden tone that made him seem...otherworldly. Your heart skipped a beat but you responded steadily.
"Your cloak. I just....thank you." You cleared your throat, cheeks warming slightly. He gazed at you silently for a long minute. This time he was the first to look away, shrugging dismissively. You hesitantly added, "It was….kind of you." He didn't respond and didn't seem to plan to anytime soon. But the set of his shoulders had loosened a bit. Smiling faintly, you finished preparing the deer.
When that was done, you felt too restless to sit still, so you packed up the campsite. You fidgeted with Geralt's cloak before carefully folding it over your arm and going to return them to him.
"Keep them," he muttered as you approached.He barely spared you a glance, his voice gruff. "You'll probably need them more than I do."
"But--"
"If it comes to needing weapons, I prefer my sword. And I've coin to replace a cloak." He finally looked at you, raising an eyebrow. You fell silent, pursing your lips. He made a fair point -- in your hasty departure, you hadn't gathered provisions. All your savings from working in the tavern were stowed away at home (you fervently hoped your mother would find it and put good use to it).
Thoughts of your mother shattered the peace you'd felt, and you felt your fingers fisting the material of the cloak.
"I'm going to go fill up your waterskin," you announced abruptly, turning away from Geralt. You snatched up said waterskin and moved quickly in the direction you hoped the stream was.
Melitele was kind and after a few minutes of searching, you found a stream. Kneeling in the grass, you dipped the waterskin under the surface so it would feel. The cool water felt warm against your skin, which gave you an idea.
Once the waterskin was filled you capped it and set it to the side. Then you dipped your hands under the surface and cupped them, lifting the water to splash your face gently. It felt soothing, and you sighed pleasantly as a few drops traced down your throat.
Geralt had followed you. He was good, you gave him that, silent as a specter. But you could sense him, the power of his magic like the brush of a feather against your skin, light and tingling. You spoke without turning or opening your eyes. "I know you're there."
A pause, and you thought maybe you'd managed to surprise him. "All manner of beasts lurk in the woods. It seemed prudent."
"And that's the only reason you followed me?" you asked. You finally turned to face him, so he could see in your face (hopefully) that you weren't angry with him.
Something intense brewed behind his eyes as they fixed on you, but he was guarded and you were too tired to figure out what.
He paused again. Seemed to consider and reconsider his words. You waited patiently and he finally huffed, voice brusque. "You seemed a bit of a flight risk, and it's often safer to travel in company. I wanted to make sure you weren't going to do something.....reckless."
A smile tugged at your lips, and you knew it wasn't a happy expression. "Where would I go?"
He only shrugged, evidently not having thought that far.
“Open your eyes,” his gravelly voice commands. I know you can hear me, he adds silently.
I’m trying, you respond.
“She’s under heavy sedation and recovering from severe blood loss, she needs to rest. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the healer spoke firmly. You admired his mettle, unwavering as Geralt fixed hawkish eyes on him.
“How severe are her injuries?” Geralt demanded. His attention was focused on the healer, but you were certain he was aware of you brushing over his thoughts. Why he allowed it, you weren’t sure, but you were grateful nonetheless. You could sense the itch in his fingers to inspect you himself for injuries, but he was restraining himself, not wanting to cause further pain or damage while he was unsure of the extent of the harm you’d taken.
“She hit her head when she collapsed and has a sizable lump, and she lost a dangerous amount of blood from multiple lacerations from the would-be assassin’s knife, along with a deeper stab wound in her shoulder. She’s being given the best care and medication, she’s not in any pain. She’ll wake up when she’s ready, but I must ask that you not disturb her.”
“I will stay here until she wakes.” Geralt’s tone left no room for argument as he sat at your bedside. The healer sighed and moved away and you felt Geralt’s attention shift onto you, demanding to know if his statements were accurate. A brief self-assessment allowed you to assure Geralt that no, you weren’t in pain, you just felt tired and...heavy. He relaxed and prodded at your memories, wanting to see what happened, and you granted him access; the fight was a blur in your mind but you felt Geralt’s pride at the way you’d stopped the attacker without being hurt worse as he watched your memories play out, sensed his understanding and respect when you refused the offered payment.
It shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did, but warmth trickled through you regardless.
I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, you thought at Geralt. He brushed the thought away dismissively.
You already had the potential in you, and it’s the control you’ve learned that allowed you to use your powers as such. I won’t take credit for your deeds.
I’m still grateful. And I’m sorry for what I said--
You don’t need to apologize.
I do, you insisted, Geralt, that’s no way to treat a friend. Whatever comes next, you are my friend, and you’ve done so much for me; I should not have been cruel to you. I know you’ve experienced loss, and you were there for me when I most needed someone, helped me in ways that no one else could have. I don’t want you to accept cruelty as the norm, because you deserve better. I’m sorry.
Geralt withdrew from you slightly, went quiet and reserved until you prodded at him gently, worried you’d said something wrong again. He stirred, his mind touching yours once more, but not as closely as before, more guarded. I….accept your apology.
Thank you. You felt like a heavy weight had slid off your shoulders, the shared space between your mind and Geralt’s felt light and warm to you, as though filled with sunlight. Do you know where you’ll go, after this?
Wherever there’s work for me, he replied. There’s always a monster in need of vanquising. And you? Are you going to stay, accept Lord Dorian’s offer?
I haven’t given it much thought. What would I do at court? you mused.
You’ve already done good here. You’d be an advisor, a confidante for the lords and ladies. No one could keep secrets from you, you’d be an invaluable asset, no doubt. You could do worse for yourself.
It took all the training Geralt had given you to hold back your thoughts so he wouldn’t see, but you recalled your weeks in Geralt’s company, the smiles and banter and quiet evenings shared together. You wistfully thought you could do better, thought that there could have been something with the two of you, could still be if you stayed by his side as you wanted to. But you could sense how relieved Geralt was that you’d found a place for yourself in this town, and he was still musing about the good you could do here; you had to agree with him, as an advisor you could help many people. If you lost what lingered between the two of you, at least you’d part ways on good terms.
Geralt touched your mind tentatively and you locked down your thoughts before he could see. Sorry, just...thinking.
Something the matter?
No, I’m fine. Just….considering. I think I am going to stay here. It’s better than being a maid at an inn, at least.
Good. That’s good. How are you feeling?
Better. You realized as you thought it that it was true. Your heart still ached with grief for what might have been, but you’d made your peace with the future that was laid out before you.
