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whitewolfandthefox · 2 years

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The Black Blade Chapter 5

Summary: One of the hardest things to do is to watch someone you love suffer. It’s even worse when that suffering comes at your own hands. The Witchers have a very difficult decision ahead of them, one that will change the course of the Continent. Series Masterlist Words: 3723 Warnings: Suicide, blood, death, injury. All story warnings. A/N. Holy crap, it’s been almost two years since I’ve updated this story. My apologies for disappearing off the face of the earth. My goal of posting slightly more was an epic fail. I finished my Bachelor of Education as well as got a full time job within months of each other, so I didn’t have time to breath, much less think. I hope to be back on a semi regular basis now! As per usual, huge thanks to my beta @thegodsneverwantedme

The Blood Moon

They call it the Blood Moon. It’s a month filled with heartbreak, death, and grief; brothers hunting sisters through the wilderness. Each time a Witcher returns to Kaer Morhen, he carries two swords with a medallion wrapped around them, a shroud of grief sitting over him. Funeral pyres become a common sight, the initiates tasked with ensuring there is enough wood available for one at a moment's notice.

Vesemir disappears into his office every time a hunting party returns, often bloodied and injured, occasionally missing a member. Those evenings are even more somber, two passings being mourned. Tonight is one of such evenings, Geralt joining his mentor with two glasses of ale.

“There was nothing you could have done, Vesemir,” Geralt says softly, trying to break the man out of his reverie. “We didn’t know that this would happen, and we still don’t know where it stems from.” “I know,” Vesemir sighs, sipping his ale. He looks out the window, not seeing the trees that surround the mountain on which Kaer Morhen is built. “I could have stopped this, right at the beginning.”

Geralt sits up in his chair, frowning at Vesemir. “What do you mean?”

“All those years ago, when they first wanted to try the Trials on Leto, they asked me first,” Vesemir starts. “They asked if I thought she would survive them, if I thought she would be strong enough to be a Witcher.”

He pauses, the silence stretching tight across the room. “I said yes.”

“You couldn’t have known, Vesemir,” Geralt protests. “You had no idea things would turn out this way. We all knew she would be fine, we were so proud of her.”

The silver haired Witcher stands and joins his mentor at the window. “Any of us could have said no, we could have stopped the experiments. But we didn’t. This is on all of us, if you want to place blame that far back.”

Vesemir stays silent, the minutes passing slowly. “She was mine though.”

Geralt shifts, the silence stretching as he waits for the older Witcher to speak.

“I should have protected her, I had a duty to protect her,” Vesemir sighs, running a hand over his face. “I should have known better. Especially once she came out different. She had different magic, her eyes were silver; that should have been the first sign things weren’t the same.”

“How were you to have known?” Geralt asks gently. “The magicians didn’t know, and they were the ones doing all of the experiments and the research. And besides, she was Leto, she was your Wolf, everyone wanted her to succeed. She was- is- all of ours.”

“I know, pup,” Vesemir uses the nickname he normally reserves for new, scared initiates. “But I still can’t help but feel responsible for what’s happened.”

The conversation dies off, Geralt having no response for the guilt that Vesemir shoulders, that they all shoulder. He stands in silence, watching out the window with his mentor as they grieve the loss of their sisters, the loss of their friends.

**~*~*~*~**

“Elliya!” Zane cries, trying to get the Witcher’s attention as she attacks a village. Can’t let her kill anymore than she has. Need to draw her away. He and Illja exchange glances, hardening their faces and their hearts as the woman turns to face them, a snarl on her face.

“Have you come to be enlightened?” Elliya asks, staring down at the two Witchers as she ignores the panicked villagers running away behind her. “Have you finally realized your true calling?”

“Elliya, please. This isn’t you,” Zane pleads, watching as Illja circles to the side to try and cut their sister off. “You’re ill, please let us help you.”

The Witchers are loath to kill their sisters, but realize it may be the only option. Still, they have to try to save them, to know that they are truly irredeemable before they are forced to kill one of their own. They flinch as they hear the maniacal laughter burst from their sister, madness flashing in her eyes.

“Help me?” Elliya asks with a sneer. “Help me? You can’t help me. You’re here to kill me, you’re here to kill my sisters. I’ve heard what you have been doing, Witchers.”

Zane’s heart falls at the words, pain lancing through his chest. “We want to help you,” he whispers. “We don’t know how. We can’t let you keep killing the humans, though. They don’t deserve what you’re doing.” “They’re murderers,” Elliya hisses, eyes alight with madness and rage. “They’re killing the earth, killing everything. They need to be eradicated.” “Why?” Zane pleads, trying to get through to his sister. “Why, though? Some are doing that, yes. But think of the others! Just yesterday, I saw a human helping a bird who had a broken wing.” “The minority,” Elliya scoffs. “The majority are killing this earth and everything on it, they need to die in order for everything else to survive.” She shifts her grip on her sword, prowling closer. “You fail to see the light, and for this, you must die.”

“Elliya, please,” Zane tries one more time, slowly lifting his sword as his sister shifts. “You don’t have to do this.

“I have no other choice,” Elliya’s voice goes flat before she launches herself at Zane and the other Witcher with him, going for the kill strike.

Zane dances backwards, hardening his heart for what he has to do next. Every sister who has come back to themself has begged us to kill them. We’re only doing what we must, there’s no way to help them. I wish there was.

The Witcher falls silent as he throws himself into the deadly dance, Illja trading off with him when they need a break. He cries out in pain as Elliya gets through his defences, a shallow cut along his bicep seeping through his sleeve as he takes a step back while Illja tries to get behind their sister.

Elliya falters as she hears Zane’s cry, guilt flashing through her eyes as her bitter lemon and cedar scent softens. “Zane?” she whispers, staring at the Witcher.

“It’s me,” Zane says softly, lowering his sword somewhat as recognition flashes in Elliya’s eyes. “It’s me, it’s your brother. I’m here.” “I- I- I don’t know what’s happening,” Elliya stammers, bringing a hand to her forehead as she screws her face up in pain. “Zane, what’s happening?” “It’s okay,” Zane soothes, slowly approaching his sister, heart aching as he sees pain on her face. “It’s okay, I’m right here. Let me help you, Elliya.”

Elliya stares at Zane, cocking her head as she seems to listen to something no one else can hear. The male Witcher continues to creep closer, keeping up a soothing stream of reassurance. Right as he gets within arms reach Elliya’s expression changes, her face going dead as rage and madness flares in her eyes. “Liar!” she hisses before gasping as Illja drives his sword through her chest from behind. Her golden eyes clear as he lowers her to the ground, Zane coming forward to cup her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” Zane whispers brokenly, tears trailing down his cheeks as Illja pulls his sword out and holds Elliya in his lap.

“Sleep, sister,” Illja rumbles sadly, arranging her so she’s laying comfortably as he holds her close. “We’ll stay with you. You can rest now.” “Thank you,” Elliya breathes, slowly going limp in her brother’s arms. “Thank you. Tell the others it’s not- it’s not- we don’t want…”

Zane leans forward, listening carefully to his sister’s words before letting out a sob as her eyes go glassy and she lets out a soft sigh. He bends over her as her head falls limp to the side, Illja curling around her body as he cries.

“We had to,” Zane whispers, holding tight to Illja as they mourn their sister. “We had to. She was suffering, she didn’t want to do this. We had to do this, Illja.” Illja nods, gripping Zane’s shoulder as he takes comfort in the fact that they were able to save Elliya, even though it was through death.

**~*~*~**

Ifera sits in a tree, watching as the Witchers prowl through the forest looking for her. Amateurs. She shakes her head as they bumble around, making all sorts of noise. How did they ever think they were going to catch me, much less a monster, if everyone can hear them coming from miles away?

She jumps down from her perch on the branch, listening to the soft whispers in her mind. I can see now, it’s all become so clear. The humans are a plague, they’re destroying our world. They hunt and kill and destroy, they need to be eradicated. Ifera prowls after the Witchers on silent feet, pulling her swords out as she follows. She follows them into a darker part, listening to the soft, sweet voice that whispers to her.

“Witchers,” she calls sweetly, nearly laughing as they spin to face her while their hands jump to their weapons. “Oh, you poor darlings. Did I sneak up on you and scare you?” “Ifera,” the dark haired Witcher calls to her, a pleading tone in his voice. “Please, let us help-”

Ifera cuts him off with a sharp gesture, shaking her head. “Don’t even start,” she growls softly. “I’ve heard what you’ve all been doing to our sisters. Hunting us down like cattle, killing us one by one. You’re not here to help, you’re here to kill me. Don’t try to pretend.” “It’s not like that,” the other Witcher pleads, blonde hair reflecting the sunlight. “We’re your family, Ifera, we don’t want to do this. But you can’t keep on like this.” “And why not?” Ifera prowls forward, letting her sword drag on the ground. “The humans are killing everything else. You’ve seen how the world has changed since they’ve grown so far.” Kill them all, take them out. Let us run free, where we don’t have to hide. There’s nothing good left in the humans, they destroy everything they touch.

The blonde Witcher falters, clearly at a loss for words from her question. “Ifana-” he starts, but she cuts him off as she leaps at him, sword raised. “Fuck off,” Ifera growls, sword bouncing off the Witcher’s as she pursues him. “You don’t understand, you’ll never understand. I have to do this.” “Why?” The dark haired Witcher demands, darting in to catch her sword when the blonde Witcher trips. She growls in frustration, just wanting to ignore the questions.

“Because,” Ifera cries, swiping randomly at the Witcher, Andrezj, her mind suddenly supplies, to try and get rid of his questions. She falters slightly as the name appears, taking a moment to recover. The whispers increase in intensity, sudden guilt warring with the chaotic rage that's a constant in her chest and she shakes herself, trying to rid the emotions.

Andrezj takes advantage of her momentary distraction, darting forward and landing a blow on her shoulder. Ifera lets out a yell of pain, the scent of copper filling the air as she leaps backwards and lets out a growl.

“You’ll pay for that,” she resumes her circling, switching hands on her sword as pain runs down her arm. “You won’t leave this place alive.” Andrezj and the blonde Witcher exchange glances but stay silent, Ifera letting out a growl of frustration at that. She jumps forwards, throwing herself back into the battle and stepping forward and stabbing at the blonde one's stomach. Her sword is knocked away before Andrezj steps in and she finds herself on the defensive, frustration continuing to grow. She can feel the blood dripping down her arm, the scent of copper mixing with the fear scent of rust in the air. She growls happily at the scent before startling as her heart rate increases, realizing the fear is coming from her. What?

Ifera’s eyes widen at the realization and she stumbles again, fatigue and pain dragging at her limbs. No, I won’t submit. They’re wrong, I’ve seen the light. Humans are a plague. Aren’t they? She gets lost in her thoughts again, the tip of her sword slowly drifting towards the ground. This is the right thing to do. It is. Memories of laughing and playing with her brothers, with Andrezj, suddenly burst into her mind from a long forgotten place, and she raises her eyes to see Andrezj and Viktor in front of her.

“Help,” the whisper falls from her lips, Ifera feeling her legs go out from under her. She doesn’t register the pain that jolts up her legs as she hits the ground, hands flying to her forehead as the whispers war with the memories flooding her mind. “It’s okay, Ifera, we’re both here,” she feels Viktor’s arms go around her, supporting her as she fights with herself. She leans heavily into him, his bright cedar and cinnamon scent filling her nose. My brothers. My brothers are here. They can help me. Oh gods, what have I done? I’m supposed to protect, not kill.

Ifera lets out a sob, looking up at Viktor with terrified eyes as the scent of her fear increases in strength. She clings to him weakly with one hand, feeling Andrezj bracket her other side as his ginger and cedar scent fills her nose.

“Please, kill me,” Ifera begs, feeling Viktor shush her and slowly rock her as he rumbles soothingly. “No, please, you don’t understand. I can’t fight it.” She feels the soothing rumble turn to one of concern, burnt caramel worry mixing with her brothers’ scents. “You can’t fight what, Ifera?”

“The voices, the presence, please,” Ifera can feel herself start to slip, the familiar feeling of darkness taking over. She writhes in Viktor’s arms, clinging to him before ripping herself out of his arms.

Andrezj lets out a startled shout as he’s knocked backwards, surprise turning to concern as Ifera grabs for her sword. She turns her gaze on them, a mixture of apology and madness flitting behind her eyes. She stands with her blade in hand, emotions draining away as she watches her brothers scramble for their swords.

“I’m sorry,” Ifera whispers as she raises her sword before turning the blade on herself, pain blooming as she opens her throat. She feels her knees go out again, the pain quickly turning to cold as she collapses to the ground. She doesn’t hit though, Andrezj catching her and pulling her into his arms as tears slide down his cheeks.

It’s okay. She tries to smile at him, raising a shaky hand to her brothers’ cheeks. She doesn’t notice the bloody fingerprints she leaves on their skin, eyes starting to fall shut as she grows tired. I did it for you. I did it to keep everyone safe. I’m so tired. I’m safe now, I don’t have to listen anymore. I won.

The last thing Ifera feels is a sense of satisfaction as the world starts to grow dark, her brothers’ scents in her nose. A warmth cradles her as she starts to go limp, listening to the soft cries from her Witchers before she feels no more.

**~*~*~**

Issori, Jaka, Iona, Charenthi, Fissa. Alek crosses the names off with a heavy heart, marking each funeral pyre that burns. “There’s so many names,” he whispers, staring at the list. “Too many,” Kamil agrees softly, closing his eyes from where he sits in his chair. “How many are left?” “Not many,” Alek replies, glancing at where Vesemir stands with his back to them, having stood motionless at the window since the council members gathered. “All of the parties are out, they should be back soon. We’ll burn our last pyres within the month, hopefully.” “We still don’t know what’s causing this?” Natan asks, looking around the room at the other senior Witchers. “No,” Kamil shakes his head, sighing softly. “Tissai and I have been over everything we can think of, all we know is that it’s connected to something with their magic. They embody the chaos, rather than harness it. Something happens when they do that, but no one else has used magic the way they do, so we can’t know for sure what is happening.”

“It will be over soon,” Alek nods, running a hand through his hair. “And we won’t put any more girls through the trials.” “We never should have in the first place,” Vesemir’s voice is low when he speaks, the Witcher not turning from the window. “I never should have let this happen.” “Vesemir, you couldn’t have known,” Natan says immediately, shaking his head. “We had no idea they would be any different than us, that this would happen.” “I should have seen it with Leto, when she changed,” Vesemir finally turns away from the window, looking at the other Witchers with pained eyes. “I raised her, I knew her. I knew she was different after the trials, after she learned her powers, and I didn’t intervene.” I never should have let her go through the Trials in the first place. Gods, what was I thinking? Our sisters’ deaths are all on my hands.

“She was following the Path, everyone changes,” Natan says gently. “You’ve seen what Witchers look like when they come back from their first few years, everyone changes regardless of male or female.”

“I knew her though,” Vesemir whispers. “I raised her, she was mine. I knew her better than anyone else, I should have known that something was wrong, more so than just being on the Path.” “No one could have known,” Alek says softly, not sure what else to say to help the guilt that is clear in Vesemir’s frame. “You couldn’t have known.” “It’s too late now,” Vesemir murmurs wearily, turning back to the window. “She’ll face the same fate as her sisters.” “You don’t have to be the one to go,” Natan says, reopening the weeks old debate. “She’s your daughter, Vesemir, you don’t have to do this. One of us will go.” “I trained her myself, it has to be me,” Vesemir shakes his head. “She won’t let anyone else close enough, I taught her too well.”

“At least let someone go with you,” Natan pushes. “Take Geralt, take someone. Don’t go alone.”

“Alright,” Vesemir gives in, knowing that he’ll be followed regardless of his decision. “I’ll take Geralt with me, but no one else. She won’t trust us if there’s others with us.” “Thank you,” Natan says softly, making a note to go speak with Geralt. “It’s better with two. Just in case.” We’ve lost too many already. We need our Chief to lead us through this. “I know,” Vesemir nods, settling his hands at his back as he watches the initiates train below. “I know.” The council takes the dismissal for what it is, slowly filing out of the room. Natan pauses for just a moment, glancing at Vesemir before going to find Geralt. He needs to go. Leto was Vesemir’s pride, it’s going to destroy him to have to kill her.

Natan finds the silver haired Witcher out on the ramparts, where he would often go as an initiate. “Vesemir is going to bring you with him,” he says softly, coming to lean his elbows on the stone as he stands next to the younger Witcher.

“I thought he would take me,” Geralt nods, continuing to look out over the Trail. “He won’t take anyone else.” “He wanted to go by himself initially,” Natan replies softly. “I don’t think he’ll come back if he does.” “He won’t,” Geralt shakes his head. “I’ll bring him back, keep an eye on him.” Natan nods at that, sighing under his breath. “I wish he’d let someone else go.” “Not with her,” Geralt murmurs. “He considers this whole thing his fault, our sisters. Leto was the first.” Still remember when she went through her Trials. We were so proud of our little sister. We all should have said something.

“I know,” Natan says, glancing at Geralt. “It’s not your fault either. No one could have known.” “No, but we’re the ones who didn’t see it sooner,” Geralt looks back at the strategic master, gaze serious. “This is on all of us.” “It is,” Natan nods in agreement, before looking back out at the surrounding area. “You make sure you come back as well. We all know you were close with Leto, almost as much as Vesemir.” Geralt smiles grimly at that, looking down at his scarred hands. “She was my little sister, before she was all of ours,” he murmurs, eyes glazing over with memories. “I remember when Vesemir came home with her, she was just a wee little thing.”

“She was,” Natan agrees softly. “She was little, but fierce. Drove us all up the wall, keeping her out of trouble.” “She got into the weapons room and sent everyone into a panic,” Geralt laughs sadly. “We always knew she would be good at this. She was one of the best.”

“Still is,” Natan murmurs. “Be careful, Geralt, okay. Make sure you both come home.” We can’t afford to lose anyone else.

“I will,” Geralt turns a sober gaze on Natan. “I’ll make sure he gets home.” He won’t be the one to kill her, if I can help it. That would destroy him, having to kill his daughter.

“I trust you,” Natan nods, offering the silver haired Witcher a warrior’s handshake before turning and leaving him in peace before he has to leave.

**~*~*~**

Geralt lashes the last few of his bags onto Roach’s saddle, sighing softly as he goes through his list one more time. He waits patiently for Vesemir, glancing at the gathered Witchers around him. Know they all want to come with us, to not have Vesemir have to do this. Vesemir slowly makes his way out of Kaer Morhen, looking straight ahead as he takes his reins from Geralt.

“Everything is packed?” he asks gruffly, mounting his horse.

“Yes, Chief,” Geralt nods, mounting Roach alongside his mentor. “We can go.” “Good,” Vesemir nods, urging his mount towards the gates and down the Path. I’m coming, Leto. I’m sorry, my Wolf. This is all my fault. He focuses on the journey ahead of him, staying silent as Geralt rides at his side in search of his daughter.

**~*~*~**

Witcher Tag List

@riviawitch3r / @scarlettwitcher / @ayamenimthiriel / @uncoolcloudyhead / @secretsthathauntus / @vintage-mind-young-body / @creamysacrilege / @hina-chans-stuff / @bastardfruitsandbasil / @shewritesinthethirdperson / @widowvinter / @unnamedmaincharacter / @thenocturnalsyren / @loudlycolorfulkryptonite / @whatawildone / @geraltmrwitcher / @psychosupernatural / @chickennooget69 / @just-antiyou / @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot / @onlyhenrys / @l-km07 / @iloveyouyen / @itsemmyb / @persephonehemingway / @summerartist4life / @thedragonsbirthgiver / @blackrockshooter780 / @lamnothome / @jade10077 / @dreaming-about-starfleet / @ginreagann17 / @xmother-mortemx / @logan-loves-bullfrogs / @sageandberries-png / @morelikebyesexual / @maan24 / @winchesterandpie / @my-secret-life-1 / @abbie-hp13 / @why-is-it-always-raining / @poisonous-widow / @vanxbi / @luvmeijii / @elsasshole / @fandomfanatic97 / @peyton-keating / @introvertedmouse / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @faewihngs / @ashleyl30 / @oce4ndepths / @heavenlysnowflake / @itsbebachan / @ab-haya / @alwayshave-faith / @witty-wallflower / @dogslednation / @randomasgardian21/ @disasteren / @theawkwardpedestrian / @nellaphine / @snapessecretdiary @circesgirl10 @kmuir1 @melemel1 @MHAJinx175 @thatbeautifulreward @victoriabauer619 @lightwoodandywifey @a-lil-bit-nuts @massivewitchfire @fictionalhooman @black-rose-29

The Black Blade Tag list:

@raspberrydreamclouds / @c-a-v-a-l-r-y / @wastingmypotential / @sweetandspiky / @queenxxxsupreme

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majesticwren · 2 years

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The Wolf and The Snake (Lambert!The Witcher Game x OC!She-Witcher) - MASTERPOST

Chapter 1 - Smile of The Wolf. Chapter 2 - Rotten Honour. Chapter 3 - Rattling Bones. Chapter 4 - Under My Skin.

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darklydeliciousdesires · 3 years

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Eye of the Storm - An Eskel/OC One Shot Story.

As promised, more Eskel filth has arrived! Picture not mine, merely found on Google. I wish I could draw that well!

Tag list - @breakmeaswitchson @madbaddic7ed @ruelf-emedam@brexfrix @ xxphoenixflyerxx @geekyweed @holyhumorliteraturelight @jinaaaannnnn @alliyjane @notso-fetch @zoe-rachel-crisp @glowien @tranquility-or-chaos @bucky-did-nothing-wrong @shileen91 @boiled-onionrings@helloitsmeaime203 @cheritzie @hm-fck @mary-ann84 @skylarmorgan1899 @alwayshave-faith @alliyjane @shyen18@shadesofarrogance @justjulie1105 @soulmatelove96@agniavateira @stormnightsong @xmother-mortemx @gamingaquarius @pansexualpancakeslife @ jesseswartzwelder @elixasays @ayamenimthiriel @winchwm @romanoffs-heart @sasusakubae @jennfisher @somethinginthewayiam @snowbellexx @ohjules @debonaire-princess @notyourtypicalrose @hell1129-blog @living-in-the-darkness @romantic-freya @agniavateira @speakerforthedead0-blog @radaofrivia @hcfavoritegal @justaboringadult @serenitybloodmoon @thethirstyarchive @somethinginthewayiam @omgkatinka @sweetybuzz25 @saintvirgo @bloodyinspiredfuck @sofiebstar @summersong69 @michellemybelles-world @always-singhal @kinbhot4henners @ocaptain-mycaptainmorgan @thealmightybitchgoddess @camilleisback @saltysharkeaglecowboy @stepheny-stoker @titaniafire @cliffsecord

“Well, there they are. If we cross that line, they’ll know about it and we’ll be in even more shit than we are currently. These bastard fucking creatures. How, in the name of all the gods can something so huge move so relatively silently?” Lambert hissed while gesturing to a row of lit torches on the boundary, sword aloft, poised as he listened carefully.

“Let’s worry about the sandworms first, the ladies of the Alyami later. As for their silence in motion, I have no idea, but you’re right. It does put us in the proverbial.” Eskel replied, turning his focus back to listening intently for the slightest noise. The ladies they spoke of, the Alyami tribe, did not take too kindly to those wandering upon their land. Well, to be truthful, if you were female, they had no issue, but if you happened to be male, you could expect an irate response.

Tiring of the centuries of oppression they had faced at the hands of their patriarchal tribe, being beaten and raped into submission by men who cared not for any notions of equality or tender treatment of their ladies, the women rose up against them, slaughtering every single male elder of the tribe before continuing by themselves.

They were famed throughout the Korath desert as a tribe only tolerant of men for what they could get from them; sexual gratification and offspring. Other than that, they served no other purpose to the Alyami, who it was also known often preferred lovers of their own gender anyway. Men truly were of little use.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them began to rumble, both dismounting their horses and shooing them away to a safe distance before the sand burst forth with an almighty roar, a giant sandworm erupting from beneath the ground.

Signs were thrown and swords wielded, the great beast slain with ease by the two witchers who’d been tracking it from the foot of Mount Anur. Two more then followed, a third exiting the ground and managing to encircle them, making their jobs infinitely tougher as they worked together in order to extricate themselves.

In doing so, of course in the melee they paid little attention to the direction the beasts were moving, neither noticing until two out of the three were slain that they’d been driven onto Alyami territory.

The monster they dealt with, the biggest of the four, was definitely the greater of two evils though, they thought, focusing instead on handing a grizzly demise to the creature rather than exiting the land they knew full well they were not welcome upon. So preoccupied they were by the beast, in fact, that they failed to immediately notice the tribe approaching.

Their sharp senses soon picked up on the fact they were no longer alone shortly after the giant worm had fallen, Eskel wrenching his sword from its head before whistling for his horse, the bay steel running back to his master’s call along with Lambert’s, both prime to make a quick getaway before...

“For fucks sake,” he groaned as they were surrounded, archers swiftly drawing arrows and pointing them right at their heads. He didn’t want to have to get into a fight with the ladies, but saw little option under the circumstances.

“You strayed onto our land,” one of the women barked, riding forward on her horse before dismounting.

“No shit. Inevitable really, considering what we’ve been fighting, you ignorant bitch,” Lambert spat while gesturing to the sandworm corpses, rude as ever.

“My queen,” she then called, a young, beautiful woman with long, curly brown hair riding forward, dismounting her horse and approaching Lambert, recoiling her fist to punch him straight in the jaw.

“I don’t like the tone you feel appropriate to address my chief guard with,” she snarled, the surly witcher taken aback while Eskel bit back a smile. Lambert’s rudeness was well known and quietly, he always wondered when someone would thump him for it.

“My tone aside, we did you a favour, woman!” Lambert raged, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the sand as he frowned at her, queen Vyla matching the darkened expression.

“You encroached upon our territory, is what you did. We could have dealt with the sandworms, we’ve hunted them successfully for years,” she began.

“Not that fucking size, you haven’t!” Lambert cut in.

“Silence, before one of my guards puts an arrow straight through your throat!” Vyla raged, raising her sword to his face.

“Ladies, if I could perhaps mediate between yourselves and my associate. We appreciate the stance your tribe takes where persons of our gender are concerned and we respect your wishes. We did not mean to enter your territory, but we can leave just as easily, without any need for bloodshed,” Eskel attempted to placate the tribeswomen with.

Vyla was halted in her reply when turning from focusing upon Lambert and looking at the slightly taller of the witchers properly for the first time, feeling her stomach flutter pleasantly. He certainly wasn’t hard on the eye.

He seemed to hum with a delectable aura, mingling perfectly with his good looks. His dark amber eyes sparkled as if embers illuminated them, chiselled cheekbones and a broad physique adding to the reason why her hormones suddenly went into overdrive.

He looked upon her just as appreciatively, turning to her with a smile. Seeing the crease of his pectoral muscle beneath the slightly unfastened shirt under his jerkin, she immediately imagined being pinned beneath that chest, the weight of him atop her, her womanhood pulsing pleasantly at the thought. She then realised she’d been silent for entirely too long.

“You will both...” she began, before Eskel suddenly cut in.

“Shhh,” he silenced her with, listening intently, his senses picking up on the same impending danger Lambert was also on high alert over. The women might have lived out there and known the desert better than either of them, but their hearing won out being a hundred times sharper. They could hear it coming. “Sandstorm. Whatever you intend on doing, you must decide quickly.”

Vyla hesitated for a moment, squinting into the darkness before her. “My queen, he tells the truth, me must make haste!” One of her riders called from her position atop her horse, standing in the stirrups and from her higher vantage point, able to see the sands in the middle distance beginning to swirl forebodingly.

“Back to camp, now. Keep your arrows on these two at all times! Let’s go!” Vyla shouted, just as the wind became audible to all around. They arrived within minutes at the vast camp located on the higher ground, large tents dotted around between the rocks. There was only one fixed structure, the large barn all the horses were speedily herded into, Eskel and Lambert’s steeds following along too.

“Take the mannerless brute with you, Thea. I’ll take this one to my tent.” Vyla told her chief guard, the tall blonde nodding before literally kicking Lambert into her tent and quickly sealing the flap, Vyla pushing Eskel within before doing the same just as the wind began to whirl dangerously.

Just like the wind outside, once within the tent the tension between Vyla and her captive could have been cut with a sword, thick lust building between them, the air seeming to crackle.

She viewed him with much favour while removing the dagger and hatchet from her large belt, Eskel shedding his swords and jerkin before walking over to her, grinning knowingly. “So, what does the queen of the Alyami seek to do with her prisoner now that she has him within the confines of her tent?” he asked, gesturing around.

“Take you to bed and ride you harder than I do my horse,” she revealed simply, grabbing him by the shirt and hauling him down to her level in order to bestow a headed kiss upon him.

“And here was me thinking your tribe preferred your own company,” he teased, raising an eyebrow, amused by her forwardness. He had to respect that she went after exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it.

“Women are wonderful for pleasure, make no mistake there, but gods, how I’ve craved a man. I haven’t had a cock inside me for years, save polished stone phalluses,” she gasped through heated kisses, all teeth and tongues as she literally tore his shirt open.

“Are you this friendly with all of those you take captive?” he murmured, Vyla springing off the floor to lock her legs around his waist.

“Only ones who happen to be well-built and handsome. A big cock helps too,” she admitted, kissing him hungrily again.

“Oh, I have one of those,” he revealed, chuckling at the way she pulled back and raised an eyebrow at him, delight spreading through her wide smile.

“I’m going to eat you alive.” He was in little doubt of that, carrying her to the bed to lay her down but then swiftly finding himself turned onto his back, Vyla’s mouth as his neck as she pressed herself into him and groaned, grinding against his erection. “You weren’t lying.” She deduced, rocking back and forth against the swollen mass at the front of his trousers.

“I never do.” He was content to lie there and let her have her way with him, unusual for him to submit to a woman’s demand, but in this case, he found it aggressively arousing, just how hungry she was for him. For that moment, he was prepared to allow her to take the lead.

She undressed him with the kind of enthusiasm he’d seldom encountered, unable to help but laugh when she finally rendered him naked and took in his erection. Her face was a picture. “That’s fucking huge. It’s as thick as my wrist!”

Any witty retort he might have given was lost when she ran her tongue up the underside of his wide shaft, the words instead turned into the kind of groan which made her insides sting with assiduous want. Her jaw twinged as she opened her mouth fully to allow him access, wondering just how the stretch of her wetness would feel when she finally sheathed him in her cunt.

Her eager mouth was hot around him, Eskel watching his cock disappearing between her lips as her head bobbed up and down, his thudding back onto the pillow, his voice turned to raspy gravel as he exclaimed a deep grit of pleasure, his hands lost in her tumbling, brown curls.

Arousal charged wildly through her groin, her undergarments becoming saturated with her want for the man whose cock she sucked on hungrily, Vyla unable to help herself as she began to grind back and forth over his knee, craving stimulation, she was so utterly pent up.

He raised an eyebrow as she ground herself against him, never experiencing a woman so utterly consumed that his leg was her chosen outlet, the heat of her cunt against his knee oddly satisfying, if only for imagining how she’d feel split around his cock.

She continued to suck on him deftly, her mouth keen and unrelenting as she moaned around him, watching his chest begin to rise and fall faster, her fingers seeking his dark nipples and pinching them in a series of pulses. Her nails then raked up and down over the bulky muscles of his chest, grinding against him more furiously.

The scent of her slick drove Eskel so out of his mind with arousal, he was unprepared to remain under her dominance, gripping her arms and throwing her onto her back beside him before covering her body with his.

To her credit, Vyla at least attempted to fight him, but to her chagrin found herself pinned under his grasp completely. The strength that held her fast, much greater than she’d ever experienced, was nothing short of aphrodisiacal though.

“And now to eat you alive.” Those words, delivered by the man with the ever deepening, fiery amber eyes, made her tighten so aggressively with want, she nearly came right there beneath him without ever being touched.

He tugged at her clothes with all the finesse and dexterity of a man used to undressing a woman with rapid skill, her nakedness the canvas he would paint a picture of pure pleasure upon with his hands and mouth to begin with.

His tongue followed the sumptuous patter of his fingertips, exploring her every rise and fall, each curve the landing point for well places kisses and licks, Vyla shuddering in response, her soft sighs permeating the air as her fingers slid through his silky, dark hair.

She hadn’t been deprived of a quality lover, but oh, the touch, the scent, the weight of a man atop her. It wasn’t until that moment that she realised how much she’d missed the essence of masculinity blanketing her body.

The further he lowered his attentions, the more she juddered beneath him in response, heat prickling her groin as the coil of arousal began to wind a little more tightly, her thighs bouncing against his hands as they stroked over her hot, goosepimpled skin. When his mouth followed their path, she could barely lie still.

“Fuck, fuck!” she cried, writhing on the bed as he viewed her sex, tongue again running along the apex of her thigh, making her buck.

“Where? Here?” he asked, thumbing her clit, her body convulsing.

“Please!” she gritted, panting hard. She was so desperate for him, he could actually see her little bud pulse against his thumb, a sight so enchantingly erotic he left her waiting longer than he wanted to in order to watch, before finally he blessed her folds with a firm, flat lick.

Her clit bounced against his tongue as he did it again, repeating the action and making her howl loudly, her body moving in a serpentine motion on her bed. His hands slid to her hips to hold her firmly, Vyla gripping the sheets and biting her lower lip.

She felt bereft for a second when he stopped, Eskel grunting with annoyance before finger combing his hair away from his face and pulling the leather binding from his wrist to tie it back, just long enough to do so.

A few shorter strands fell forward, framing his chiselled features, making her heart somersault in her chest at how incredibly handsome he was before once again, his face was lost between her legs. He ate her with keen fervour, Vyla’s body jolting against his mouth as she gritted curses, her pleasure being driven out of her like spirits at the mercy of exorcism.

Her thighs trembled, her hands clutching the thick muscles of his forearms as his tongue began to circle wildly, his lips encasing her nub and cheeks hollowing as he sucked, the catalyst to her sudden, overwhelming undoing, her slick gushing forth onto his tongue when he released it to lap at the fruit of her orgasm.

Eskel showed no inclination to stop just because he’d chased her to dance in the stars, but ate her more sedately, waiting for her sensitivity to pass, moving his mouth to her taut abdomen and kissing her from navel to hips, fiery eyes glinting at her through the candlelight as he watched her intently.

Her rich hazel eyes found his, her expression every inch a woman who had just enjoyed what he’d bestowed on her beyond measure, Vyla thinking to herself that no lover had ever, ever been accomplished enough to make her cum so quickly, nor with the intensity she just had.

She was still pulsing when he returned his tongue to her, lapping back and forth over her clit, steadily increasing the pressure the less she trembled and the more she began to keen against his mouth. Each lick had her squirming before long, the heat of his tongue, his hot breath against her sex sumptuously erotic.

He was divine pleasure personified, Vyla grasping his thick shoulders as the relentless beat of his tongue had her panting and gasping hard, the coil within her tightening once more. He had her primed to cum against his mouth again, but instead moved, arrowing himself into her, his thumb at her clit, circling speedily.

She cried out at the sudden intrusion of him, her cadence rapturous as his thickness cut through her velvet plush effortlessly, pulsing around him strongly as she came undone, relishing in the experience of being licked to the point of orgasm and finished off with a huge, hard cock.

A little cry escaped her mouth, Vyla wincing slightly. “Ahh, you’re so big.” She gasped, Eskel backing off a little, leaning to kiss her. He was used to women needing a period of adjustment until they got used to stretching around something so thick.

Keeping each thrust slow, he moved his focus to her breasts, licking and sucking at the two plentiful orbs of soft flesh, groaning deeply as he felt her opening more to him, her cunt saturating him. Her nails grazed his broad back while she gasped, mouth hanging open in exclamation at the intrusion of a phallus so hot and wide.

Before long, the small noises of discomfort she made had all turned into lustful groans, Vyla tipping her head back and relishing in the feeling of him entering and retreating her fully, his mouth scattering kisses over her elegant neck as he did.

His body seemed to fit with hers like it was custom built as they rocked against one another, rising, falling, hands wandering in languid exploration, Vyla cupping his face in his hands and kissing him with hunger before pushing him over onto his back.

“Gods, you’re so handsome.” She breathed, hands travelling down his chest, one reaching between her legs to feel his cock gliding in and out of her with effortless ease. No man, or woman, if she was brutally honest, had ever got her so wet before.

It was enchanting to feel, all hot and syrupy against her fingers, fingers which she then pushed against his lips and watched him suck hungrily, an unbridled growl rumbling in his throat. The lewd sounds of their union filled the tent, his cock dragging her aqueous walls noisily as she rode him keenly, her tongue snaking along the centre of his chest.

She gently bit at his stubbly neck as his arms tightened around her, Eskel beginning to move more rapidly beneath her, fucking her with voracity as fire licked his spine, sending flurries of tingles through her.

Her hands dragged slowly down his chest, thick muscles cording beneath her fingertips as she squeezed her slick muscles around his girth tightly, her hands moving to stroke his face as she watched him, mouth agape as he panted, eyes fixed on hers.

The promise to ride him harder than she did her horse was utterly fulfilled as she bounced on his cock in wild abandon, crying out in bliss as she felt the waves begin to lap, ready to crash against him, everything tightening within her.

It was heated, primal, raw sex, their moans filling the tent as the storm raged outside, the storm of their passion swirling just as ferally within. They lost themselves to hedonistic bliss as their releases surged and crested, throbbing through them furiously.

Vyla felt herself shudder all over with the tingles that washed through her in the aftermath, collapsing forward onto his chest as she came back from the place of utter nirvana she’d been transported to, his fingers stroking her sweaty back as their pleasure ebbed away gently, all which had been frenzied becoming still.

Eskel didn’t leave that tent for the three days that followed their tryst, but his abscondence had nothing to do with being held captive. He was a very willing guest of the queen of a tribe who, as it turned out, could be very welcoming to persons of the male persuasion after all. Or maybe it was just him.

All he knew is that Vyla fucked him so many times, he wasn’t quite sure, and nor did he really care. Being the personal concubine to a beautiful, nubile young queen was role he wasn’t about to pass up.

A/N - If enough of you are interested, I might turn this into a short series. Smut and some lovely fluff, I was thinking. What do you think?

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goldandlights · 4 years

Photo

“Baah!!”

Patient goat dad Eskel playing with his feisty goat daughter :D

And now I gotta draw ibex!Eskel with draft-horse!Geralt arsdfsgdgh, centaurs!! Yes!!

#centaur!AU #THIS IS MAD GENIUS #eskel #the witcher #lil bleater #eskel is specifically a bezoar ibex btw #the leg markings are super pretty!!#and lil Bleater is adopted ofc!! :'D #they're not the same species #though it would be kinda funny #if two centaurs breeding #had an x% chance of producing a LITERALLY feral child lmaooooo #this is my sister #she's a horse #my art #fanart

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viking-raider · 4 years

Text

A Soldier’s Daughter - Chapter III

Summary: Skye and Geralt make it to Kaer Morhen and start settling in for the winter there. Geralt starts feeling something he’s desperately trying not too.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/OFC

Word Count: 7,255

Previous Chapters: I II

Rating: PG-13 - Witcher!AU, Language, Slow Burn, Jealousy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Inspiration: The Witcher on Netflix, with instances of the Games and Books.

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think! Thank you to the marvelous @wondersofdreaming for the encouragement and beta!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @wardl0w, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @bellastellaluna, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernatural, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @oh-for-fic-sake, @sauvage-et-libre, @mis-lil-red, @angreav, @crazyandanonymous4u, @the-mighty-jellybean @henrycavell, @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair, @iam-laiya, @worshipping-skarsgard, @thetruthandotherstories, @ruthoakenshield, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @theonetheycallhannah, @nina-skyee, @thatgirly81, @inanna999, @suueeeeeee, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8, @beckster07890, @daddys-littlewhitegirl, @magic-and-the-macabre, @stxphmxlls, @radaofrivia, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss, @starstruckkittyangel, @heartfelt-pen, @stuckupstucky, @dummiesshort, @la-cey, @singeramg

Kaer Morhen, also known as the School of the Wolf, had been the home and stronghold for Witchers throughout the countless centuries. It was huge and bleak, its back butted up against the massive mountain ranges that composed the Blue Mountains of Kaedwen.

Several of its towers and walls were in sad disrepair, crumbling and toppled over through the years and years of neglect and inefficient means to repair them. As straight forward the path looked on the way up the mountain towards Kaer Morhen, it wasn't at all what it seemed to the inexperienced eye, or even an experienced one; many Witchers over the years had found themselves lost on the trail, after being away from school for so long, they had forgotten where to look. Anyone seeking entry into Kaer Morhen, and didn't know where to go, would only end up going in circles around the stronghold, and before they even finished the first go around, the Witchers inside would know of their presence.

Geralt and Skye walked along the mountain path towards the stronghold, the snow almost to her knees, the forest around them shushed in the thick blanket of the white powder, a sparse flurry of thick flakes stirred around them in the blowing breeze. The atmosphere around them was so peaceful and calming, the crisp air filling their lungs and making their cheeks rosy in color. Geralt paused for a moment, fumbling for something in Roach's bag, when something smacked him in the back, and he turned around to Skye, who looked behind her, then frowned back at Geralt.

“What?” She lifted a brow at him.

Geralt narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you just throw snow at me?” He asked, suspicious.

“I don't even know what that is.” She countered, frowning at him harder, but her green eyes danced with guilt. “Roach must have done it.”

“While facing me?”

“You're the Witcher, I'm sure you've seen crazier.” Skye grinned at him.

“Hm.” Geralt hummed, shaking his head at her and going back into Roach's bag. “Come along, snow thrower.” He called to her over his shoulder, moving off the path and vanishing into a thicket of trees.

Skye frowned and blinked, then moved after him, following the foot and hoof prints in the once virgin blanket of snow. “Why are we off the path?” She called after him, trying her best to catch up with him through the deep snow.

“Won't we get lost?”

“No, I know where I'm going.” Geralt replied over his shoulder, then paused, letting her catch up. “Here.” He stilled Roach, holding her reins tight and pulled himself into the mare's saddle. “We'll be going uphill the rest of the way and the snow is only going to get deeper. It'll be easier and less of a chore, if we ride Roach.” He explained to her, reaching down to her.

Skye hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, allowing him to boost her up into Roach's saddle behind him; she gulped as she settled behind him, thighs gripping Roach's sides. They had never been in such close and tight proximity, they rarely even touched, unless absolutely required, and even then it was only for a split moment, before breaking apart again. Skye was instantly surrounded by the intense heat of Geralt's body, which nearly matched Roach's, she felt the icicles that had frozen inside of her over the last two and a half days start to drip as they thawed between Roach and Geralt's body heat. It was by pure instinct, that she loosely wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her chest against his board back, slipping a bit closer to him as Roach started forward.

Geralt's body was stiff as they rode towards Kaer Morhen, the solid and light weight of her body pressed against his caused the twinge that had been planted in the pit of his stomach, like a seed in the ground, to start germinate and threatened to send its thin and fragile roots even deeper into the Witcher's body, taking a hold of him, permanently. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his body and mind to kill it, before it could properly grow and turn into something he simply could not allow to happen, not again.

He couldn't take it again.

As Kaer Morhen finally came into full view, Skye pushed herself up in Roach's saddle to see over Geralt's shoulder to check it out. It was huge, hulking, run down and gloomy, she felt her mood almost plummet, seeing the new home she would be spending the next three month in with Geralt and Vesemir. Her family farm wasn't much, but at least it was a sight better than this place was. She sighed and sat back again, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Geralt's back, feeling his leather armor underneath his thick black cloak. He sighed softly, knowing she still wasn't happy about all that was going on, the situation seeming more dire than it really was, but they were both learning to tolerate it.

The rusted portcullis of Kaer Morhen's front gate was closed as Skye and Geralt approached on Roach, at last. But, a few feet from it, a groan sounded through the air, both echoing in the vast mountain range and hushed by the thick blanket of snow that surrounded it, an eerie phenomenon, that gave Skye a shiver. The rusted, iron gate started to draw upwards, complaining the whole way up, but Geralt didn't seem alarmed that the gate just suddenly opened, with no one seemingly controlling it.

They proceeded through the stronghold, Skye glancing around at the ruined structures, the wild and overgrown brushes and grass. It felt supernatural and uncanny, like they'd entered some strange and ancient graveyard. Skye felt like she could almost sense and see the residual energy of the Witchers bygone, like they haunted the grounds they had spent so much of their time on, being twisted into advanced humans with vile sorcery. They came to the main building of the stronghold and found a tall man, long gray hair reaching his shoulders and pulled back in a very similar style to Geralt's, with an equally gray, horseshoe mustache and honey-gold eyes.

Skye knew immediately that it was Vesemir, who else could it be?

“Geralt.” Vesemir called out in a deep and raspy voice.

“Vesemir!” Geralt called back with a nod of his head.

“You're late.” The older Witcher pointed out, lifting a gray brow at him. “I didn't think you were coming this winter.” He stated, head tilting as he caught a glimpse of Skye, nearly hidden behind Geralt's wide body.

“Well, I ran into a couple of challenges.” He replied, looking over his shoulder to Skye, who looked terrified, and gave her thigh a gentle pat, before dismounting Roach and helping her down. “Are Lambert or Eskel here?” He asked, tiptoeing around the subject of Skye's presence for a moment.

“Eskel arrived a week ago, he believes Lambert will arrive at some point.” Vesemir replied, cocking his head at Skye. “Who is this?” He asked, turning his head to Geralt, a stern glint in his eyes.

“She's my Law of Surprise.” Geralt explained, glancing between Skye and Vesemir, like he was waiting for a bomb to go off.

Vesemir's eyes narrowed, expression hard, then sighed. “You must be cold, how about some tea?” He inquired, looking at her for a moment, before turning on his heels and going back inside.

“Was that..” Skye turned her head between the door Vesemir went through and Geralt. “Was that a good thing?”

“He didn't throw us out.” Geralt replied, brows lifted and a faint smile, then followed after his old mentor.

Glancing around and clearing her throat, Skye ran after Geralt, following him inside the all stone and drafty keep. Sticking close to Geralt, they walked down a long hallway into a huge and vaulted room, a fire roaring in a massive fireplace, Vesemir standing near it. Geralt motioned Skye to a table and he approached the other Witcher.

“How did you get yourself tied up with a Child of Surprise?” Vesemir asked, staring into the flames. “A female one at that.”

“I saved her father's life, after he was attacked by several drowned dead.” Geralt replied, flexing his frozen fingers in front of the fire. “He was a soldier for Temeria, on his way home for the first time in ages. He didn't know anything about the girl, when we arrived at his farm.”

“But, there she was.”

“So, you brought her here.”

“What was I supposed to do with her?” Geralt snapped, scowling. “Abandon her? Come here and have you scold my ears off about not taking any payment for doing a job.” He argued, shaking his head. “She can be a pain in the ass.”

“And so can you.” Vesemir pointed out, giving Geralt a knowing and stern expression.

Vesemir had known Geralt since he was seven years old, nearly eight decades. He knew all about the Witcher's antics, from killing monsters to Geralt and Eskel causing all sorts of mischief around Kaer Morhen, along with Lambert. The White Wolf had two very different sides, depending on the company he was keeping at the time. In the freedom of Kaer Morhen, Geralt was more himself, than he was anywhere else in the world, but looking him over, Vesemir could see another change coming over Geralt, a change he could just put his finger on and could see Geralt was struggling to keep down and at bay. He looked over at Skye, sipping the tea he had set on the table for her and studied her, while she was unaware of his gaze, she reminded him a bit like Geralt, when he first came and before the trails effectively changed him into what he was now.

“Payment is payment.” He finally agreed. “Is she staying the full winter?”

“Where I go, she goes.” Geralt told him, bluntly.

“Fair enough.” Vesemir chuckled at him.

“Well, hello there!” A deep and raspy voice echoed, catching everyone's attention. “Who are you?”

“Eskel!” Geralt grinned at his fellow Witcher, who was a brother to him.

“Well, shave my goat!” Eskel let out a barking laugh, striding over to Geralt and grabbing him into a bear-hug. “It's good to see you, Geralt! How've you been?”

“I've been well, and you?” Geralt replied, returning the bear-hug.

“Getting older, but not any older than you look.” Eskel roared, his head thrown back.

Geralt had a huge grin on his face, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at Eskel, his body vibrating with an amused laugh. Skye stared at the three Witchers standing together by the fireplace, a smile on all of their faces, a real and fond smile at that, as they caught up with one another, trading jokes, friendly jabs and amusing stories from being on the road the last several months. She was surprised by the change that over took Geralt as he relaxed, the months of dealing with people calling him names, chasing after him and every other unfriendly thing they could throw at him, melted away, like an icicle in spring. A smile came to his face easier, his strong and thick body relaxed and his amber-gold eyes bright and alive. Skye hadn't realized she was smiling back, until Vesemir's eye caught hers and he smirked back at her, making her hide her smile and blush around the lip of her tea cup.

“So, who is she?” Eskel asked, tipping his head towards Skye, without looking at her.

“She's Geralt's Law of Surprise.” Vesemir replied, his eyes moving back to the other Witchers.

Eskel laughed and shook his head. “Geralt of Rivia, with a Child of Surprise.” He took unending amusement from this development. “Did you learn nothing after my business with Deidre?” He asked, smirking at him.

“Skye isn't Deidre.” Geralt growled, offended, and uttered her name for the first time since they met, then glanced at her. “She's different.” He said softly, comfortable in expressing himself to his two old friends.

“She's Human, that's why.” Eskel pointed out, glancing at Skye too. “Deidre was cursed.”

“Well, why don't you show her to a room, Geralt. So, she can settle in.” Vesemir suggested to him. “It'll help her transition smoother, if she feels she has a private space of her own.”

“Especially when she's surrounded by three, maybe four, male Witchers, who's best knowledge of women are whores and witches.” Eskel snorted to himself. “But, she seems sweet enough.”

“She has her moments.” Geralt rasped, feeling a root in the pit of his stomach wiggle deeper into his gut.

“Off you go, then. I'm sure you both want to settle in.” Vesemir said, nudging Geralt a little bit.

“Right.” He nodded and moved towards Skye. “Come on, I'll show you up to a room you can stay in, while we're here.” He told her, watching her finish her tea and stand up.

Geralt guided Skye through the massive and winding halls of the Keep, up several sets of spiral staircases, until he walked down a long hallway and pulled open one of the many doors. Skye stepped inside the room, finding it was as dark and gloomy as the rest of Kaer Morhen. Pure dark stone, a slit of a window, a small fireplace in the corner, crude table, with a single candle stick, and chair opposite of it, a simple dresser and a double, poster bed; there were throw furs on the floor and the bed. The room was cold, after so long in disuse, so Geralt, out of habit, built a fire in the grate to warm the room up for her.

“I'll be just down the hall, if you need anything.” He told her, once the fire was going.

“Okay.” She nodded at him, biting her lip and standing in the middle of the room.

It felt odd, for both of them, that they wouldn't be sharing a room together or be a few feet from each other as they had been, while camping out. They stood there in an awkward silence for a few minutes, before Geralt excused himself and left the room, going down the hall to the room he regularly occupied while he was at Kaer Morhen, it had been his room since his mother abandoned him at the School, all those years before.

A little while later, there was a soft knock on Skye's door and when she opened it, she found Geralt standing there with a wooden bowl of something steamy and a mug of something else.

“I brought you some dinner.” He said, lifting them a little bit higher.

Skye swore, if she leaned in just right and squinted hard enough, there would be a smile on Geralt's face.

“Thank you.” She said softy, carefully taking the bowl and mug from him, turning them back into her room to set them down on the table, then took the spoon Geralt held out to her.

“It's not much, just some venison stew.” Geralt explained to her, biting the inside of his cheek. “Eskel killed one this morning and so he decided to stew it.” He continued, licking his lips. “He's a really good cook.” He babbled, finding himself incapable of stopping.

“I'm sure that he is.” Skye replied, smirking at Geralt, seeing the confused fluster in his eyes.

“Do-” Geralt cleared his throat. “Do you need anything?” He asked, glancing around the room.

Skye had unpacked after Geralt brought her things up from Roach's saddlebags, her bed was neatly made, she kept the fire in the grate he started going, so the room was nice and toasty. It did have a slight homey feel to it that Geralt liked a lot.

“I don't think so.” She answered, biting her lip and glancing around, everything seemed to be in the place she wanted it to be.

“If you need anything, you know where to find me. Good night.” Geralt mumbled, moving back to the door. “Skye.” He whispered, just loud enough for her to hear him.

Her mouth dropped open as the door closed behind him, surprised to hear him utter her name. “Good night,...Geralt.” She whispered back, slowly sitting down to eat her dinner.

The next morning, Skye tip-toed around the Keep and checked Kaer Morhen out, getting familiar with the layout of where everything was at; all she needed was to get hopelessly lost. Most of the rooms were empty, used as storage, or locked all together. There was zero interest in going outside, a large blizzard had blown in during the night, dumping tons of fresh snow over the grounds.

“Hello, Skye.” A voice echoed into the hall, drawing her towards an open door.

Peeking inside the strange room, Skye saw Vesemir standing in the middle of the room, a sword in his hand. “Vesemir.” She replied, greeting him politely. “Good morning.”

“To you as well.” He smiled, leaning on his sword. “Wandering around, I suppose.”

“Not much else to do.” She chuckled, stepping closer to him.

“True enough.” He laughed, nodding his head and glanced around the room. “I spent most of my time here.”

“Doing what?” She inquired, tilting her head at him.

Vesemir pressed his lips together, his gray brows drawing down over his eyes as he regarded her. “I used to be the combat trainer for the up and coming Witchers of Kaer Morhen. This is one of the rooms I trained them in.” He explained to her, motioning to the walls of different weapons and the nicked and scarred training dummies pushed into one corner.

“So, you spend hours in here, wielding various weapons, beating on whatever and whoever.” Skye summed up, getting his point.

“Have you ever wielded a sword or weapon?” Vesemir asked, sizing her up.

“I know how to use a scythe, when my mother and I had to bring in the harvest at my family farm.” Skye replied, pressing her lips together. “If that counts for anything.”

“Well, you can kill someone with one of them. So, I'll give you points for that.” He chuckled, smiling at her. “Here,” Vesemir turned, walking up to one of the walls of weapons and took down a short sword, bringing it back to her.

“Try this.” He held it out to her, handle first.

Skye hesitated for a moment, but after an encouraging nod from him, she wrapped her hand around the hilt of the sword. It was heavy in her hand, but not too heavy that she couldn't hold it up and wield it with two hands. She looked at Vesemir and lifted a brow at him, waiting for what was next, and blinked, startled, when he raised his own sword.

“Are we going to fight?” She asked, worried.

“Yes.” He nodded, smirking at her. “I'll be gentle with you.” He promised, gold eyes dancing with amusement. “Hold your sword like this.” He instructed her, showing her how to properly hold it.

“Good, very good.” He praised her, nodding his head.

Vesemir gave Skye play by play instructions, moving back and forward with her, their blades barely touching, as he taught her how to block certain blows, to protect her weak points and push him back. He was surprised to find she seemed very natural with a blade, she was an impressively quick learner as well. It also felt good to have someone other than Geralt, Eskel and Lambert to square off with, though Vesemir was considerably more mindful and held back with Skye, knowing he could easily overtake and harm her, if he wasn't careful.

“That was fun.” Skye smiled, wiping the sweat off her brow with the sleeve of her shirt.

“You're a quick learner.” Vesemir complimenting her and nodding his head, impressed. “You'll overtake this poor old man in no time.” He joked, laughing, and dropped down onto a bench against the wall.

“Not a chance.” She laughed back, sitting beside him. “What was Geralt like, when he started training?” She asked, curiously.

Vesemir sighed and rubbed the side of his wrinkled face. “A handful.” He huffed, smiling. “He liked to get into a lot of mischief, him and Eskel, for that matter. They're close in age, and Eskel arrived only a few months before Geralt did, so they bonded that way.” He said, his eyes losing a bit of their focus as he recounted it.

“One of his first lessons, he nearly lopped all his toes off, dropping his sword after I disarmed him.”

Skye laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the stone room. “I can only imagine the anger he must have felt.”

“Actually,” Vesemir frowned, bushy brows knitting together. “It was quite the opposite. He broke out into tears.”

“Geralt?” She frowned back at him, it was hard to picture Geralt crying, for any reason.

“The same.” He nodded at her, meeting her eyes. “It's hard to tell, with the guard and walls, he's put up over the decades. He's had to put them up. But, Geralt is a good man, with an even better heart. If anyone is so lucky to see and touch it.” He told her, softly, with a tone that Skye felt in her own heart.

The vision Skye had of Geralt, formed when they first met and from what her mother had told her about what he had done in Blaviken, slowly started to shift, as Skye got to know Geralt more, as she encountered people that knew the Witcher almost better than Geralt knew himself.

The illusion of the Butcher of Blaviken, was just that, an illusion, that melted away after he told her about what had actually happened. How he had tried his best to stay out of it. But, pressing factors forced his hand, forcing him to make a choice to kill someone that wasn't all that different from himself, seen as a monster and a black spot on the Continent, someone that Geralt had grown to love. It showed Skye that he wasn't entirely the emotionless creature Witchers were made out to be. He showed her that, when he had gone out of his way to give her a birthday present, simply because he knew that's what people did for someone's birthday, because he had been affected by her sadness and wanted to give her something that would cheer her up; unconscionably touching the bracelet on her wrist.

She was starting to realize, as she walked the halls of Kaer Morhen and spoke to Vesemir, that Geralt also understood what it was like to be ripped away from family, to be forced into a situation with strange people, you didn't want to be with, but had no voice in the matter to change it. Geralt wasn't a Butcher, or a monster, or even a mutant, he was a man, changed by the force of others and circumstance. Kaer Morhen had taught him how to be physically strong and how to survive against monsters, then thrust him out into the world, with no safety net, when the human monsters attacked his emotions and tore down his thoughts. Geralt had to teach himself how to build those walls, how to survive those attacks, that his armor and potions couldn't. The result was a man everyone saw as an abomination, so hardened by the years of abuse, it was all he'd ever let anyone see.

Unless, as Vesemir put it, someone was so lucky to see and touch it.

“What are you two doing in here?” Eskel's voice rasped as he appeared in the doorway.

“I was teaching the girl how to wield a sword.” Vesemir replied, looking up at the young Witcher.

Eskel let out a barking laugh. “Do you still have all your fingers and toes?” He asked Skye with a smirk.

“Last I checked.” Skye replied, smirking back at him.

“I like you.” Eskel chuckled, nodding his head at her.

Pretty soon, Skye picked up a routine in Kaer Morhen.

She would get up just after sunrise in the mornings and go down to the kitchens and whip up some breakfast for herself and the three Witchers. She had made them breakfast on her third day there and the boys, namely Eskel, raved about it for the rest of the day. So, she picked up the chore of making them breakfast and dinner, letting them fend for themselves when it came to lunch. After that, she would go up to the training room with Vesemir to do some swordplay and instructions. Where she was getting increasingly better at wielding the weapon, finding her own style, blows and blocks becoming more and more like second nature, and moving quicker, managing to best Vesemir once in a while.

It was one afternoon about a month after she and Geralt arrived, and after her session with Vesemir, that Eskel appeared in the training room and asked Skye, if she would like to take a walk with him around the grounds of Kaer Morhen, seeing that a decent amount of the snow had melted away, making it easier to navigate.

“Sure.” Skye smiled, nodding her head and putting her sword back in its place. “Would you give me a moment to get my cloak?” She asked him.

“Of course, I would loath for you to catch a chill.” He nodded, smiling at her. “I'll meet you by the Keep door.” He said and gave her a low bow.

Skye chuckled at him, shaking her head, then went up to her room and grabbed her cloak, flinging it around her shoulders and clasping it closed, then met Eskel by the main door of the Keep. Smiling at her, Eskel opened the door for her, politely allowing her to step out ahead of him, bowing his head in a gentlemanly gesture.

“How are you liking Kaer Morhen, Skye?” He asked as they started walking around.

“I'm finding it a great deal more comfortable than I thought it would be.” She replied, looking up at the crumbling towers. “I thought for sure, I'd find evil and brain addled monsters.”

Eskel laughed, his shoulders shaking. “Well, you have one out of three right, we do tend to be addled.” He joked, spiritedly.

“Vesemir said, you and Geralt would always get into mischief.” Skye pointed out and looked up at him, curiously.

“Gods, yes!” He laughed again, shaking his head at all the antics he and Geralt had gotten into over the years. “You see that tower, over there?” He asked, pointing out a tower that was still mostly standing compared to the others. “We once stole another Witcher, Aubry, from his bed in the middle of the night, took him to the top of the tower, tied a rope around his ankles and dangled him out the window that used to be at the top of it.”

“Oh gods.” Skye laughed, grinning, as she pictured the poor Witcher hanging upside down from the window.

“He woke up and started shouting and curses, waking the entire place.” Eskel explained, still looking so proud of himself. “Geralt and I got our as—butts.” He quickly corrected himself. “kicked for it. It took a week for both of us to sit down again.” He reminisced, fondly. “Geralt and I also captured a giant forest bumblebee and tied it to a jug, when Vesemir found us rolling the grass, in a fit of laughter, he gave us a good row with a leather strap.”

“You two sound like complete trouble makers.” Skye chuckled, imagining Geralt dangling a fellow Witcher out a window, or laughing in the tall grass that covered the grounds of Kaer Morhen, only to get thrashed with a belt, it made her smirk.

“Still are to a fair point.” Eskel replied, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. “Oh, Geralt!” He smiled, as Geralt came in through the gate, leading Roach, who was carrying a large buck across her back. “Is that dinner?” He asked, nodding at the large animal.

“It is.” Geralt replied, looking between Skye and Eskel, their faces red and eyes damp from laughing. “What are the pair of you doing out here?” He asked, lifting a brow at them.

“I was giving Skye a tour of the grounds.” Eskel said, smiling at her. “Being you haven't yet.”

“Hm.” Geralt huffed, a quiet growl rumbling in his chest.

“Would you like help with the deer?” Skye asked him.

“No, I can manage.” He replied, shaking his head at her. “I wouldn't want to interrupt your and Eskel's walk.” He said, leading Roach away and back towards the keep.

“He's broody today.” She commented, watching him go.

“No more than usual.” Eskel told her, then turned and showed her the rest of the grounds.

“You're jealous.” Vesemir said, stepping into the kitchen, where Geralt was butchering the buck.

“No, I'm not.” Geralt grunted, glaring at the carcass on the table.

“Oh yes, you are.” the older Witcher chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I've seen how you act when Skye and Eskel are together. Brooding, grumpy and standoffish.” He pointed out to his former pupil.

“Classic jealousy.”

“I'm not jealous of Eskel.” He repeated, angrily skinning the deer.

“Geralt.” Vesemir sighed, lifting a brow at him.

Growling, Geralt forcefully stabbed his bloody knife into the table and turned to Vesemir. “All right, fine. I am jealous of Eskel.” He admitted, begrudgingly. “She laughs at his stupid fucking jokes, she smiles at him, a lot. She hardly ever does those things when it's me.” His angered expression fell with his shoulders.

“She even gave him a hug the other day.” He mumbled under his breath.

“You don't exactly open up to her, like Eskel does, Geralt.” Vesemir was honest with the white-haired Witcher. “You barely utter a word to her, so how is she to laugh at something funny you said, if you never say it to begin with.”

Geralt grumbled at Vesemir, scowling, the closest thing to pouting he'd ever do.

“As for smiling, apparently, you don't look at the girl too often, do you?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“That girl is, damn near, always smiling at you, Geralt. Especially, when she thinks you, or anyone else, isn't looking at her to see it.” Vesemir confessed, he'd caught Skye smiling at Geralt's back and several times, blatantly to his face, many times over the weeks.

Geralt gulped at Vesemir, had he been so blinded by his own jealousy, that he missed Skye smiling at him. Yes, he had been. Every time Skye laughed at one of Eskel's jokes or smiled at him, when he entered a room, or hugged him for some reason, Geralt would abruptly get up and leave the area. Needing to get away from them, before he ended up putting his fist through Eskel's face, for being so brass with her.

“I know, you're afraid of hurting her, like you hurt that Princess.” Vesemir said, slowly. “But, if you're not careful, Geralt, you'll end up hurting her anyway.” He told him, before leaving Geralt to finish the deer.

Geralt sighed, leaning on his hands against the table the deer laid half butchered on, head hanging and eyes squeezed shut, trying to get a handle on himself, to pull himself together, away from the jealousy and the growing fear that he'd fallen in love with Skye.

“Hey, Geralt!” Eskel called out, seeing Geralt making his way up to his room.

“Eskel?” He replied, lifting a brow at him.

“Have you seen Skye sword fight?” Eskel asked, motioning to the training room Skye and Vesemir were sparring in.

“No.” Geralt shook his head, chewing the inside of his lip, he had heard about Vesemir giving Skye sword lessons and that she was apparently very good at it, but hadn't gone to see for himself.

“Come on, check her out.” Eskel tried coaxing him. “She nearly took Vesemir's head off a second ago.” He laughed, grinning.

Feeling the root of his jealousy wiggle its way deeper, Geralt turned and approached the training room, standing in the doorway with Eskel. Looking into the room, he saw Vesemir and Skye in the center of the room, swords raised and trained on the other as they slowly circled each other, sizing the other up and waiting to see who made the first move towards the other one. He noticed Skye was wearing a pair of tight leather pants and a black shirt, the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows. It was her that made the first move, going for Vesemir's unprotected left side, nearly getting the blow in, before he twisted and blocked her blade, rotated his wrist and flicked her sword away from him. Geralt leaned his shoulder against the door frame, crossing his arms over his broad chest and watched Skye move and fight Vesemir, a soft smile on his lips.

Skye and Vesemir sparred for several minutes, before Vesemir was able to break through her blocks and smack the side of her thigh with the flat of his blade. Chuckling, they moved apart and smiled at each other, then looked to the door as Eskel clapped, making Geralt roll his eyes at him, but he smiled at Skye, feeling quiver in his stomach as she smiled back at him.

“I bet I can do a better job than Vesemir.” Eskel suddenly announced.

“I doubt it.” Skye retorted, giving him a smug lift of her brow.

“Oh yeah, you wanna put your money where your mouth is.” He quipped, moving into the room.

“I don't have any money, but I'm all right taking yours.” She told him with a wink.

“It's so on!” Eskel laughed, picking up a sword off the rack.

Snorting, Skye raised her sword, like she'd been taught all those weeks before and slowly started circling with Eskel, who was making stupid faces at her, trying to distract her and making her laugh, so he could slip her up. Vesemir moved to stand beside Geralt at the door, one eye on Skye and Eskel with the other eye on Geralt, whose body was unusually tense, watching Skye spar back and forth with the other Witcher.

“Upset it isn't you, she's sparring?” He asked Geralt, quietly.

“No.” He rasped back. “I'm worried he'll hurt her.” He confessed, his enhanced eyes watching every move the two made.

Skye suddenly pushed forward and flicked her blade at Eskel's, managing to send his blade clattering across the stone floor, too far out of reach for him to recover it. Vesemir and Geralt smirked, impressed and amused she'd managed it, Eskel didn't seem so happy about it, his temper suddenly spiking. Geralt tensed, seeing it and straightened up.

“No!” He barked, alarmed as Eskel threw out his three fingers for an Aard, in his frustration.

Geralt's eyes were wide with alarm, golden orbs darting between Skye and Eskel, before he rushed towards Skye, trying to reach her before the blast of the Sign could harmed her. Skye gasped and threw up her arms, her wrists crossing, just as the blast of Eskel's Aard reached her. Geralt slid to a stop, mouth dropping open as the shockwave was deflected off of Skye's crossed arms, only pushing her back a little bit, and other than that, she was unharmed. The mouths of all three Witchers were on the floor, when they realized what she had just pulled off.

“She just Signed a Heliotrop!” Eskel snapped, in surprise, his anger forgotten. “How the hell did she just Sign a Heliotrop!?”

“How?” Geralt whispered and looked Skye over, then met her eyes, still shocked and concerned.

“I don't even know, what a Heliotrop is...” Skye replied, looking back at him, startled.

“It's the thing you just did, by crossing your arms.” Eskel said, shaking his head at her.

“It's what I suspected.” Vesemir spoke up, pulling his jaw up off the floor.

“Suspected what?” Geralt snapped, looking over at him.

“She has Elven blood.”

“That's not possible.” Skye shook her head at him. “My mother hates Elves and my father is assuredly not one either.”

“You could be Quarter-Elf.” Vesemir pointed out.

Vesemir had a strange inkling that Skye wasn't completely Human, he just wasn't sure if it was Elven blood or a Mutation. But, after seeing her use a Heliotrop with such ease and effectiveness, especially being she'd never done one before, was aware she could do one or even knew how to do it, told the old Witcher what he needed to know. Only someone with some measure of Elven blood would have been able to pull off what Skye had just done.

“Quarter-Elves, and even some Half-Elves are capable of passing themselves off as normal, everyday Humans. So, you're at least Quarter-Elf.” He explained to her.

Skye looked between the three of them, a tremble making her lithe body vibrate. Tears sprang up in her minty-green eyes and her bottom lip wobbled, before she burst out of the room and blindly ran down the hall, needing to get away, far away.

Geralt turned on Eskel, jaw tight and lips pressed into a thin and angry line, before driving his fist into the other Witcher's stomach, as hard as he could, sending Eskel stumbling backwards into a wall of axes and maces. Eskel took several wheezy breaths, before he was able to speak again.

“Wh-wh-what wa-as th-that for!?” He demanded, arm pressed against his throbbing abdomen.

“For nearly killing her with your Aard!” Geralt hissed, starting towards him again, but was stopped by Vesemir's hand on his chest.

“She blocked it!”

“You didn't know she could block it, and you still fucking did it!” He growled low in his throat, before pushing away from Vesemir and going after her.

Geralt went to her room first, but found it empty, and started searching the rest of the Keep, before venturing outside to the grounds. He searched almost all of the crumbling towers and out buildings before he found her. He stopped in the doorway of the stables, smiling softly as she pet Roach in her stall.

“She's always great company, when you're feeling down.” He said softly, not wishing to startle her. “Especially, since she doesn't tend to talk back.” He added, with a quiet chuckle.

“What do you want?” Skye sniffled, wiping her hot and wet cheek on the shoulder of her shirt.

Geralt sighed softly, pushing off the frame of the door and approached her, gently resting his hand on Roach's nose, smiling at the mare's greeting neigh. “I came to see if you were all right.” He told her, petting Roach.

Taking a deep breath, Skye let it out with a sigh, she didn't know if she was all right. She was confused and scared, and angry. How could she have Elven blood in her, wouldn't she have known by now. Wouldn't her mother have told her that she did. Did her mother even know that she had Elven blood. Was it her mother that had the Elven blood or was it her father that did. She had so many questions.

“I don't understand.” She sniffled, pressing her lips together. “How can you have Elven blood, of any amount, and not know?” She asked and looked up at Geralt, like he had the answer.

Geralt wished he did have the answer for her, but he didn't.

“I don't know.” He replied instead. “With the persecution of Elves after the uprising, people became loath to admit they were the offspring of Elves. Afraid of what it would mean if people did find out.”

“Great, what's that make me?” She huffed, more to herself than Geralt, fresh tears dripping down her cheeks.

Biting his lip, Geralt reached out and rested his hand on her elbow, gently squeezing it. “It makes you, who you've always been, Skye.” He told her, with a soft sincerity. “Just because you have Elven blood, doesn't mean you're something else, other than yourself.”

“Don't let anyone, ever, tell or convince you otherwise.” He added, giving her arm another squeeze and gently pulled her in against him, carefully folding her into his arms.

Skye paused for a moment, surprised by Geralt's words and gesture, but lightly wrapped her arms around his waist, her forehead resting against his chest as they embraced. Both of them relaxed, Geralt gently tipping his head down to nose her hair, taking in the light scent of the soap she used to wash it, the pleasing warmth of her body resting against his. Skye took a deep breath, taking in the scent of Geralt's warm body, a faint trace of leather from his armor, the tang of Roach, a sweet, woody and smoky aroma from the burning wood fire in his room, and something else, beneath all of it, that was uniquely Geralt.

She found it alluring and comforting all at the same time.

“I promised to take you home.” Geralt whispered into her hair, not ready to pull away from her just yet. “We'll go back, after the first thaw, and get the answers you want and need.” He promised her, hugging his arms around her a little bit more as he felt her shiver.

“I'd like that.” Skye whispered back, softly, resting her cheek against Geralt's chest and closed her eyes.

“Good.” He smiled, and felt the germinating seed in his belly take a firm hold of him and grow a little bit more, into a delicate sprout. “Come, let's get you back inside, before you get ill.” He told her, slowly releasing her from his arms. “I'll even help you make dinner.” He smirked, slyly.

“That'll be the day.” She chuckled, teasingly.

“Hey, I did kill the buck you're using for dinner tonight.” He replied, lowering his head and lifting a brow at her, teasing her back.

“Oh, yes. I can see it going to your head now.” She rolled her eyes, playfully, at him. “Come along, Geralt, before your head gets any bigger and you can't get it through the doorways.” She called over her shoulder, heading out of the stables and back inside the Keep.

Geralt stood there a moment, smiling after her, and suddenly felt a profound happiness creep into him. He snapped out of it though, when Skye stopped and turned around to him, realizing he wasn't following her. He chuckled to himself and started forward to join her, feeling like nothing could ruin what was starting to really bud between them.

-- Chapter IV --

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valdomarx · 4 years

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Now that you're as into Aiden&Lambert as I am: Geralt comes back for the winter and he kind of expects to have some relaxing, familiar, friendly rough sex with Lambert. But for some reason, Lambert doesn't want to. Feat: Nervous Geralt who doesn't get what has he done wrong. Sad Lambert who misses his no-homo Cat bro. Eskel, completely done with both of them.

This went in a rather different direction as I felt the urge to write something cute, but I hope you will like it all the same: Lambert brings Aiden to Kaer Morhen for the first time (and Geralt sulks about it)

“Have you heard,” Eskel begins, a conspiratorial glint in his eye, “Lambert’s got himself a boyfriend?”

Geralt scoffs. The idea that anyone would put up with Lambert as a romantic partner is clearly ridiculous. “Five crowns says he’s making it up.”

“No, it’s true, I swear it. Coen’s met him. He’s a witcher.”

That gets Geralt’s attention. He knows first-hand that Lambert has no objection to bedding other witchers, but the only thing that seems less likely than Lambert actually being in a relationship is Lambert being in a relationship with one of his own kind. “Oh? What school?” he asks, feigning disinterest.

Eskel sees right through him but doesn’t call him on it, bless him. “Cat.”

Geralt splutters. “Those slippery murderous bastards! If one of them has got their claws into our Lambert I’ll -”

“You’ll what?” Lambert’s amused drawl interrupts.

Geralt stiffens and turns to see Lambert lounging in the doorway, covered in mud from the road and smirking like a smug git as usual, but familiar in a way that feels warm and comforting.

And next to Lambert with an arm casually slung over his shoulders is a lithe, graceful witcher with a cat medallion around his neck. He is, annoyingly, exceptionally handsome. Even his scars look dashing.

“Lambert,” Geralt nods, restrained as ever. And, turning to the newcomer with his eyes narrowed, “Cat.”

“I’m Aiden,” he introduces himself. His smile is annoyingly handsome as well. He walks forward with his hand outstretched, and Geralt just glares at him, unimpressed, until Eskel elbows him in the ribs and shakes the offered hand.

“I’m Eskel. That’s Geralt. Don’t mind him, he’s sour today. Welcome to Kaer Morhen.”

“Will you be staying long?” Geralt asks pointedly. It’s unusual for any of them to bring guests to the keep, even more so to bring them without warning. He is not looking forward to being cooped up with this interloper.

“Of course,” Lambert says evenly, eyeing Geralt like he knows exactly what‘s going through his mind. “Aiden will be staying for as long as he likes.”

Aiden beams at Lambert and takes his hand, threading their fingers together.

They’re holding hands. Holding hands! Like a couple of lovesick teenagers. This is too much.

Eskel steps in before Geralt can say something stupid. “How about I show you around?” he offers, and Aiden nods brightly.

As they walk away, Geralt turns to Lambert with what he refuses to acknowledge is a pout. “He seems... nice.”

Lambert rolls his eyes. “You’re such a dick, Geralt.” The corner of his mouth turns up in the tiniest smile. “And I’m glad to see you too.”

#geralt x lambert #lambert x aiden #the witcher #kaer morhen #my writing #anonymous #romcom au where geralt and aiden compete for lambert's affections in increasingly ridiculous ways #but ofc geralt denies that he even LIKES lambert but that's not the point #eskel; sat on the sidelines and sighing: sure is tough holding the only braincell #george replies

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witchersjaskier · 4 years

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need prompts for winter at kaer morhen people! everything is fair play, can be cute or sassy or angsty, anything at all.

just wintering in kaer morhen ideas

#witcher #the witcher #kaer morhen #winter in kaer morhen #jaskier #geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #vesemir #lambert #eskel #and others ofc #i just need ideas to write to

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majesticwren · 2 years

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The Wolf and The Snake

Lambert!The Witcher Game x OC!She-Witcher

Words: 11k

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Sex, Smut, Lots of Offensive Language and Swearing, Lambert is His Own Trigger Warning but Calanthe is Worse. A/N: it's now canon in this universe that the Witchers of The School of the Viper have a forked tongue. I was struck by the idea and I added the detail randomly in the chapter.

Divider by: @firefly-graphics .

Tags: @errruvande @uwuttaja

Masterpost Playlist

Chapter 4 - Under My Skin.

Calanthe was violently spinning out of control and there was nothing she could do to find any peace.

After she stormed off, leaving Lambert, her anger, pride, arousal, and dissatisfaction grew, leaving her unfulfilled. Dark, stormy clouds developed inside of her, mixing with the already raging feelings she had about the entire situation she found herself in.

So, she did the only thing she thought could be a solution: she went to a brothel.

It was the perfect place to hide, guards wouldn’t have looked for a woman in there.

Plus, in all honesty, her aim wasn’t hiding, she had needs to satisfy. Calanthe truly hoped to find release paying for some anonymous, no-strings-attached, harmless sex.

Initially, she thought she wanted the company of a woman, only because the idea of being touched by a man reminded her of Lambert too much, making her even more upset. But then her attention got caught by a strong-looking man with dark hair. And there was not much reasoning she could have done after that. She already wasn’t thinking straight, and she was too feral and dominated by her own emotions to know then that she would have cursed herself for her choices later.

She paid for her mistake soon enough.

Besides the man’s best efforts – and there was lots of effort from both sides – there was nothing that would bring her satisfaction.

She found herself to be constantly distracted by intrusive thoughts she didn’t want. Every time she found herself coming close to any kind of release, her mind would immediately be polluted by thoughts about Lambert. She was aware that the man she was fucking wasn’t him. And not just because of his looks. It was a primal, sensory connection she was missing. She knew his skin didn’t smell like his, nor his hands were quite as big, or as strong. His lips tasted of honey mead instead of blood and Berbercane fruit.

Nothing freed her from being tormented by the constant, unprompted, unwanted curiosity to know what Lambert’s naked body would feel like under her palms. She wondered what kind of lover he would be. Was he skilled and caring, or was he cockier and more selfish? Or again, would he welcome his pleasure with loud moans, or would he quietly breathe his lover’s name?

She wanted to know what it would feel like, what it would smell and sound like.

She decided to put a stop to that entire ordeal when the man tried to pleasure her with his mouth. It wasn’t that he wasn’t skilled – he was worth his coin. It was that as soon as the pleasure started to mount inside her stomach, she made the mistake to look down at him. Her mind was quicker than her common sense, gifting her with the vision of deep, dark, electric yellow eyes looking back up at her from between her legs.

It was enough to shake her deeply. But then, as for everything else, as soon as she realised that it was only a fantasy, the warmth of her pleasure got ripped off her body by the cold hands of frustration.

So, now, Calanthe sat in the deep, round, wooden bathtub, trying her best to find any form of comfort for her tired bones and uncovered nerves.

She was far from enjoying her longed-for bath, though. Even if the water was hot and infused with soothing oils aimed to cleanse her dirty skin, calm her tensed muscles and help clear her tired mind. Instead, her thoughts were loud and pressing. She was still fidgety and jumpy, worse than before, as an unsettling, unknown feeling clutched around her already too-exposed nerves.

The bathhouse section of the brothel was quieter. The air was made thick by the steam of the baths and the smoke of the incense. Its smell was so strong that could easily cloud thoughts and judgement.

Of course, anyone’s but hers, because that sounded like a pretty sweet idea if only she was allowed to find any kind of relaxation.

For a moment Calanthe wondered if drinking would have helped. Could she drown in so much booze to render her unable to think and feel anything? That sounded pretty sweet as a possibility. But then she had to remind herself that she needed to remain vigilant and sane.

Calanthe punched the water out of frustration, releasing a deep, tired sigh. The noise of water suddenly moving echoed in the empty room. “Damn.” She hissed, leaning her back onto the tub resting her head on its edge.

She never asked for any of it. She didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to be between so many people. Especially she didn’t like the idea that the news of her presence in Valen could become more than rumours. And it would have, since the mess they unleashed at the garrisons.

Her only hope, at that point, since how war tended to go, was that the city guards had too much to do and not enough resources to start a manhunt.

She needed to get out of Oxenfurt fast.

The Quartermaster paid for his mistakes. It didn’t mean he was the only man thinking similarly.

She had big shoulders, she wasn’t scared of taking a beating and, if it needed to be, she could endure more harsh torture in order to protect someone she loved – that wasn’t her problem. Her problem was that people were onto her.

How long would have taken them to start tracking her trying to pursue Letho?

She didn’t even know if he was alive. She could hope, but she did not know. And regardless, the possibility was grim either way.

She had no intention to have to deal with hounds, which was the main reason why she wanted to be left alone and always remain hidden in the shadow.

If he were alive, she didn’t want to be responsible to create a trace straight to him. At the same time, it was unthinkable for her to proceed in any other direction, letting it be.

And if he were dead, she knew that dealing with the loss and the grief would have made her insane with pain. She would have massacred people who were trying to get a piece of the Kingslayer for themselves. Risking her own life to protect his memory.

Calanthe slid her arms around her chest, hugging herself tightly as her mind was swallowed by all those thoughts.

She didn’t want to think about either of those possibilities.

As much as she couldn’t imagine having to lose more time waiting. If only Lambert didn’t lie to her, if only he stuck to his part of the deal, she wouldn’t be in that situation. If he had simply brought her to Geralt, she could have been on her way already, with no burden, a clear answer, and a direction.

But no. He had to do what he thought was right, acting his own way. And now she had more problems than before.

Besides the fact that she was losing time, not being any closer to Letho than before, and besides the fact that she spent her evening being beaten up, now, there was also that attraction she had to deal with.

It was a feeling that pulled her like a magnet closer to a man she did not trust or like much. And yet, it was there loud and clear. So primal and instilled in the deeper layers of her being that she wasn’t able to recognise it as a good thing. For some reason, it sent her feral, but it also left her feeling like she was in a fight-or-flight situation at all times.

It wasn’t the arousal. She could deal with raw desire. It wasn’t the fact that they kissed either. It was the way it had happened. It was the way she melted between his arms, lowering her defences without even realising it. It was the way she craved being moulded by his hands. It was that she was drawn towards Lambert specifically.

How did it happen? When did she start developing such desire? To what point she registered Lambert’s scent as something that could turn her on?

“How could you be so stupid?” She muttered to herself, releasing another deep sigh. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to find a moment of peace that simply wouldn’t come.

She was only left with that nerve-wracking, bones-gnawing, skin-shivering feeling to torture her.

Calanthe opened her eyes. Something shifted inside of her. Her yellow irises burned with the determination a warrior would have looking into a fight.

She was not a coward. She did not hide. She fought, always.

Fear had been washed off her genes a long time ago. And being a slave of her own emotions was not her. The solution to her problems was quite simple. Running from it clearly proved to be the wrong course of action.

So, why run when she could turn and get straight into it? Maybe she would have gotten dirty, but at least she would have also found a way to get rid of the problem entirely.

Calanthe returned to The Alchemy Inn hiding under her thick, dark cloak. For a couple of coins, she bought a deep bag from a random guy at the brothel that she used to hide her armour. The chest piece was formed by flexible plates able to easily bend so it was easy for her to slide in and out of it without any help, but also it was very easy to store away.

Handy when she needed to move unnoticed.

If the guards were looking for her, she knew they were looking for a She-Witcher in a gold and black armour with double swords on her back, which was the main reason why she also carried her swords wrapped together by hand, and hid in the bag the daggers she would carry crossed on her stomach.

She stood by the door for a moment, looking around.

The ground floor main room of the Inn was crowded, but not as much as before. Now, it was mostly populated by drunken men and prostitutes trying to make a coin. The room was lit by many torches and candles, the air smelled of smoke, roasted meat and wine.

It was welcoming.

She exchanged a quick look with the Innkeeper, still standing behind the counter.

She wondered if she was safe there. Truth was, she didn’t believe to be, but she didn’t have many alternatives. Not for the time being. But she couldn’t hide away, the Innkeeper knew exactly who she was, or Lambert for what it mattered, so she imagined if he wanted to sell them off, he would have done so already.

But the fact that there were no guards waiting for her there gave her a spark of trust in the Innkeeper's intentions.

Calanthe turned, aiming towards what she was looking for. It was as if her nerves and skin knew Lambert was close even before she saw him.

She found him sitting on the table in the corner. His dark frame was unmissable, especially since her sixth sense guided her attention to him even before her sight or any other sense could.

The table was covered in dishes filled with food discards and mugs. It looked like he had a feast. A random guy slept on the bench opposite his; his chalice of wine was spilt on his shirt. Another collapsed by his plate.

But that wasn't what made her brow lift and her lips pout.

A woman was sitting on Lambert's lap.

By how revealing her clothes were, Calanthe imagined she was a working girl.

Though, it appeared she really liked her job right now.

Upon closer inspection, Calanthe realised she was straddling him, which was something that, possibly, annoyed her even more than the fact that they were busy unashamedly making out.

He sat with his knees departed and held her tight against his crotch solidly grabbing her ass with both hands.

Calanthe’s throat was suddenly as dry as if she had swallowed sand.

Calanthe studied how the slim body of the woman fell perfectly between his arms. She was small and lean, her pale skin was smooth, unmarked by scars. For only a moment she wondered if that was the kind of taste Lambert had for women. Soft, warm and delicate.

Her jealousy and pride raged loud as she forgot everything about common sense and the fact that he was effectively paying for sex. It didn’t have any meaning. And she forgot how biased her line of thoughts was since she herself just paid someone to fuck her.

Lowering her hood, she moved closer to the table, glaring at Lambert like a predator would with their prey.

She grabbed an empty wooden flask of wine and smacked it against the surface of the table to get their attention. As both were startled, Lambert immediately shot her a glare. He didn’t appear surprised, as if he was only waiting for her.

Calanthe narrowed her eyes, ready to say something, but was distracted by the woman gasping as she looked at her face. The woman’s arousal soaked the air around them, making Cala draw her teeth, but worse was the sudden disgust the woman directed towards her while studying the scars that carved her features.

The woman turned towards Lambert. Her cheeks were reddened and her lips tumid and wetted by kisses, as her gaze lingered on his mouth. She slid a hand on his jawline and then down his neck, as she hung on his figure solidly holding his shoulder. “Who’s this?” She wondered, leaning her head so as to uncover her pale, long neck.

Lambert wasn’t looking at her though. He was looking at Calanthe.

As their eyes met, her yellow irises glimmered with a dangerous light. Calanthe was precariously hanging on an edge, feeling as if she needed to act to mark what was hers. Even if she had no right to do so.

He was waiting for her with a cocky smile printed on his reddened lips. His yellow eyes were bright and vigilant as he looked at her. He didn't appear inclined to lower his pride as he kept holding the other woman. It was as if he was challenging her. "How can I help you this time?" His sarcastic, slightly annoyed tone was betrayed by the look he gave her.

"Come with me." She ordered signalling upstairs with a nod.

Lambert welcomed her words with a prickly burst of laughter, shaking his head. "What, are you done fucking around and now expect something from me?"

His reaction betrayed his annoyance and Calanthe suspected it wasn’t because she distracted him now, but because she left him hanging earlier.

The woman still straddling him tried to get his attention sliding a hand on his chest through his loosened shirt.

Calanthe damned herself as her eyes followed that movement. Seeing the woman’s pale, thin fingers sliding on his skin, right under his collarbone, made her hands twitch with the sudden, homicidal desire to break and dislocate every one of the twenty-seven bones that woman had in her hand. Worse though, was the fact that her mouth watered as she had a glimpse of the curly, dark hair that covered his chest.

She had to push herself to remember any sort of control, as she looked up at the ceiling, trying her best to remind herself she was not an animal and Lambert was no one to make such a mess out of her.

“I didn’t know you had a companion.” The woman on Lambert’s lap purred, and her words brought both Witchers to look right at her. Calanthe didn’t realise how his pupils had changed while looking at her until he looked back at the woman on his lap. As the yellow of his irises swallowed his pupils back into thin slits a shiver crossed her.

“Is she your wife? She sure sounds like an angry, controlling one.”

The promiscuous, seducing tone she was giving off, accompanied by a smile that would have melted through ice, was made to be effective. Calanthe would bet she was not interested in the answer, but only in getting Lambert’s attention back on her.

Calanthe knew that for the woman it wasn’t a matter of sentiment, but business. Losing Lambert’s attention meant losing coin to possibly eat. But at the same time, Calanthe was too lost in her own emotions to react with brains.

“Witchers don’t wed.” It was the only thing Lambert said to her. It wasn’t an answer to her question. He then turned back towards Calanthe, offering a sharp, cutting-throat smile. “What do you want from me, darling?”

Calanthe rolled her eyes, loudly grumbling out of pure irritation. He was so annoying, to the point it was something that easily slid under her skin. And for that specific reason, she couldn’t understand why she also desired him that much.

When she looked back at him, her intentions appeared so clear through the hungry look she gave him that she thought there was no place for misunderstandings. Yet, she wasn’t satisfied, and neither was Lambert. His thirst for chaos clearly glimmered through his yellow eyes, and the musky smell of his desire filled her nose.

She placed her hands on the table, leaning closer. She looked down at him, making sure her eyes crossed every feature of his face, down across his neck and chest. Then, looking back up, she focused on his lips. She felt the air around him shift as he quivered.

“I need you to come upstairs and fuck me. I need you to do me so well I won’t remember my name. Get me?” Calanthe looked back into his eyes, loosing herself into their bright gold light. His pupils were dilatated like the ones of a cat rolling in catnip. “Can you do that, darling?” She mocked him on purpose and loved to see that her words visibly brought him on edge.

He was looking at her with such intensity to make her tremble. She could not read his mind, though something suggested to her that his thoughts were to satisfy her desire there and then.

Lambert inhaled a deep sigh and as he closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts, Calanthe backed off, leaving him space. She didn’t even need an answer from him, his reaction was more than enough.

The wave of confidence that washed off her was enough to make her feel as powerful and as gorgeous as the most desirable woman on that Earth.

Remembering about the working girl third-wheeling them, Calanthe turned towards her, offering a satisfied smirk, thinking to herself that’s how is done.

He looked back at the woman who still sat in his lap and offered her a polite smile. “Sorry, love.” He shrugged and shoved her to the side, getting her off himself. She was speechless, looking at him with utter annoyance as her lips departed in a dismayed pout. Lambert squeezed himself between his shoulders. “You heard the woman, I have duties. There are high expectations on my shoulders-”

At that point, Calanthe didn’t even care that he was such a cocky ass. She had no time or energy to roll her eyes. She was only interested in the fact that she obtained what she wanted.

She liked to feel larger, stronger and as desirable as she felt right now. She always liked to have control, not easily bending under others’ will. She was used to being the hunter, the predator. She was the charmer. When her attention was fixed on something or someone, she was used to doing anything in her power to get the object of her desire.

And she was in charge. She was in control, she led, always. She was the one who did the charming as much as she was the one who did the fucking.

Yet, as Lambert’s attention moved on her, a shiver crossed her back.

He walked towards her and moved around her figure. It appeared to be a cliché analogy, but he did feel like a hungry wolf, as he circled her figure so closely his chest caressed her shoulders. He pushed his face in her hair, inhaling her smell. “The real question is,” he pushed his face closer to her ear, “do you think you can take it, darling?”

Part of her was deeply shaken by his whisper. She knew he was smirking and her mind was suddenly crossed by her desperate need to see such a cocky smirk printed on his face as he pushed himself inside of her.

Her thoughts became turbid and confused as her lust took over.

She could not quite put her finger on what she specifically wanted from him. She desired to have him, but differently from any other man or woman she accepted as a lover, she didn’t want to prevail over him. The idea he could be a match for her. Imagining him dominating her, bending her to his will, doing to her what he pleased, made her mind lose clarity and her knees become as soft as jelly.

Calanthe moved quickly and turned towards him. Grabbing his shirt she pushed him against the table edge, following him so as to remain as close as possible. She uncovered her teeth as a dangerous light shined through her eyes. “You better make up to such a promise.”

Lambert chuckled, letting his head fall backwards. Calanthe was distracted by the column of his neck, for a moment, but then she pushed herself back to focus. She let him go and gathered her stuff off the ground. “Let’s go.” She was done talking, now.

As they both moved towards the stairs, Lambert stopped to throw a couple of coins on the table, sending the woman he left hanging a nod. “For your endeavours.”

“Fuck you.” She barked at him, every trace of seducing promise to erotism had left her by then.

He giggled like a teenager, finding her words extremely funny.

Turning towards Lambert, Calanthe just remembered that he had his tongue shoved in another woman’s mouth up to a few minutes ago. She wasn’t smiling. Only thinking about that still filled her with possessive anger, even if she was literally leading him to share the bed. So, as he did to walk away, she stopped him pressing a hand on his chest.

Lambert lowered his eyes to her. The yellow energy of his eyes surrounded her with the softest of looks, it was as if every reason to be upset at her left him. Now there was only hot desire in his gaze.

“Drink something.” She ordered, lifting her chin. Lambert frowned but still offered her a smile, shaking his head slowly. “I am not thirsty-” his eyes swallowed her, “not for cheap beer anyway.”

She didn’t need to read his mind to know his thoughts were dirty. And she gasped for air. Gods, one day she knew she would have found embarrassing the idea that a man like him brought her to her knees with absolutely no effort. By mistake almost.

She shook her head, trying to find some focus. “No. Wash your mouth.”

The quick look she sent just over his shoulder was enough to underline what she meant. She had no intention to taste another woman on his lips. Only thinking about the possibility made her thoughts storm into violent desires.

Lambert obeyed. He didn’t take his eyes off her for one second, as he reached for a random cup from the table and drank it. His ego was enlarged as he welcomed her approval of his move with a confident smile.

She knew he could smell her satisfaction.

After that, they finally got upstairs.

Entering Lambert’s room, Calanthe gave a good look around, studying every detail of it, both out of curiosity and to assess how safe it was.

He didn’t lie before, that room was almost double the size of hers. It was warmed by a crackling fire next to a huge bathtub and it was lit by torches and candles. It even had a window with a lovely view of the market square. The furniture appeared in good shape, and the room was clean. Besides the clear marks of fresh mud Lambert’s boots spread around the floor.

It was extremely luxurious for people like them, who were used to sleeping under the stars or, when things went well, in the warm corner of a tavern.

His stuff was gathered in a corner. Next to the saddlebags left dangling on the side of a comfy-looking armchair, there were his armour pieces and weapons.

She couldn’t keep herself from walking closer, chanted by his swords. She softly caressed the hilt of his silver sword, studying its round pommel and long wooden grip.

Calanthe left her stuff next to his, stripping off her cloak, bags and weapons. Then, she turned over, finding Lambert leaning against the door, his arms crossed in a restful position, as he gazed upon her with his yellow eyes. A smile crossed his full lips. “What made you come back to me?” He wondered. His tone was now not only cocky but also soft, making her skin feel warm.

She really wanted to point out that she didn’t go back to him as one would do to an intimate lover. But it appeared unimportant and incoherent since she did, in fact, go look for him specifically.

“I went to a brothel,” she began explaining as she raised her hands to her hair, starting to loosen the still dump braids, “I’ve got frustrated. So, I came back.”

He gave himself a push with his shoulder and moved closer to her. “But why?” His stride was slow and attentive, but there was no fear or doubt in his behaviour. He wasn’t acting that way because he was being cautious. He genuinely wanted to hear her voice her thoughts.

She waited for him and as he raised his hands to her face, gently caressing her jawline, she raised her chin. Her eyes glimmered as determination shined through them. Lambert’s smile sharpened underlining his hunger. “Tell me.” He leaned closer, enough so she could taste the warmth of his breath on the tip of her tongue, giving her a shiver, making her mouth water, but not enough to kiss her. That distance was enough to drive her insane.

She wasn’t thinking straight to that point, her desires were blinding her.

Calanthe pushed herself closer to him and, without having any patience to wait any longer, she pushed a hand on his crotch. As her fingers caressed the bulge of his erection constricted inside his trousers, she purred. “I am done talking, Lambert.”

Besides the fact that she had no intention to bond with him and get personal, she was truly running out of patience, to the point she didn’t even care to appear desperate and needy.

He nodded as if her words were an order he accepted. Then he wrapped his hands around her neck, pulling her closer. It was a soft grab. One of his palms surrounded her throat as his thumb and fingers clutched to either side of her face, as the other he pushed between her hair, grabbing on the nape of her neck, much like he did before. And like before, it was enough for her to melt between his hands.

He kissed her in a way that made her think he was trying to bring them to continue from where they left off. Now, that wasn’t soft. His lips were hungry and demanding. He gave them no time to get used to each other mouths.

That was the kind of desire she wanted. She wanted to be hit and ravaged by it. She wanted to be consumed in it. She wanted to become it and then get lost in the deep waters of lust, forgetting about herself, her thoughts and everything else.

She welcomed Lambert’s famished but soft lips with equal craving. Letting a small moan leave her chest, she filled her lungs up with his scent that fogged up her mind and travelled across her, firing up her nerves.

Her skin became hot and sensitive, ready to be touched, kissed and bitten. Her stomach was violently rumbling with the warm vibration that took over her emotions when he was close. And she could feel the pressure of the painful longing growing around her groin as her need to be fulfilled was pushing her closer to being an animal in heat than anything else. She could so clearly feel how dripping wet and ready her core was and the fact they were still wearing clothes was enough to drive her mad.

She rolled her hands around his figure, studying his edges, feeling the need to know what he felt like. She pushed her palms around his hips and then down, around his ass, which she squeezed with a happy purr leaving her chest. Then she followed his spine, testing his solid muscles under her fingers, as she bent her arms enough to grab his shoulders in a tight embrace.

Lambert pulled her hair just enough to break their kiss. He didn’t distance himself from her though. He pushed his face on her neck, assaulting her skin and bringing her to bend between his arms. She didn’t even care that if it wasn’t for him holding her up, by then she would have struggled to find balance.

Their arms untangled and as she rolled hers around his shoulders, Lambert surrounded her body with his. Now he was the one testing her body with open palms, crossing her back and hips.

As he sucked on the sensitive skin under her ear, she pushed one of her hands through his short hair, pressing him against her, while releasing a heavier sigh. The weight of her desire was now unbearable.

Calanthe pushed him away and slid from his arms, only to move back towards the bed.

Even though Lambert appeared to be slightly bothered by her move, still hunched over, lips half-closed and laboured breath, the way his eyes followed her betrayed the fact that he was now ready to follow her in the darkest of pits.

She kicked off her boots and pulled her shirt off the edge of her trousers. Without breaking eye contact with him, she started to loosen the strings that kept her shirt done up on her chest. She saw him tremble, as his eyes got briefly distracted by the movements of her fingers. It didn’t take him long to join her.

Lambert moved closer and imitated her, starting to remove his clothes. When he slipped out of his cottony black shirt, taking it off in a singular, fluid movement, Calanthe lost focus. Her mouth watered as her eyes crossed his naked torso. She gazed upon the edges of his muscles and followed the trail of thick, dark hair that from his chest faded to his abdomen, disappearing under his trousers in a thinner, delicious-looking line.

She absorbed as much as she could of his pale skin marked by dozens of scars, some deeper than others, as the primal need to trace all of them with her tongue became as important as breathing and knowing the story of each one was suddenly as important as drinking water.

He moved closer again, pushing himself against her, but before he could cage her between his arms, Calanthe pushed her hands on his chest, softly guiding him to sit on the edge of the bed and just spectate as she undressed in front of him.

Part of her was surprised that he didn’t object her. Even more, she was surprised by the undeniable chemistry tying them to each other. For some reason, she still hoped she had imagined it all. She thought, sooner or later, she would have shaken that feeling off her, gaining her faculties. But she was clearly wrong, as her only desire right now was to touch him and be as close and as in contact with his skin as possible.

It was, maybe, the longest time they spent without arguing about something and she liked to have him quiet.

Calanthe pushed her index under his chin, making sure to have him look at her as she removed her shirt and then, undoing her belt, she let her trousers fall into a pool around her feet.

The room was welcoming and warm and she felt extremely hot, yet the air on her naked skin felt cold, but that wasn’t what made her shiver and gave her goosebumps. It was the way Lambert’s eyes crossed her body. A low, rumbling noise came from his chest, as his yellow travelled over her entire figure, from head to toe.

He looked at her as if he was looking to an appetising, sweet treat.

And she liked it. She liked it so much that she stood in front of him only to bathe in the desire that rippled off his eyes.

She was capable to charm men and women alike. She had been with many lovers. But rarely she was looked at the way Lambert looked at her now.

Regardless of her being strong and tall, with a muscular body covered in scars and more edges than curves, he still welcomed the sight of her nakedness as if she was the softest, purest woman he had ever seen.

She looked at his eyes crossing her chest, studying her breasts, sliding down on her abdomen, curiously looking at the shape of her hips. He had no shame in looking over her belly button, directly into the nest between her legs. Then over, following her thighs. She felt his gaze upon her body with the same intensity she would have felt a caress of his hands.

The confident feeling that desired made her head spin, it was like a powerful drug.

“Do you like what you see?” She wondered; her voice sounded like a charming hiss that brought Lambert to look back into her eyes.

“Oh, darling-” he choked on his own breath.

Calanthe moved closer and slid on his lap, and Lambert was more than happy to help her straddle him. As soon as he could, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her figure as close to him as possible. He clutched a hand around her knee socket, guiding her, and held her in place surrounding her waist with the other arm, solidly pulling her to welcome his hips between her legs.

She pressed her chest against his and welcomed his warmth as something soothing. For the first time, something felt good against her skin. Even if he was still wearing trousers and their material chafed her skin, Calanthe still rolled her hips, willingly rubbing herself indecently against him.

She rolled an arm around his solid shoulders, and with her other hand, she traced the line of his jaw, caressing his beard. “I like you breathless.”

He didn’t reply, understanding perfectly where her words went, letting her touch him. A smirk crossed her lips as she pressed a thumb on his lower lip. His eyes were so bright, and his cheeks reddened, as his breath appeared to be quickened. “Is the great Lambert of the School of the Wolf flustered?” She wondered sliding a hand through his dark hair, ruffling them.

He welcomed her words with a chuckle and then he pushed her onto the mattress, rolling on top of her.

Calanthe welcomed him between her thighs as he grabbed her arms, locking her wrists in the solid hold of his hands, pushing them over her head. She let him take control.

Lambert pushed his face on her chest and then he traced a trail with his hooked nose all the way up to her ear deeply inhaling her scent. “I can smell your arousal. I feel the taste of your sex on my tongue from here. You were the one who came begging. It seems to me you are the flustered one-”

Calanthe raised her head, facing him, they were both challenging each other now. “I ordered you. I do not beg.”

The wicked smile Lambert offered her was both sweet and scary, full of the promise of beautiful and terrible things. “We’ll see.”

Only the thought made her whimper. Even if she was theoretically against the idea, there was something new and twisted inside of her, now. A sort of desire she never had before. The idea he could have the power to bring her so on edge to bend her will that much gave her a shiver.

He dug his knees into the mattress and rolled his hips against hers. Rubbing himself against her he brought them both to gasp. Feeling his trapped erection pressing against her thigh sent her feral. He was big, hot, and heavy and now, she partially justified his unapologetic, sarcastic cockiness because of that.

“I thought we came up here for some action.” She whispered sardonically, biting her bottom lip, sending him a clear glare hinting she was done playing around.

Lambert chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, sorry - what of my fat, hard cock doesn’t compliment you, darling?” He pushed his hips against her to underline his words.

“You aren’t ploughing me, it seems.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I’ll suck your dick with it, given the chance.”

All she received as an answer was a heartfelt burst of laughter that resonated from his chest all the way through her, leaving Cala feeling even emptier afterwards.

Before she could say anything more, he dawned on her, sealing her lips with another famished kiss, shutting her up. Shortly after he left her lips only to assault her neck again. Though as soon as he started to trace the brutal scars that crossed her neck with the tip of his tongue, Calanthe froze and tried to distance himself from him. “Stop being so soft and fuck me already.” She hissed. This time it was a warning.

That was enough of a command to shake him.

Lambert bolted up, sitting back on his knees. Leaving his hold on her wrists, he grabbed her hips instead, pulling her rudely to slide into the correct position underneath him. Then, he gave her a good look from above.

The sudden distance that divided them left her gasping as the cold air surrounding her gave her a shiver. Or maybe it was seeing him kneeling between her opened, welcoming thighs. She had to admit, he looked so well there. It was a view that made her want to purr.

Lambert’s yellow irises caressed her entire body focusing from time to time on some features she knew, by now, he liked to look at. As he stopped looking at her departed, reddened lips she made sure to pass her forked tongue on them, only to play with him, as much as she lifted her chest, arching her back, pushing her breasts up as Lambert looked at the pearls of her nipples.

She knew his eyes traced the edges of all the scars he could see. He even softly caressed the healed-up edges of claw marks that crossed her belly. Though, this time, it was as if he caught himself. He proceeded to undo his belt, as his eyes shot back into hers. “So, is this what you want,” he removed his belt off his trousers with a single, hard pull that, for some reason, worked, leaving her quivering, “to be fucked raw?”

She nodded, only whimpering at the beginning, and then she imposed herself to speak. “Yes.” She had to bite her tongue not to beg him.

“Yes? Yes, what?” He finally lowered his trousers.

Even if he was finally naked as much as Calanthe had been craving to see him for a while now, he was still too far. The distance between them was unbearably painful. Yet, she found the time and patience to shamelessly looked down. Her eyes followed the line of dark hair under his belly button to his erection and a hungry smile appeared on her lips as she filled her eyes with the sight of his proud manhood.

“Yes, what, woman?” He closed his fist around his own erection, slowly stroking himself all the while looking down at her like a hungry predator. And just like that, Lambert gave her something she wanted, without her even knowing she could have ever desired to be blessed by such sight.

She gasped for air, unable to think straight, passing her forked tongue on her lips, hissing and purring, bending underneath him. She even departed her legs even more, knowing well she was dripping wet as she felt her core painfully pulse pressured under her need for him.

Calanthe raised her hands to him, unable to stay away. There was, now, an unbearable need that made her palms vibrate to feel his skin under her hands. She wanted his masculinity; she wanted his raw power. Gods she was on the verge to lose every drop of pride she held dear only to give him the begging he wanted to hear.

Though a moment before her fingers reached to touch his abdomen, Lambert grabbed both her hands and pinned them on top of her head, just like he did before, stretching upon her figure.

“Tsk, tsk. You are not allowed.” He breathed close to her face, brushing his lips on her chin.

Calanthe trembled, squeezing his hips between her knees, trying to rub herself against him to the best of her abilities. Lambert pinned her down more, pushing her hips on the mattress with his other hand, making her grumble out of frustration. “Why are you tormenting me so?”

“This is no torment.” His cocky smile was not promising. Keeping her in place, Lambert pushed his free hand between her legs. Calanthe let her head fall backwards, welcoming the brush of his fingers on her wet sex with a heavy breath.

“Fuck-” Lambert breathed open mouth against her neck as he pushed his fingers between her folds, welcoming her desire with great pride and satisfaction,

The promise of release and spark of pleasure that his touch brought to her longing and tired loins wasn’t remotely enough to satisfy her, which was the main reason why she lifted her head almost immediately, looking for his eyes, ready to confront him. She sucked the air into her lungs and tried to wiggle out of his hold, but before she could say anything, Lambert shut her up again.

He slapped his cock against her core and then brushed it on her folds, leaving her breathless. “Just say it,” he offered a cocky, warm smile as he kept rubbing himself against her but without aiming to give her what she desperately needed. He appeared to enjoy seeing her on such an edge, “be a good girl and ask for it.”

Calanthe growled at him, showing her teeth. “I did ask for it. What part of fuck me you do not understand?”

Lambert chuckled but shook his head. “You must,” he brushed the tip of his erection along her slit and then found her entrance, “ask nicely.” He pushed himself on her, but he was only teasing her, waiting for her words.

She knew what he was doing. He wanted to hear her begging him. And at that point, her mind was so fogged up that every drop of common sense had left her. The only thing Calanthe could think about was how desperately she needed him to fill her up and satisfy her.

She rolled her eyes as a deep sigh, in between pleasure and frustration, crossed her chest.

“Please,” she finally said, feeling her tongue unravel from the last shade of pride she had left, “please, Lambert.” It was a plea and a cry out; in the desperate hope he would listen to her.

“See?” His lips bent into a huge, victorious smile. “Wasn’t that difficult, now, was it?”

Calanthe really wanted to pull that sarcastic cockiness off his face with her bare hands. Although, he seemed to be smart enough to finally give her what she wanted before she had the time to get so annoyed to become violent.

Lambert pushed himself back up, letting go of her arms. Looking at her from above, he offered another sardonic smile as he pulled her hips up, sliding inside of her. Both gasped.

Calanthe welcomed his size with a moan, trying to hide a satisfied smile biting her lower lip. She let her head fall backwards, rolling her eyes, this time out of pleasure.

He felt hot inside of her, filling her up and stretching her walls exactly like she wanted it to be. His strong thighs nesting around her, his hips being caged by her legs, his fingers hooked around her solid hips. It was a moment of perfect balance.

Everything disappeared. The energy that was flowing between them in that moment of deep, intimate contact became the only thing that mattered. And Calanthe knew he felt it too, as they both looked into each other’s eyes.

She smelled his arousal shift as pleasure bent his breath. His quickened heartbeat – still to be considered slow to the common, human standards – filled her ears.

Lambert gave her a moment and slowly moved his hips in a circular way, letting her adjust to his size. Then he began to thrust into her at a steady pace.

Every hit of his hips against hers sent Calanthe to another world. Every inch of him sliding in and out of her took her sanity away, washing her from every thought and duty. Only pleasure remained. Every one of his deep and heavy hits inside of her brushed her weak flesh in the right spot and was followed by his pleasureful gasps, met by her moans.

She liked the sound of his pleasure. She liked to hear the obscene noise of her wetness welcoming his erection. And part of her desired he would raffle her more. She hated having to beg him – but, at the same time, a twisted side of her, one new, never discovered before, secretly liked it so much to destabilise her.

And none mattered. It did not matter how much she was enjoying it and it did not matter that it was Lambert specifically giving her such pleasure and looking so good, between her legs, doing it. To that point, her only concern was the orgasm mounting inside of her, as pleasure shook her muscles and nerves, having her stretching and writhing desperately looking for a release.

Lambert followed her physical response and the quickening of her whimpering with his thrusts, harmonically syncing their pleasures.

When she finally felt the orgasm building up in her abdomen, Calanthe looked up at him, lifting her head. Lambert’s glare was waiting for her. He didn’t take his eyes off her for one second, clearly enjoying the view. Even if she wanted to melt into a joyful smile, she only managed to draw her teeth in a quiet threat.

As they exchanged a look, Calanthe nodded, encouraging him to continue. Lambert leaned down, getting closer to her. The shift in his position, rolling his hips, made her gasp for fresh air. She gripped on his forearms, digging her nails deep into his skin. “Do not dare to stop.”

He didn’t answer her with words but only with one of his wicked smirks, which didn’t appear to be reassuring. And Calanthe had run out of patience by then. She was too exhausted and too famished to accept to play.

She quickly wrapped her hands around his neck, again digging her nails into his skin. This time, she made sure to leave marks. “Lambert-” he broke her breath with a deeper thrust, not even trying to fight her hold off even if he clearly wasn’t happy about it. His eyes were so bright that she felt like she was staring directly into sunlight.

Calanthe had to push herself to remain sane and, to that point, she wasn’t grabbing on his neck to dominate him. She was holding onto him because she was afraid if she didn’t she would have gotten lost in her own lust. “Please,” she whimpered, her ego was too far for her to remember that she hated the power her begging gave him, “please, make me cum.” She was so desperate to find release she wanted to cry.

Lambert hooked an arm under her knee and made her bend her leg, all the while pinning himself up, pushing his palms into the mattress around her. That change of angle gave him more access and his pounding inside of her became even deeper.

“Then, cum for me, darling.” He whispered to her ear a moment before sealing her lips into a famished kiss.

Calanthe was caged by him. His skin brushing against hers was hot and soft, his scent filled her lungs and his flavour burst into her mouth. His energy slid inside of her flesh, under her skin, making her fingers tremble to have more. She wanted to bite his soft flesh, she wanted to dig her nails so deeply into his skin to draw blood. She wanted to mark him with the scent of her sex for everyone to know he had been hers. Those thoughts only filled her up with the dark and twisted desire to taste his sweat, seed and blood as he filled her up completely, body and soul.

She suffocated a moan inside his mouth as her hands slid from around his neck to his back. She grasped onto his shoulders, holding onto him as he finally pushed over the edge.

Calanthe unravelled underneath him as the waves of a powerful orgasm shook her from head to toe, making her spin out of control, this time welcomely. Her sight blurred as her breath was cut brutally short, all the while her body twitched uncontrollably, tightened around his. Lambert guided her through the pinnacle of her pleasure and as the walls of her sex squeezed his erection, he too lost focus. He bit her lower lip and then pushed his face into the socked of her neck, suffocating a loud moan against her throat, as he followed her into the deep waters of pleasure.

The heavy, dark curtains of the late hour covered Oxenfurt. The Inn was silent as all his inhabitants succumbed to their deep slumber. All except two occupants.

Calanthe and Lambert laid next to each other, naked and cosy, whispering and giggling like young teenagers, forgetting they, in fact, were grown up, full-fletched Witchers with duties often bigger than their shoulders. Even though it appeared to be a soft moment, most of their current conversation was focused on their numerous scars, as both finally decided to give in to their curiosity. So, plenty of their chattering included gory descriptions of violent fights and monsters or beasts.

Calanthe willingly decided to forget her deeds and all the reasons why she had previously decided to not like Lambert, at least until later. There was no need for that, and she had no energy left for it. Not after Lambert did satisfy her deeper desires almost four times.

“What about this one?” Calanthe leaned her head, comfortably laying in her nest of pillows. She gently pressed her finger on the small scar that crossed his upper lip.

She liked how the soft light of the candles danced on his skin. She took a moment to observe his relaxed features, enjoying being the centre point of focus of his golden eyes. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but he appeared to be more handsome, somehow, with his ruffled hair falling on his forehead.

“I tried to kiss a Water Hag.”

“What?” Calanthe gave him a soft push on the chin as they both giggled. “Then you are as stupid as you look.”

“It was a curse! And it worked, thank you very much. The woman is now free.”

“Oh, well. You probably still deserve what you got.”

Lambert rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Thanks. That is exactly what she told me, followed by a slap. No pity for my bloody face”

“That’s what generally happens when you kiss people without consent. And,” Calanthe tapped his chin, offering a smirk, “no one should have pity for your bloody face.”

“Now, now, play nice. No need to be so prickly.”

“Me?! Have you met yourself?” She chuckled, truly amused, as Lambert just looked at her.

He then pinned himself up, pushing his elbow into the pillow, so to look down at her. His gaze was soft and pleased as it traced around her features. He smiled. “I think I remember you liking my face. Particularly while you sat on it.”

“I liked your cock. It is different.”

“Is it?” He smirked looking down at her. She rolled on her side, facing him and offered him a soft smile, purring. “You know? I have to say, if your career as a Witcher fails you definitely have a future as a whore.”

He gave her a push and rolled on top of her, caging her between his arms. “Well, well, look who is back in shape after a good fuck.”

Cala lifted her face closer to his, offering a sardonic grin. “Don’t get too full of yourself, shit might start coming out of your holes.”

Lambert exploded in a loud burst of laughter and then he leaned closer for a kiss, hesitating only a moment before their lips touched, only to see if she would reject him. She didn’t. Even if for a second she thought to bite his upper lip, only to mess with him.

As he rolled back on the mattress, this time it was Calanthe who moved following his movement, getting on her side again and pinning herself up on her elbow, so she could look at him. Weirdly enough, she liked to be close to him and she still was lost in her bubble of relaxation and satisfaction not to reject that feeling.

Lambert raised a hand to her face, softly caressing the line of her jaw, and then tucking her hair behind her ear. “Do you still don’t trust me?”

And that moment was gone as her bubble burst.

Calanthe froze as her body stiffened. She was ready to get away, to put distance between herself and him, but Lambert grabbed her arm in a gentle hold, keeping her close. “Why? Do you think I am a threat to you?”

Calanthe raised her eyes to the ceiling, as a heavy sigh left her chest. “It’s a difficult time we live in.” She shook his hand off herself and sat up on the bed, sliding towards the edge, ready to leave.

“What are you running from?” Lambert followed, keeping her from getting away.

“Have you already forgotten?” She turned towards him shooting him a killer glare. Her yellow eyes were now glimmering dangerously and as a snake trying to dissuade a predator from getting too close, she was now hissing at him. “I am running from whatever the fuck bad luck follows me and make me stumble in situations like the one at the garrisons.”

“Yes. About that,” Lambert moved closer and kneeled next to her. She knew he was trying to calm her down with closeness and body language, but she was, by then, a ball of uncovered nerves, “feel like sharing why I had to risk my life to save your sorry ass from that mess without even the trace of an apology?”

“Thought letting you fuck me was enough.”

“We both know what we just did had nothing to do with that.”

“No, no, pretty boy,” Calanthe shook her finger in front of his face, “do not make the mistake to think we had a moment or something.”

“I do not think anything. And I wasn’t even talking about that, you brought us having sex into the conversation, darling.”

Calanthe kissed her teeth and then she loudly grumbled, hoping that was enough of an answer to expose her annoyance at him without having to reply, but Lambert wasn’t done. Not even close. “Why have you been captured? Why do you have guards breathing on your neck?”

Calanthe felt her breath leave her lungs as her muscles tensed. Her eyes quickly shot to the window, the weapons and the door, as three different scenarios for an escape from that conversation formed in her mind.

Fight or flight.

She could have run out the window or the door. Butt naked. Wearing clothes wasn’t as important as getting away from Lambert’s questions. Or she could have ducked into her weapons to fight him. He was unarmed. She was sure she could have struck him, even to wound him only superficially, even only to distract him.

But before she could do anything, Lambert read through her mind and grabbed her, pushing her onto the mattress, rolling on top of her. He pinned her down with his body weight, stopping her from hitting him in the face, or anywhere available to her, blocking her arms above her head. That time, there was nothing sexual between them. “Please, stop resisting.”

“Why? So, you can fuck me some more only to get some information out of me?” To that point, she wasn’t even thinking straight. She only wanted to get away from him and find some loneliness and quiet, somewhere she could feel safe.

“For fuck’s sake-” Lambert huffed, shaking his head vigorously, “I didn’t shag you because I expected something. That happened and we are all very satisfied with it. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Calanthe raised her head, not inclined in submitting to him. “Bring me to Geralt of Rivia and we’ll talk.”

“You are so fucking stubborn it’s exhausting.”

“Me?!”

Lambert’s attention shifted and before she knew it, they were kissing. It was an angry clashing of lips as they both seemed to have a point to prove. She didn’t even know how and couldn’t justify to herself why he was able to draw her with such force towards him. There was nothing she could do to avoid it. Especially since they were that close, with no clothes on, and their bodies were marked by the traces of the intercourse they had just shared.

Feeling his warm skin rubbing against hers, or the weight of his body pressing on her, or his scent filling her nose, or again his tongue caressing hers, was enough for her to lose her mind and as it already happened before, she forgot about common sense and duty.

She didn’t even realise Lambert had left his hold on her wrists. Her hands moved to his shoulders without her giving them the command. As if she was placed under a spell, she slid her fingers through his hair, unable to resist the need to pull him close.

Lambert gave himself a push and pressed his forehead on hers, inhaling a deep breath. “I can’t bring you to Geralt, or bring him to you if I don’t have the guarantee he will be safe.”

She hated the fact that his words reached right into her chest. Knowing he was trying to look out for someone he cared for didn’t help her stay cold and unattached to him. It only helped her to want to know more about his story. And she sympathized, knowing well she was doing the same thing to someone else.

“And you need to give me some trust.” The softness of his voice and movements as he brushed his skin against hers, made it even more difficult for her to maintain her defences up.

Calanthe sighed as one of her hands crossed Lambert’s neck in a caress that, again, she didn’t order her body to do. She wanted to be furious. She wanted to kick and punch, but she didn’t. In all honesty, she was exhausted.

She stopped opposing him, both physically and emotionally, dropping her arms on the mattress. A movement that encouraged him to move slightly, giving her space.

That was the moment she decided to take advantage. She pushed him up, pressing her hands on his chest, so he would roll off her, only to follow him, so to straddle his hips. Lambert let her do as she pleased, waiting for her to speak, to give him something, anything.

She wasn’t fighting. But at least she had the upper hand, now, if she needed to run. “I am looking for one of my brothers.” She finally said, brushing her hands across his chest and over his medallion. Her eyes remained low as she was unable to face Lambert’s look, knowing he was studying her.

“The Kingslayer.” He sucked the air into his lungs.

“His name is Letho.” She hissed, tired of hearing him being called in such a derogatory way.

There was no reason to try and lie; she bet he had been thinking about it, trying to decipher her behaviour. Plus, if he had some brains in his big head, it wouldn’t have taken long to connect the dots: she was a Witcher, a Viper, she had two medallions in her possession, and she was recently almost imprisoned by Radovid’s men. And Letho had allegedly died in those lands. All that mix of coincidences made it hard to believe it was all happening out of chance.

Lifting himself up on his elbows, he tried to get closer to her. “I thought he was dead.” He then sat up, sliding his hands around her face, bringing her to look up. Calanthe shrugged, raising her eyes into his. “Geralt of Rivia is the last person who saw him alive.”

Suddenly, Lambert was doubtful. “Are you looking for revenge?” He withdrew his hands, distancing himself slightly. And as if she was unable to be too far away from him, this time it was Calanthe the one who followed him, raising her hands to his face. “I only need to know what happened. I know the White Wolf is not responsible. But I need to know where to find him.”

“You hope he is alive.” Calanthe felt like her chest had been just ripped open, and Lambert had, now, the privilege to look right through her. And he wasn’t done understanding things about her. “You care about him.”

Calanthe shook all of her feelings off and imposing herself to go back into her hard shell, she raised her chin, her lip trembling slightly as the last trace of the feelings she was repudiating.

She caressed Lambert’s face and as he pressed his scarred cheek into her palm, she slid her other hand across his temple and forehead. Then, her fingers moved quickly and a halo of white light surrounded his head. “You are tired. Go to sleep now.”

She chanted to him, kissing his forehead, as an Axii spell did its job.

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poledancingdinos · 2 years

Text

Where We Love It Never Gets Dark - Chapter 23

Pairing: Alpha!Eskel x Omega!OFC

Word count: 2369

Warnings: Heat, thigh riding, face sitting oral, sort of dub-con because of circumstances, cuts and bruises

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @meadow20 @calwitch @lothiriel9 @here4thespice

Masterlist

Eskel pulled at the chains holding the cellar door shut with his bare hands, the thrum of his potions still running through his veins. It wasn’t the links which broke but rather the handles’ rusted bolts which were violently torn from the wood, sending splinters flying in all directions.

He charged down the rotting wooden steps, eyes easily adjusting to the near total darkness. On one side of the cellar was a set of shelves packed with various preserves and on the other, naked and covered in filth amongst a pile of equally dirty linens, was Rebekah.

Eskel ran to her, dropping to his knees by her side and choking down the urge to vomit. The mattress below her reeked of multiple alphas and betas alike. The blood drained from his face remembering the empty bed frame from the bedchamber above. If they had wanted her comfort, locking her upstairs would have been easier than bringing the mattress down. The mattress had not been for her benefit— it had been for theirs.

His hands hovered above Rebekah, afraid that even the lightest touch would bring her harm as he was still unsure of the extent of her injuries. There were bruises on her wrists and ankles where she’d undoubtedly been bound but now she was only chained to the wall by one ankle. Slowly, Rebekah uncurled herself, turning her head to look over her shoulder.

"A— Alpha?" Her eyes drifted closed, nostrils flaring as she confirmed with his scent that his presence was not a figment of some heat-induced hallucination.

"I'm here, my love,” his knuckles brushed gently against the apple of her cheek, “my darling omega, I'm here now."

Eskel looked over her body, searching for any further injuries. She hadn’t winced as she turned over and there were no visible breaks in any of her limbs. She had a considerable amount of bruising on her neck and thighs as well as a few cuts and scratches across her skin but nothing that would put her at risk of bleeding out.

"Alpha, t’hurts,” Rebekah mumbled, hugging her arms around her lower stomach which was covered in dried, flaky residue.

"I know, I am so sorry 'Mega." Eskel bowed his head, ashamed that he had failed so miserably at keeping his omega safe.

"Please,” her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, “make it stop."

"I can’t… you don't mean that.” Eskel busied himself with picking the lock of her shackle, the heavy metal soon falling to the ground. “Your thoughts are clouded by the heat, you'll feel differently once it's over."

"No. Want you, Alpha.” Rebekah opened her eyes with her pupils blown wide. “Only you, Eskel."

"Rebekah," he whined, voice pleading. Though she sounded lucid, Eskel feared she would soon be mindlessly begging for the nearest alpha and the nearest knot. The heat scent permeating the room and the desperation in her feeble voice had his resolve weakening but he could not, would not , break. She had yet to want to spend a heat with him of her own volition, he could not in good conscience help her now just to relieve the pain. The pain would soon pass but if he broke her trust she may never forgive him. "They made you go into heat so they could take advantage of you. If I help you now I am no better than they are."

Rebekah wanted to argue that she had caused this, that she had stopped her suppressants so she could surprise Eskel and maybe finally mate with him but words escaped her. Her thoughts only came together in broken fragments and forming the words aloud felt like an impossible task. Just as she was about to open her mouth, another wave of cramps rolled through her trembling form, causing her to whimper in pain.

Eskel felt as if his lesser was attempting to claw its way out of his chest. He desperately wanted to help his omega, lessen her pain but he knew better than to give into his lesser’s desires.

“Shh, you will be all right, my love. Here.” Eskel removed his armor, grateful his new acquisition was easy to peel off compared to the ones Geralt favored. He pulled open the collar of his chemise and laid down next to Rebekah on the poor excuse of a mattress.

Rebekah jumped at the opportunity, burying her nose in his neck and mouthing at his scent gland. She immediately moved to straddle his hips, her hands drifting down to the laces of his trousers but Eskel took hold of both her lithe wrists, her skin burning hot and sweat soaked, stopping her before she could do anything more.

“No.” He hated using his voice, but the one word would be enough for her heat-addled brain.

She froze above him, heartbeat spiking and a tinge of fear appearing in her scent.

“Do you not— Do you not want me?”

Eskel cursed, sitting up to wrap his arms around Rebekah’s waist.

“Rebekah, know that I would like nothing more than to stop your pain and see it be turned to bliss, but I will not do so unless I know you truly consent.”

The wide pupils and thin gold rim of Rebekah's eyes looked up, meeting his own. He hadn’t noticed until then how they were glossy and glazed over. It was difficult to tell whether she understood any of what he had just explained.

“Take what you need to help soothe the pain," he conceded after a pause, "but I am not getting undressed. Can you do that?”

The smell of Rebekah’s lust grew stronger as she contemplated Eskel’s offer. She swallowed the lump in her throat but couldn’t manage to form any words so she simply nodded. Eskel released his hold on her hips and slowly lay down onto his back.

Rebekah braced herself against Eskel’s chest and moved so she had one knee between his thighs. She lowered herself, hissing when her sensitive cunt brushed against Eskel’s thick thigh. He shifted, giving her more room to get comfortable and clenched his muscles, pulling a quiet gasp from her lips.

“Take what you need,” he repeated, when she failed to start moving.

Slowly, she shifted against him, exploring the feeling of his rough trousers against her skin. It didn’t take long before her juices had coated the fabric, easing her movements. Growing more confident, Rebekah closed her eyes, head tipped back, and let her pleasure guide her actions. Small moans fell from her lips and Eskel fisted both hands into the mess of dingy linens in a desperate attempt to keep his hands to himself.

Using every shred of his self-control, Eskel fought against his body hoping to keep from tipping over the ledge and letting his instincts take over. The scent of an omega — his omega — going into heat had him feeling like he was seconds away from starting his rut, not unlike the alphas upstairs had been.

Rebekah’s hand moved from his chest down to his stomach, slipping under the hem of his chemise and pushing up the fabric. Eskel was about to protest but rather than try to remove the offending garment, she simply bent down, humming contentedly when her bare stomach met his. She pressed her nose to the junction of his neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply before lapping at his scent gland. For a moment, Eskel allowed himself to relax, enjoying the sensation. His low groans spurred her on and soon Rebekah began worrying at the skin with her teeth.

Eskel’s eyes shot open. “No biting, ‘Mega.”

Rebekah whimpered, lifting her teeth and instead began sucking a deep bruise over the spot she’d been about to bite. She didn’t argue with his order, some part of her knowing that when she did finally bond with Eskel, it shouldn’t be in some makeshift holding cell at the bottom of a cellar with the blood of her attackers still caked on her alpha’s hands.

Her hips moved once again, the new angle putting more pressure on her delicate pearl which all too soon had her crying out as the coil in her stomach snapped and her release washed over her like waves. It was nowhere near as satisfying as having Eskel provide her bliss, her core clenching painfully around nothing but it was enough to settle the cramps in her abdomen.

She collapsed over Eskel, and the alpha took her weight easily. He circled his arms around her waist, rubbing up and down her back in what he hoped was a soothing rhythm. His nostrils flared as he scented the air. The sour edge of pain in her scent had, for the most part, ebbed away, replaced by lust and, very faintly, contentment.

“May I move you, my love?”

Her limbs tightened around his wide frame and she gave him a small nod, her nose brushing against his pulse point as she did. Without releasing her, Eskel stood, rearranging his grip to support her with one arm — not a difficult task with the way she clung to his body — and used his free hand to cover her back and shoulders with his gambeson.

“Can you put your arms through the sleeves for me? Yes, like that, one at a time. Good girl.”

The thick leather didn’t do much to cover her modesty but it would protect her as they rode back towards Lettenhove. He’d have to stop again soon when her heat would undoubtedly crest again but the less time they spent in that cottage, the better. The next day would be the most difficult to handle but with any luck, they would be somewhere safe by then and she would be able to, at the very least, wait out her heat in a clean bed with her siblings to care for her. Jaskier and Geralt would possibly have arrived by then and would be able to further advise on how to settle the heat while Eskel dealt with the consequences of his actions.

Rebekah had nodded off shortly after Eskel had climbed onto Scorpion, setting out at the fastest pace he could manage while keeping a tight hold on the young woman. They’d been riding for less than an hour when Rebekah stirred against Eskel, waking with a pained groan.

"Jas— Jaskier… is he—"

"He's safe. He has a small bump from where your kidnapper struck him over the head and a rather nasty bruise from landing cheek first onto the floor but nothing more."

"Good… was worried,” she mumbled, pressing her nose into his neck right before she drifted back to sleep.

***

She woke again as the sun began to rise. They were close to the Lettenhove estate but Rebekah’s heat scent had grown to be nearly unbearable. Eskel was reluctant to ride into town without first diminishing her scent, unsure what sort of attention it would attract.

“How are you feeling?”

The whimper which escaped her throat as pain twisted in her gut was enough of an answer to Eskel’s question. He pulled on Scorpion’s reins, slowing him to a stop and dismounted carefully so as not to jostle Rebekah. He laid out his bedroll before lowering her to the ground and she immediately turned her head to the side, picking up on Eskel’s musk which still lingered on the fabric.

She reached out for him, pulling at his sleeve.

“Need you, Alpha.”

“I already told you, ‘Mega. I will not be that kind of monster.”

“If not your body then your mouth. Please.” Eskel was shocked at the request. Obviously she was not as lucid as he’d believed if she was begging for things she had never been willing to try before.

Now that the adrenalin and potions were out of his system, Eskel’s body was more reactive to Rebekah’s pheromones. His prick was hard in his trousers, and there was a nagging need to breed in the back of his mind. Panic crept through Eskel, remembering the fog he had awoken to the previous year and the confusion of having lost complete control over his body and his mind. If she’d been drugged to force her into heat, there was no telling how much she would remember when it was all over.

“I can’t. ‘Mega, I can’t.” Eskel took a deep breath, his jaw clenching as he restrained himself.

“Axii,” she mumbled.

Eskel frowned. “What?”

“Ask me…”

Eskel’s eyes went wide with understanding, his entire body remaining frozen in place only to be jostled into action by another pained whimper. He raised a shaky hand, curling his fingers in a familiar motion. Rebekah’s body immediately went slack on the ground, no longer writhing with pain.

For a moment, Eskel only stood over her, looking down at her body, naked save for his gambeson but soon he looked away, breaking the sign. Rebekah immediately turned to her side, her body curling into a ball with a cry as a wave of cramps seized her stomach.

“Wh— Why didn’t you…”

“I can’t do that to you, either.”

Eskel slowly lowered himself to the ground, pushing Rebekah’s sweat soaked hair from her face. Her skin was blistering hot under his fingers as they ghosted over her cheek.

“Are you strong enough to sit?” he asked with a sigh.

She nodded frantically, putting both hands on the ground and using all her strength to push herself up and prove the truth of her statement. Once he was sure she wouldn’t keel over, Eskel lay back on the bedroll, taking Rebekah’s hands and guided her to straddle his face.

It took four releases for the heat to finally subside enough that Rebekah’s scent was no longer intoxicatingly strong. By the end, the pleasure had become so overwhelming that it bordered on pain but her grip on Eskel’s hair didn’t falter, keeping him firmly in place below her until her body stopped trembling.

Eskel sat up, moving the exhausted omega until they sat chest to chest, holding each other close. She wiggled her hips over his raging erection forcing Eskel to pin her hips in place.

“T’least I know some part 'f you still d'sires me,” she mumbled into his neck before passing out cold.

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brightjimini · 2 years

Text

A Nightmare Or A Warning? (2/2)

Geralt x f!witch!reader

Warnings: talk of wounds, fire, feeling hepless, not proofread yet

Word count: 1.1K

A/N: I think I am going to write a prologue for this story with Geralts and Y/N’s backstory. I wanna do more with this story but I dont really know how yet. Let me know if anyone even wants to. I like how I wrote this but let me know your opinion. (respectfully ofc lol) Does anyone even read the a/n. School starts on tue for me- a girl is feeling that depression hitting her harder again. ANYWAY enjoy!

Masterlist

Part 1

I don't know how I ended up here. Behind me was a burning city. I didn't recognize it just like I didn't recognize whose clothing I was wearing. It was white with golden embroidery. My mind seemed to have stopped working and the only thing that I could do was hear and move. I didn't feel the softness of the dress on my skin or the grass underneath my bare feet. I couldn't smell the smoke of the huge fires in the distance.

Suddenly a shape appeared to be coming towards me. I took a few steps back. It seemed to be a woman. Then behind her a man in dark armor on top of a horse appeared. He was after her. I tried to mutter a spell, when that didn't work I tried to say it and when that didn't work I tried to scream it. Nothing happened. She was coming closer and he was gaining in on her.

She was close enough that I could see her better. She had long- almost white- blond hair, a blue cloak and- She was a child. The rider looked even scarier up close. Without thinking I ran forward. His hands were on her and just before I could drag her behind me something happened. A piercing scream filled my head. I felt something. My hands were trying to close my ears off. It didn’t work.

The feeling in my body returned in a giant wave. One moment I was with my knees digging into the ground trying to block out her screams and the next my body felt weightless. The screaming didn't stop but it became a background noise as the sound of a familiar roar became louder accompanied by other different growls and screeches of other monsters and beasts. I opened my eyes.

I was now crouching on a wooden floor. My dress was bloody but I didn't feel any wounds, only a slight pressure against my side. When I looked up, a giant tree loomed over me. It had chains- or no medallions hanging on the branches. The roots at the bottom started to move like they had a mind of their own. I removed my hands from my ears and tried to crawl back. Anything to avoid the roots that seemed to move towards me. The girl was gone, so was the burning city and the knight. But I could still hear her and those monsters.

“Y-.. Y/N…./N”

The roots were still moving in my direction. One wrapped around my ankle.

“Y/N!”

I gasped and my eyes popped open. I was laying down and my hand and feet were held restrained. Following the hand- that was holding my wrist against what I assumed was a wooden table- my eyes locked with those of “Geralt?” I flinched. My vocal cords burned as I spoke his name. I looked back up at him. He hadn't changed a bit since the last time I saw him. His hair was a little bit longer though. I was pulled out of my thoughts when he cupped the side of my face in his palm.

“Y/N do you know where you are?” He asked. I could hear and see that he was worried. I looked over his shoulder trying to take everything around me in. I was on a table above me was a stone ceiling. Then I saw other figures to my left and right that Geralt's frame mostly hid. I hadn't noticed them sooner because it was so silent. Vesimir, Eskel, Coen, Lambert who was holding my legs down- Kaer Morhen. I was at Kaer Morhen. How did I end up here?

I looked back at Geralt who was still partially hovering over me. I nodded. Not wanting to feel the same unnecessary pain. He slowly stood back up and let go of my face and wrist, as if trying to see what I would do next. The pressure around my ankles also lifted. The side of my torso felt hot- unconsciously my hand went to the spot.

“Don't touch it. We just treated it.” Vesimir said. Confused, I looked down as much as I could anyway. I could see that my tunic was cut open just under my bosom. Gauze and strips of fabric were wrapped around my torso and the place my hand hovered over was pinkish.

“What attacked you? So close to Kaer Morhen?” It was Eskel this time. I looked at him, seeing the same concern but less panicked expression on his face. I loved Eskel. He was like a brother to me. I saw him a few months ago in a tavern.

“I-” I coughed, that also hurt. “I don't know.” I said. Flashes of the giant monster popped back into my head. I was too caught in my own world that I didn't see the looks the witchers gave each other. “It's okay Y/N.. We're happy that you came back.” Vesimir said, walking closer. “We’ll figure out later what attacked you-” “No-” I tried to sit up shaking my head. Geralt helped me slowly sit up. “No, I don't know because it… I have never seen it before. Not even in the bestiary.”

Her voice sounded more panicked than before. Eskel had ignored my look when he asked about what attacked her. She just woke up from.. I honestly don't know what. She reminded me of Ciri when she had a nightmare. But louder and more dangerous. I felt the sting of the scratches on my neck but ignored them.

“Enough.” I said. I looked at Y/N’s face and she looked back at me. I could tell she was telling the truth. The confusion but mostly fear in her eyes were enough for me to stop this conversation. Maybe we could discuss it later. But she was wounded and needed rest. She wouldn't get that on a table so close to the cold outside. I carefully put my arm under her knee cavities and picked her up. She didn't say anything. Now I knew certainly she was tired. I turned around to walk towards my room- or another I would ask her when we were upstairs.

My eyes snapped to her face when she made a confused sound. Her gaze was on the medallion tree. I didn't pick up on any panic and continued walking, careful not to move her too much.

Thoughts?

No reposting of my work in any form in any way. tnx

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt imagine #geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #witcher eskel #ciri #vesimir #fanfic #writing #writeblr #the witcher netflix

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bewaretheundead91 · 2 years

Text

I don't trust you

Netflix!Eskel X OFC

A/N: I want to apologize for the lack of posting. I know some of you wanted to read it. Here is a post. To be honest like I mentioned in my other post, I was never going to share this fanfic. It was just going to be something to read and write on my own for fun. But I ended up writing about 49 pages single space on google docs and thought maybe it had some substance. It's needs to be edited more than I have, but if I was to dwell on what I've written it would never be posted.

This is a Netflix!Witcher fit with Netflix!characters. I only know about the storyline from the show and from some research. Please go easy on me.

This is also mainly because I like Basil's face and well wanted to explore the character Eskel a bit more and what could have been.

I’ve also written a summery/blurb for the story

A cursed mage seeks refuge from an old friend at the brink of death. When she find him, she stumbles across her destiny sitting at a table. Perhaps there is someone within those old stone walls that can not just help fight for her destiny, but can lift the curse and release her chaos as well. But there is always a catchI will continue to work on the summery

.Eskel walks down the stairs toward the large common room on his way outside to find the horse. An uneasy feeling slithers up his spine and gives him a chill. He turns to face the direction of the room where Geralt was taking care of the girl. The old tree of pendants began to rattle and the ceiling began to creak. The Witcher runs back to the room and Geralt is holding a sword out with his back to the sleeping g

“What’s happening?” Eskel shouts seeing a whirlwind of objects floating in the air, jars of monster parts, small bottles of elixirs, tools, and weaponry. As soon as walks into the room, circling weapons halt and charge towards the girl. Geralt swings his sword knocking a large ax to the ground. A dagger exits the wind and flings itself towards the girl. Geralt brings his fingers together and opens them creating a wall of magic around him and the girl.

The weaponry seeks out a new target, Eskel, and charges at him. The witcher grabs a loose sword off a wooden table. He whips the sword around and hits a wooden mallet, the tool flies off to the other side. He swings the sword to the other side preventing tool pick from plunging into his chest.

Then the whirlwind stops and everything is quiet. Eskel and Geralt look around the room in confusion. Eskel joins Geralt's side and gets a closer look at the shelves.

“Hmmmm, she was delirious,” Geralt says, giving him a side eye. “Chaos.”

“She’s going to get us killed!” Eskel shouts, face going red. Anger surges out of him spontaneously. “Whatever that was, it might come back! And then try to kill us again! How are we to rest for the winter?”

“Everything is back in its place, there is even dust still on the shelves. That is impossible. How strange,” The white haired witcher looks down at his sleeping friends. “She was seeking refuge Eskel.”

“She can’t stay here, Geralt!” Eskel shouts. “Not with this.”

“This isn’t like you,” the tall white hair Witcher says and approaches his friend. “We protect those who need our help. And even you wouldn’t deny help for a woman.”

“Does she have the coin? If she doesn’t she can't stay here!”

“That’s not your decision to make, my boy,” Vesemir says walking into the room. “A friend of Geralt is a friend of ours, those who help a Witcher may seek help from the brotherhood.”

“You don’t have to speak to her if you don’t want to. This place has a lot of room,” Geralt suggests and crosses his arm. “But I feel she would be a good match with the sword.”

“That damsel won’t be using a sword any time soon.”

Eskel exits the room with closed fists and a tense jaw. The anger he feels at that moment was something he hadn’t felt in a while. He closes his eyes knowing there was no real need to be angry. She was so helpless against his chest only alive by the adrenaline in her blood. A wave of guilt washes over him, washing the anger away with it.

Geralt watches over the girl asleep with a blazing fire licking at his back. Wool blankets were tucked around her body up to her collarbone to keep her warm. Her arms were left bare out in front of her, resting on the blankets. Geralt approaches the fire and pulls out a warm bowl of a greenish mixture. He places the bowl on the night table beside the bed and lifts up one arm with several cuts and bruises on them. He dips his hands into the bowl then gently drips the mixture onto the girl’s arm. He generously coats the broken skin.

“You don’t have many friends outside of these wall, wolf, ” Vesemer states with a curious brow. “Who is this woman that you treat so gently? I’ve never seen you treat the brothers here like this.”

Geralt turns to face his friend and smiles.

“We met at the wedding between Ciris' mother and father,” He says. “We traveled together for a season many years ago. Only seeing each other in passing from time to time.”

“Do you love her?” Vesemir asks.

“Witchers aren’t supposed to fall in love. What was once there no longer lingers,” Geralt says. “Not in that way of course.”

“You wouldn’t be rubbing that oil on her if you didn’t care for her.”

“I care for a friend and only trust that I do this.”

Geralt smiled warmly then turned back to the sleeping girl. He reaches back into the clay bowl and picks up more of the mixture. He applies it to the other arm.

“Why did Eskel react with such anger? Such rage.” The older man asks. “I haven’t see this from him since he was a boy.”

“I couldn’t say, it could be because she’s a stranger in a place of rest.”

“She’s important to you,” the older man says. “She may create enemies amongst the brotherhood, one brother is already alarmed by her presence. But I trust your judgment.”

“Eskel is harmless, I know he won’t harm her, he may not like her here, but he will not hurt her,” Geralt said confidently. “And Lena can defend herself pretty well. While she is here I was going to ask her to talk to ciri.”

“I think the girl will like that very much.”

“I think if Ciri witnesses a strong woman with a sword, she will gain confidence with the sword.”

Geralt watches the older man leave. He stands up, giving Lena one last look over and leaves to allow her to rest.

Eskel pushes open the large doors leading outside, he’s met the sharp winter’s air. In the distance he could see a white spotted horse grazing on dry vegetation uncovered by the wind. A trail of bright red blood leads up to the horse. He cautiously approaches the horse kicking snow over the blood. He let’s the horse know of his presence by standing to the side of it. Gently he places a warm hand on the back of the horse near a black leather saddle. One that must have been many coins to pay for. Latched to the saddle we’re matching black leather sacks. One large, long, sack with thick leather, much like a weaponry carrying case. Curiously, he opens the flap of the sack. Inside were sharp weapons of all kinds. He pulls one out, a midsize dagger with a serpent wrapped around the silver handle. He furrows his brows as he brings the weapon up to his face, it had been used by the scratches and jaggedness of the metal and needed to be sharpened. He places it back in the sack and carefully pulls out a midsize ax also with a serpent decorating its handle. Carefully he places it back and goes for another bag. He pulls at the drawstrings to reveal garments, in the color of green and scarlet and violet. Shoved to the side were a few vials of red and purple liquid. He pulls a vile out and uncorks it, the scent of rose waffs against his nose. The nicest scent he has smelled in a long time. He places the vile back in the sac and uncorks the other one. Jasmine and some sort of spice.

“Curious,” He places the vile back into the bag. “Let’s get you warm and fed, horse.”

He leads the horse to a roofed barn area with plenty of hay. The hungry horse rips into what was on the ground.

Eskel grabs the bags latched to the saddle and pulls the saddle off the horse for rest. There hanging on the other side of the saddle was leather sheath. How could he have missed it? The leather was black, matching the bags he had dropped to the ground. He removes from the saddle. He pulls the sword out. It was the same as the one she had dropped. Long and slender, the handle was silver with snakes at the base. He picks up the leather bags and brings them inside.

A group of witchers were sitting and drinking along with Ciri.

Eskel drops the bags and the sound of metal echoes off the walls. The conversation comes to a halt and everyone turns their face.

“I’ve never known a woman who travels with this amount of weaponry,” He says walking over to the tables of brothers. “A woman who travels with not just one, but two swords, two daggers, and an ax. I doubt the damsel knows how to use them.”

“Would you like to try that against her?” Geralt asks, stepping off the last step. He prop himself against the rail. “Eskel, for someone who has seen what this sphere has to offer, a woman being able to use many types of weapons should not surprise you.”

“Brother,”Eskel says, walking over to his friend. “Don’t tell me that isn’t unusual. Serpents cover the handles.”

“And you wear a pendant of wolf around your neck.” Ciri cuts in.

“I’ll take these and put them somewhere safe and away from Lena if that would make you feel safer.”

The Witcher brothers start a roar of laughter. Eskel flares his nose and picks the sacks up. He shoves them into Geralt’s arms.

“If you trust her brother, I trust her. Do you trust her?”

“I do,” Geralt says. “She’s helped me out of a bad time”

Eskel wanders the halls trying to keep his mind at peace, though the rider was in a state near death, once she would be healed enough to carry a sword she might be dangerous. He makes the decision to go visit the girl who now resides in her own room.

The wandering Witcher creeps towards the door, warm air curressing him as it slips through the cracks. Slowly he pushes it open.

The room was more than warm against the night’s cold with an intense scent of strong herbs and burning wood. Eskel was thankful for the thin sleep shirt he was wearing, with it loosely open in the front. A draft of cold air ushers him forward into the room and the door slowly closes until it is left ajar. He looks back suspiciously. The room was bare with only a small round table in the corner surrounded by chairs and a small rectangular table against the wall. It was a room like any other room in the castle with a small opening for a window to let light and fresh air in.

The witcher turns around to see the girl sleeping on a bed against the wall. He grabs one of the chairs from the table and plops himself down lazily spreading his legs. He listens to the stranger’s breathing, seeing her chest rising and falling, steady and normal. Different from the fast beating heart he felt against his chest. Her heartbeat was at a sleeping pace. She was asleep, knocked out cold, it was nothing to keep him awake about. He was still uneasy.

“I’m sure you’re harmless, damsel,” He tilts his head examining her, allowing the fire light to expose her face. “You’re quite frail looking, sickly even. I doubt you would have survived out in the cold for one more night.”

Eskel places an arm on the bed to examine her more closely. He could see the girl was clean, with a layer of a healing mixture on her skin. The girl's arms were down over the covers.Eskel could see the muscles he had felt earlier gleaming against the flickering light of the fire. Even in such a frail state, the strength is still there.

“You survived. That’s strength.”

The Witcher scoots his chair closer and daringly extends a finger to the girl's skin. There is a carving of scars. He finds the beginning of a long scar that started from the back of her wrist, winding up to her shoulder. It was an irregular shaped scare like his. He presses his fingers to his face, feeling his own scar that disfigures his face. He remembers the way the rider was looking up at him, studying his face. The Witcher stands up from the chair and hovers over the sleeping girl.

“I guess you had all the luck,” he says cautiously, extending a hand to the girl’s face. He brushes the damp hair from her temple. “Wouldn’t want to ruin such a face.”

The girl's heart starts beating at an alarming pace. She starts to stir in her sleep, face expressing pain and the Witcher looming over her takes a step back. She moves to the opposite side of the bed, turning her back to him. He places a hand over his mouth when he sees dark blotches of purple and blue covering her back.

“No I won’t let you!” She forces out and rolls over onto her back. “You cannot have her!”

Eskel can’t help, but to move closer to the sleeping girl. He could see sweat forming across her forehead and her once sickly pale complexion, blotches to a feverish red.

“I’ll die before you take her!” She shouts bolting up in bed, shouting herself awake. She repeats herself more slowly and quietly. “I’ll die before you take her.”

The girl wakes with a pulsating headache and a hazy fatigue. Looming over, too close for comfort, was the man she believes held her while Geralt was tending to her wound. She looks down and sees fabric has been wrapped around her midsection. In the process of sitting up, the blanket almost falls from her body. She snatches the blanket and wraps it around her. With a quick glimpse of the room she could see there was a small table with a bowl, a cup and a pitcher. In the back wall was a small fire where a tunic hung on the back of a chair.

“Can you,” She speaks with a raspy voice. She gently places a hand against her throat. “Can you hand me that tunic by the fire? Though It’s hotter than the underworld here.”

The man nods and Lena sees his face come to view, the fire light illuminates the scarring across his face. Even more so, the intrigue of the strange scars made her stare. The man grabs the shirt and turns to walk over and notices her eye line on his cheek.

“Here,” He says and drops it on the bed.

“Can you turn around please.” She asks, feeling vulnerable.

The man turns around and she painfully pulls the shirt over her body.

“Fuck.” She whispers, sliding her sore arm through the sleeves.

“Is everything okay,” He asks, looking to the side briefly.

“I’ll be fine,” She says looking up at his strong profile as she fully positions the fabric over her bare body. She feels relief of the warmth the fire had given the cloth she let out a breath. “Can you give me a cup of water please and I won’t ask anything more from you.”

Eskel walks over to the table in the corner and picks up a pitcher. He pours the water into the cup and brings it over. Lena watches as he moves around in the shadowy darkness. Tall stature, but not as tall as Geralt.

“Can you hold the cup?” He asks, turning around and making contact with the injured girl's eyes. He walks over and extends out his hand. She reaches for it. She grabs the cup with cold fingers, brushing against his warm skin. Quickly she gets a chill. He shivers too.

“Your skin is as cold as the dead,” He says looking down at her hand holding the small cup.

“I might as well be dead.” She remarks and downs the liquid. The water feels good on her throat.

“You look like a corpse,” The man retrieves the pitcher and fills Lena’s cup again. “Very pale.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel good about themselves.” The girl tries to laugh but her stomach muscles ache.

“It’s a part of my charm.”

“You're the man who held me while Geralt cleaned my wound aren’t you?” Eskel nods his head. “I should thank you for that. Thank you. I was so frightened by what was happening and you were so kind.”

“Geralt told me to,” He says shortly. “I helped you and was covered in your blood.

“I am sorry about that.”

“But then something weird happened and almost killed both Geralt and I.”

“What?!?”

“Yes, whoever followed you here, really wanted you dead. And then it really wanted me dead.”

“Can you call for Geralt please?” She cuts her eyes at him. “I’m not too sure I’m enjoying the company anymore.”

“Ah, I don’t think so, not just yet,” He says and finds his seat again. “Now tell me what kind of girl possesses a pack full of intricate weapons?”

“Tell me, Eskel isn’t it, how does one get a scar like that on their face? If we are asking personal questions.”

Eskel chuckles and bites down on his bottom lip.

“Also do you make it a habit of barging into someone’s room while they are sleeping?”

“This scar,” Eskel says, extending his neck then leaning in closer. Lena jumps back against the small headboard of the bed. “Came from a fight. I don’t walk into rooms while people are sleeping, I just don’t trust you.”

“Ah, even when someone is as vulnerable and weak as me?,” Lena asks as she crosses her arms across her chest. “Alright, can I understand that, most men would be frightened and confused by someone like me possessing and knowing how to use so many weapons.”

“Frightened?” Eskel smiles wickedly and slaps his hands on his knees. “I’m not frightened by a girl. Especially one practically dead.”

“Ah frightened by the skills I may have,” She says with a lifted brow. “If you are nice to me I might teach you a few things.”

“I’m a Witcher and I…”

“Mmmm” Geralt mumbles, leaning against the door frame of the small room. He glares over at the other witcher in the room. “Eskel?”

“Don’t worry friend,” Lena says. “He was just amusing me into forgetting the pain I feel.”

Eskel jumps up and the chair flies backwards.

“Amusing you was I,” He says leaning in even further. His face was so close that Lena could see the redness in his skin, even in the dark. “Entertaining was I?”

“Quite entertaining,” She says, tilting her head. “I got a good laugh from him. Did you know that your friend is frightened by women with a sword? Wait until he finds out what’s between their legs.”

“I’m not frightened by women…” He stumbles on the chair behind him and Lena softly laughs.

“Eskel go to bed,” Geralt grabs the man by the arms and shoves him towards the door disapprovingly. “What are you doing here and up at this hour?”

“It was all in good fun,” Eskel says before going through the door. “No harm. A good riling up gets the blood pumping.”

The man walks out of the room and then turns back to give Lena a look of confusion.

“He typically means well, just playful. But let me know if he really starts to be rude,” Geralt says walking to the bedside. He extends a hand to Lena’s forehead. “No sign of a fever. This is good. How are you feeling?”

“Well I feel like death and apparently look like I’m dead,” Lena tries to chuckle, her soreness makes it come to a halt. “How long have I been out for?”

“About four days,” Geralt informs. “You were in pretty bad shape. When you’re ready I need to know what happened.”

“Is this out of concern for a friend or for a potential pocket full of coin? Nothing to be slayed my friend unless you want to fight the wind.”

“Out of concern for a dear friend I haven’t seen in quite some time,” Geralt retrieves the chair and sits down. “ I just want to know who or what it was that did that to you. It takes a lot to strike you down from what I recall.”

“If there is bread and ale involved or perhaps something stronger I might just tell you everything. Just you of course.”

“You can count on that, I remember how you can down a whole pitcher of ale in a good time. A woman of brutal honesty about men.”

“Only sometimes,” Lena chuckles. “It’s good to finally see you again. It’s been hard, without my sisters. I’d give you a big embrace if I could!”

“I’m happy to see you.”

“Are you really? I was sure the last time I left you, you were going to be angry with me for the rest of my miserable life.”

“Witchers understand most the need to leave unannounced,” He holds out his hand. “Still friends.”

“Friends.” Lena grasps the man’s hand tightly. “And thank you for taking care of me. I owe you!”

“Help me train the girl and you don’t have to owe me anything.”

“The white haired girl?”

Geral nods.

#netflix!witcher #netflix!eskel #netflix!geralt

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for-a-muse-of-fire · 4 years

Text

oh, but you’re good to me

the wench and the witcher

"oh, but you’re good to me”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Black!OFC - Zahra Auberel. Platonic!Jaskier x Zahra.

Summary: Midaëte brings the height of summer, and a reconciliation.

Warnings: Rated Mature due to brief mention of sex. Please don’t interact if you are under the age of 18.

A/N: Well, what started as a simple reader insert character grew into a fully-formed OC through the course of this series. And now we have reached the end! Well, mostly. I have some random outtakes and drabbles that I’m sure will crop up, but my (eventual) multi-chapter will feature Geralt and Zahra as they navigate some... interesting magical developments.

But, for now, I call this the end of The Wench and The Witcher. Thank you guys so much for your kind words, reblogs, likes - this is honestly the most I’ve written in years and knowing that y’all have enjoyed it warms the cockles of my heart. Title and lyrics under the cut from Hozier’s “Would That I” which I think might be my favorite Hozier song full-stop, hands down.

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty - @wastingmypotential - @inber

With each love I cut loose, I was never the same Watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Layin' waste to my lovin' long ago

“Contracts from the butcher and the miller,” Lucja rattles off. “And Jaskier returned your message – says he’s very much looking forward to performing for the solstice festival.”

She gives a hum as she thumbs through the stack of papers on the desk. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you, as well,” she teases.

Lucja’s pretty round face goes pink, making her employer grin. The older woman pauses when she finds an unfamiliar piece of folded parchment among the stack of invoices. Slim brown fingers unfold the sharply folded letter and suddenly her heart is in her throat. “Lucja… where did this come from?”

“Oh… it, ah, came with Jaskier’s reply. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

Though half-tempted to let Lucja burn the letter, she bites her lip and shakes her head. “No,” she murmurs. “Thank you, Lu’ – that will be all.”

Her young barmaid flashes a sympathetic smile and closes the door behind her. The neatly looped scrawl of the letter makes something around her heart ache. She’d always been surprised by how tidy the Witcher’s handwriting was:

I don’t

This isn’t what

I’m not – fucking shit fuck

The first time I saw you, it was like walking into the light of the sun after half a lifetime in the cold. And it was so fucking cold that night.

You were like summer.

It’s cold again now, without you. I don’t know what I’m doing

Two weeks later:

I wanted want wanted to bring you to see Kaer Mohren. I know you said you like the ocean more than the mountains, but I think this place could change your mind. You would get on with Eskel like a house on fire. He’s more of a southerner, like you.

I told him about the time you tried to teach me to cook and he nearly pissed himself laughing.

Lambert’s a shit. Vesemir already likes you.

You’d like it here. The kitchen is nearly as big as the whole front room of the tavern. Library’s bigger.

Garden’s a fucking nightmare, though.

We could go to the ocean, too. Anywhere you want.

The missives don’t come with any real regularity. A few at a time, a week-long gap, but they never stop. She thinks about writing back, at first, but deciphering where the Witcher is would likely be impossible and… gods, she’s still so damned angry. The White Wolf receives no reply.

Regardless, the letters keep coming.

The thing is, I don’t know what else there is besides The Path - this life of slaying monsters and getting paid in coin. I was told that was all I needed and I believed it for a very long time. There was nothing to challenge that, not until I met you.

You were are so fucking beautiful. And warm, and bright, and vulgar, and kind, and a pain in my ass and I should have told you how much you meant to me, but I couldn’t parse it out until just now, and I am an idiot. And a coward. I thought that telling myself you were an amusement would be enough, that I would be content with warming your bed, but I can’t do that anymore. I can’t keep lying about how much I need you.

I need you, Zee. It feels like I’m missing my fucking sword arm.

The words on the page blur together. She brushes them with her fingertips, almost smiling even as the tears catch in her lashes:

I miss the way you laugh at Jaskier’s dirty songs.

I miss the way you used my legs to keep your feet warm at night.

I miss that fucking rabbit stew.

I miss the way you’d look at me when I walked in the door.

I miss the sounds you make when I’m inside of you. The way you taste.

I miss your eyes. And your smile.

Your voice. Your terrible fucking singing.

You are my home. You’re my harbor and my safe haven.

I love you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

---

Midaëte approaches. With it, a week’s worth of festivities, and food and drink, leading up to the day of the solstice. It means early mornings in the kitchen and late nights in the tavern. The evenings are balmy, windows and doors thrown open to allow the scent of summer air and night-blooming flowers to drift through.

For a time, she is so busy that she forgets to be heartsore. Geralt’s letters – page after yellowing page – sit tied with a gold ribbon in her desk drawer. Confessions and apologies, promises and rambling stories that she keeps picking up to read again and again. It’s a veritable book, more than he’d ever seen fit to say in person and she’s not sure whether to be infuriated or hopeful, but there’s barely time. Thank the gods.

Business booms, between trades-folk coming in for the market day, then musicians, then families. She drinks a little, dances when there is time; she lets Lucja weave tiny yellow purple flowers into her hair for Midaëte Eve and dresses in white and yellow to enjoy the evening. Or try to, at least. The main room is full almost to bursting, patrons laughing, carousing, and eventually spilling out into the courtyard to dance in the falling dusk.

Zahra watches from the doorway. A few try to tempt her into the circle for a reel and they receive a grateful smile with her refusal. Jaskier, however, will not be deterred.

“You, dear lady,” he croons. “Look too lovely to be hiding in the shadows.”

“Jas…”

“One dance. Just one – you might even have fun by mistake.”

She rolls her eyes, but the bard just grins and lifts her hand for a kiss. He leads her, hand-in-hand out to the courtyard; Jaskier gives a nod to his fellow players and they begin with a sharp beat that eases into a lovely, familiar melody.

“You know this one, ducky?” Jaskier queries with a smile. She nods and he takes the lead.

It’s a simple step, to start with. A sweet back and forth to match the sweet, flowing verse of the song. The touch of Jaskier’s hand on her low back offers guidance, keeps her moving in gentle circles around him until the real movement begins. Swinging, agile steps carry Zahra and her partner around in wide loops. The mingle with other dancers, threading hands to spin back together and then apart.

Jaskier grips her waist across the front, and she follows suit. The dizzying spin turns the world into a wash of summer colors for a moment and she can’t help but laugh. It feels good to be light again.

The bard turns her under his arm and into the hands of the next man. There’s a moment of hesitation, a moment where she considers bowing out and going back to her corner, but the tabor still thrums in her blood and it’s such a beautiful night.

Still smiling, she curtsies, and is lead back through the steps again. Her partner leads easily, light of foot and loose of tongue – from her ale, more like than not – but he’s kind, and sweet, and so funny that she’s nearly in tears when she’s suddenly spun away to her next partner. She catches the fabric of her skirts to add a flourish to the spin; the soft yellow cotton dances with her.

When spins to a stop, she sees black, at first. Matte black buttons, black tunic shirt – worn, but cleaner than it usually is. The silver wolf’s head medallion sparks in the torchlight.

Zahra looks up into the face of Geralt of Rivia and the music goes dull behind the roar of blood in her ears. It feels a bit like standing on a ledge cliff and looking down to gauge the fall. She feels dizzy, and terrified, and wonderfully breathless. Heart in her mouth, she spies Jaskier out of the corner of her eye.

The bard grins. Bastard.

“Zahra…”

The Witcher’s voice rumbles through her like soft summer thunder. Strong fingers grip hers, and he lifts her knuckles to his lips. His honey-gold eyes are more earnest and honest than she’s ever seen them – he asks the question without moving his lips. Zahra nods.

Geralt leads her in the dance and everything falls away.

She hears the music, feels it sing through her, but her focus remains on the white-haired mutant at her side. His hand spans her back, warm through her dress and stays; the lightest pressure of his fingertips, or palm, guides her to turn, or step, or pivot in time with him. It shouldn’t be surprising to her, how well he moves – she’s seen him fight, and his grace with a sword, and how would dancing be any different? He doesn’t look away from her once and the heat of his gaze flushes over her. The Witcher very nearly smiles.

Geralt turns her under his arm, guides her through the last few measures of the song. He steps away, takes his warmth with him, and bows. Zahra curtsies in return.

The crowd, the rest of the world, rushes back over them. The townsfolk whistle, and stomp, for a moment determined to swarm in and start up another country dance, and Geralt grips her hand tight for a moment. She sees him hesitate before he asks, simply, “Can we talk?”

Most of the party has spilled into the streets, leaving the tavern itself practically empty. Lucja still keeps to her spot behind the bar, green eyes going wide when she spies Zahra and her guest in tow. The girl’s pretty face splits into a knowing smile that makes Zahra’s face go hot.

It’s mostly dark in her study. The small hearth fire has gone to smoldering embers, and it gives her the opportunity to light a few candles and collect her utterly scattered thoughts. She flicks out the last taper and finally looks up at Geralt. He stands just inside the closed door, just as he used to. It’s familiar – it feels like it’s been years, or decades, or maybe just a few hours. His honey-colored gaze still holds a heat that sings over her skin. She drops her eyes to the desk.

The last letter sits there, creased and folded from how many times she’s read it. Zahra picks at the parchment. Keeping her focus on Geralt’s neat lettering seems easier than looking at the Witcher himself. “Did Jaskier put you up to this?” she teases half-heartedly.

Geralt exhales on a chuckle. “Something like. Threatened to garrote me with a lute string.”

She smiles, in spite of herself. When she lifts her head and meets his eyes, it takes a moment to catch her breath. For a few heartbeats, she simply stares. Gods, he is still so beautiful. She swallows hard and feels her throat go dry.

“Did you mean what you wrote?” she asks.

“You know I did, Zee.”

Gold eyes go guarded again. He doesn’t go totally cold, but she can see the way he builds up his walls to prepare for the worst. He steps forward. Second-guesses – stops.

“What I do – what I am – I can’t change it,” he rumbles. “I’m still a Witcher, Zahra. A mutant. I can’t… I can’t give you normal, sweetheart – ”

“Gods, Geralt - fuck normal.”

---

“Fuck normal.”

She says it with such passionate certainty that it startles a laugh out of him. The soft yellow of her skirt floats like woven sunlight around her legs. Like the sun, it almost hurts to look at her, but fuck all, that’s all he wants to do. He watches her face, watches her chew her lip; feels his slow pulse try to speed up when she steps closer. His fingers itch to curl around her waist.

“I never asked for normal, Geralt,” she whispers. The way her voice cracks pulls tight around his heart. “I don’t want normal. I want you. That’s it. Can… can you give me that, or no?”

The Witcher’s footfalls carry him to her. He studies her face; re-acquaints himself with the curve of her cheek and the dimple that presses there. She all but melts into his touch when his thumb brushes her cheek. He pulls her into the circle of his arms. She’s still soft, and warm; he closes his eyes, feels his muscles go lax with relief when she holds fast, locking her arms around his back. Geralt presses his face against the smooth curve of her shoulder.

It feels like stepping into the light of the sun after ages in cold and rain. “I love you, Zahra,” he breathes.

Her soft, tearful laugh settles warm into his heart. “I love you, Geralt.”

He gives a pleased murmur, lets the tip of his nose trail lazy circles over her shoulder. When he inhales, the warm, soft smell of her skin eases back into his lungs. From shoulder to neck, the Witcher draws in slow breaths and ghosts his lips over the exposed skin he finds until Zahra shivers. “What are you doing, Witcher?” she whispers, breathless.

“Hmm… taking your scent back,” he mumbles. “I missed this smell.”

His lips ease along the shell of her ear. She still gasps when he nips at the crux of her jaw. “I missed you, love,” he growls.

Geralt takes his time. He savors the smell and the taste of her skin, humming lowly when Zahra’s hands grip at his back. The sweetness of her begins to bloom with heat, with the richness of desire – want – and when he sets his teeth gently against her pulse point, she moans delicately. Insistent fingers tangle in his hair; she whispers his name and pulls him to her lips. She kisses him like a woman starved and it feels like his heart might thunder its way free of his chest. He lifts her onto the edge of the desk and comes to stand between her parted thighs, gathering the soft yellow cotton of her skirts up. Her fingers yank at the buttons on his trousers.

It’s a quick, desperate of coupling. Mingled breath and bitten off sighs – greedy kisses with fingers gripped in the front of his shirt. She flutters hotly around his cock with a whimper and a curse. He groans against her mouth when he comes. Zahra drinks down the noise with a grin on her lips.

Geralt stays put for more than a year. It’s good.

The Path still calls, and he still follows, but she finds she’s able to let go of the fear. It’s no longer a question of ‘if’ but ‘when’ in terms of Geralt’s return. And if he knows it’s going to be a long journey, or if the mood simply strikes him, he writes -

I miss you.

I love you.

Sometimes no more than a line, sometimes full paragraphs – even pages – but he always tells her when he plans to return. When he’ll be home.

It’s nearly spring next time he rides back in, market day in full swing as he passes through the township gate with Roach at his side. Vendors call their wares, families and merchants wander the stalls as he peers out from the shadow of his cloak. He finds the trail of Zahra’s scent past the cloying smell of cut flowers and rounds to corner to find her chatting with the butcher’s daughter.

The younger woman catches his gaze. Geralt watches the girl grin and give his woman – his woman – a nudge, nodding in his direction. Zahra is already smiling when she turns, and the Witcher has the pleasure of watching her face flash from surprise to joy in the space of a heartbeat. She moves to him, a walk that becomes a jog, and then a final sprint that launches her into his arms. He curls his free arm tight around her waist. Immediately, he has his face pressed to her hair. Zahra’s laughter rings softly in his ears when she draws back, just enough to look up into his face.

At her throat, the polished wolf’s tooth is bright against her brown skin. “Welcome home, my love,” she murmurs.

The greeting settles warm over him like the sunlight. Geralt pulls her close again, kissing her in full view of half the town. She shivers sweetly in his arms and pulls her fingers through his hair. He hears a wolf-whistle, and a smattering of applause that makes Zahra giggle against his mouth.

“People are staring,” she teases softly.

He smirks. “Let them,” he tells her before kissing her once more. She tastes of clover honey.

She smells of sunshine.

She feels like home.

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