Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hey everyone! I am in the process of re-editing this story. Read on!

3/29/2020 Update: Chapter Two and Three are re-edited! Or is it one and two? Um.. Hahah.

Chapter Text

The gauntlets that cover my hands don't shield me from the biting frost, but rather intensify the cold and accompanying numbness of my fingers whenever a digit brushes up against the metal. My armour, heavy and not well-suited to extreme weather conditions, feels like a one-hundred pound weight quite literally on my shoulders, pulling me down towards Hell. The two swords strapped across my back add to the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia, the inability to escape my bonds. The blouse I wear underneath is soiled and damp, the undersides of my breasts gather perspiration, my armpits are soaked against the fabric, nearly glued to it.

Geralt walks a few paces ahead, guiding his dark chestnut horse by a rope tied around its halter. It walks slightly behind him yet close beside like the loyal animal it is, as white visible huffs of breath shoot from its nostrils into the freezing cold Velen air. Geralt's white hair, the same colour as mine, almost perfectly matches the freshly fallen snow that covers the ground and grips the branches of frost-bitten trees. Both of us allow our hair to hang loosely, his resting on his shoulders and mine surpassing, nearly ending at my tailbone. The thickness does wonders at shielding our ears from the nipping frost, though the strong gusts of wind expose and tear away at the delicate skin, causing reddened rashes on the tips. Based on looks alone, most might mistake us for blood relatives, despite the ever-so-slightly pointed ears that stick out from underneath my white tresses.

Geralt looks behind himself every so often, glancing over his shoulder discreetly in order to check up on me in the only way he knows— that being in silence—waiting to see when I'll finally beg to sit on Roach, his noble steed. Even though it feels as if my legs are bound to give out any second now, I keep my thoughts to myself. My lips, cracked and pale, are parted ever so slightly to breathe. Hissing through my teeth the air burns my throat down into my lungs. I avoid breathing through my nose as it causes my sinuses to ache unforgivingly, but I can do nothing when my eyes sting and begin to well with tears, trying desperately to flush out snowflakes that surpass my lashes.

This time when Geralt looks back to me, he allows our gaze to meet long enough for our cat-like eyes to briefly examine each other. His irises, yellow like mine, have black slits for pupils set in the middle of a sea of amber. People like to mock us for it, calling our poor mums "cat-fuckers.” They take their snide comments back the second we save their asses from a ghoul or whatsoever happens to attack them. Sometimes I consider letting the ignorant fools meet their untimely demise, but Geralt insists we do our job. Moral codes to live by, and all that. Ptooey. Did I sign up for that? Well, I don’t know. I didn’t read the fine print apparently.

I haven't seen myself in a mirror for quite some time so I am unsure of my appearance at this point. I've only seen bits and pieces in the faint reflection that Geralt's eyes provide during the odd time we actually maintain any sort of intimate eye contact. On the other hand Geralt looks awful to put it bluntly, so I can safely come to the conclusion that I do as well. When I run my fingers through my hair, my knuckles get caught in the knots and I end up ripping out chunks of long white strands. I try not to touch it anymore. Geralt's hair is similar, unkempt and greasy to match his patchy and lice-infested beard, as our luck the past week or so has been running out. I don’t count the days anymore. At this time of year, all establishments either turn us away or are closed for the winter. The streams and lakes are all too frozen to use, and even if we did manage to break the ice I'd sooner die before submerging myself in that freezing cold water, which would most likely kill us anyway. Hypothermia is a bitch.

The path we're walking along isn't a place I recognize. It appears to be a frequently travelled road, the snow is flattened into firm ice from stomping horse hooves and the heavy wheels of carts, which has been going straight forward for a few days now-- though, we have not come across another soul. The time has blended into one long, seemingly endless day consisting of mindless soldier-like marching to our next destination, resting only for a couple limited hours, one of us always awake to keep watch and protect us from bandits, monsters, and whatever else may dare to disturb us throughout the extended hours of darkness. There are trees lined on either side of the path but not enough to shield us from the blinding winter sun or the frigid wind, my nose numb, my eyelashes stiff. Each time I blink they stick together, trying to protect my eyes from the cold, my vision blurry as tears well in my bottom lid. Too damn bad, I think to myself as I force my eyes open, inevitably squinting as much as possible to watch my steps. My lashes flutter as I blink away the salty water streaming down my cheeks like droplets of poisonous ink, further intensifying the rawness of minor frostbite. 

It's only November. Hasn't even passed Eskel's birthday yet, I don't think. I hope not. I hope for my own birthday I'm able to have a lavish ball, or perhaps a warm meal and proper bed will suffice. I cross my index and middle fingers for warmth, but also to wish for a visit from my father. 

I clear my throat, breaking the prolonged silence. I can almost see the sound cutting through the crisp air.

"Need a break?" Geralt looks back to me and I shake my head, shivering a bit. He wears a brown cape yet doesn't have the hood up. Must be trying to look tough.

"Do you?" I reply with a snarky tone, cocking my eyebrow.

"Ahem,” he coughs. “No. Soon though,” he glances back, his voice scruffier than usual. “We should be coming upon an inn eventually." He slows down to walk beside me.

"Here's hoping. I'm freezing." I quickly begin speaking again to avoid whatever article of clothing Geralt may offer me. He needs it more than I do. "I'm also hoping they have a warm stable for poor Roach."

"Agh," Geralt shakes his head slightly. "She'll be fine. She's tough."

"Still," I scoff. "Even horses get cold. Even witchers get cold." 

"Mhm." He agrees. He's shivering, I knew it! He proceeds to let go of Roach's lead and it falls to the ground, scraping along the icy grass as the horse continues to trot along beside us. Damn is that thing well-trained. I should probably stop calling it a thing, and I should probably stop calling it, well, it. I’ve become rather close to the girl, and I’m starting to think the White Wolf cares more about her than me. Geralt unties the cape from his neck and wraps the leather around me, pausing his steps briefly to fasten the strings into a messy bow. He then continues walking and I follow, or rather my legs carry on as they’ve become so accustomed to wandering from place to place, village to village, swamp to marsh, seeking out our next contract. I cross my arms and embrace myself, moving my hands up and down over my sleeves in an attempt to warm up with a little bit of old-fashioned friction. Which, by the way, I haven’t received any sort of friction for months. Being stuck with Geralt in the same room means no men, no women, no nothing. 

Watching Geralt hold back chittering teeth, I open up the right side of the cape when he looks over his shoulder and motion for him to come inside. He chuckles with careful, calculated steps that prove he is none other than a Witcher, and loops his hand around my neck to pull at the end of the string, stealing the cape back. I cross my arms and visibly pout, wondering what the hell he's doing as he ties the laces around his own neck again, proceeding to launch himself up onto Roach with ease. As I continue to saunter on, and with no warning, Geralt grabs a hold of me from under my armpits, earning himself a rather girlish shriek and swings me up onto the horse. The both of us begin to break out into laughter as I shift my body to sit properly on Roach's saddle, discreetly rolling my eyes from an unpleasant feeling of inferiority and embarrassment. Geralt opens the cape with one arm and taps my shoulder with the other, signalling me to lean back into him. He then engulfs me with his arms and subsequently the fabric, although rather light, that at least shields us from the wind. Our shared body heat quickly warms up the inside, thawing our stiff torsos that are coated in a thin layer of ice and frost, returning blood flow and ultimately sensation back to our fingers.

"Should've thought of this sooner." I mock, grabbing a hold of his large forearms, forcing him to hold me tighter. 

"Mhm," he chortles, blowing a stream of air through his nose to indicate that he found my sarcastic comment to be adequately humorous. "I was.. busy in thought."

"Yeah?" I look up to him, leaning my head on his chest. Glancing back to the sky, he opens his mouth to speak, but is quick to start chewing on the dead skin on his pale bottom lip.

"Y'know," I begin, trying to alleviate his anxiety, "I can't stop worrying either. About Dandelion."

Geralt doesn't say anything, but looks down at me and nods in a silent understanding. I fix my gaze into a spaced-out stare as I lean into Geralt's chest even more, wiggling slightly to demonstrate my efforts at getting comfortable.

"I feel confused. How can I be with him when there's Eskel? Right? It's impossible. Isn't it? I shouldn't even be thinking about it. They don't even reciprocate those feelings, as far as I know."

Sighing, Geralt squeezes me. "Don't be so worried. I'm sure you'll make a decision when the time comes. Those two are kind, understanding. They won't pressure or guilt you, and I'm sure there's a way for it all to work out. Just look at Dandelion. He's slept with every single woman from the Isles all the way to Kovir." Geralt jokes, making me giggle. His lips stretch into a wide smile, the spot on the lips he was gnawing at is now split open, slightly bleeding.

"That's actually most likely true. How can I fall for a man like that? How do I know he won't cheat on me?" I ponder out loud, my voice shaky from the unsettling thought and the slight chattering of my jaw. "He obviously knows that I have eyes for other men, being on the path and all. Who's to say that didn't give him some sort of a twisted pass to go sleep with another hundred whores? We all know how crazy Dandelion’s brain is."

"Ehh," Geralt immediately sneers in disagreement. "Believe me, I know Dandelion better than anyone. I know Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and all in great detail. He really admires you, Lara, as a friend and I'm sure as more when the time comes." He pauses to collect his thoughts, carefully planning his words of advice. "Which is why I know he hasn't done anything along those lines, and won't."

"Ugh," I groan, staring ahead, watching Roach intuitively pick up speed as our surroundings whiz by us. "Does he really deserve that? I don't deserve him. I don't deserve any of them. Sorry," I quickly add. "I don’t mean to whine. I know you're upset about Yennefer.. And Triss."

"Mhm.." He groans. "Needn't remind me."

"Sorry." I blush in embarrassment, as that was the exact topic I was trying to avoid, to distract him from. Stupid.

"That's alright. Us Witchers, huh? So emotional." He rolls his eyes, smiling. I laugh hardy and loud.

"That's really funny."

"I know."

I sit up rapidly, squinting my eyes, trying to make out the silhouette that had just appeared a bit in front of us.

"H-hey!" I shout to Geralt in a whispered voice, pointing at the thing ahead. "What is that?"

Roach comes to a quick stop. Geralt jumps off of the horse, practically tearing the brown cape off from around his shoulders. ‘Anything loose and flowing is a hazard and only slows you down, Uncle Vesmir used to say, trying to convince me to cut my hair, or at least tie it up. ‘No.’ I jump down from the saddle as well, silently motioning for Roach to stay still, though she doesn’t need to be told twice. I hear the shing of Geralt's sword as it’s drawn from the scabbard. I follow, the hum of our blades shake the air as we parry our swords, pointing the sharp tip towards the creature as we slowly near the silhouette.

An extremely ugly, hunched over monster awaits us ahead. Its grey, veiny skin is pulled taut over its bones, the thing is skinny as a rail and almost 8 feet tall, that is if it didn't have such bad posture. Its claws, almost 5 inches in length, protrude from its hands that look crushed and broken. Its ears pointed and large, its sunken blue eyes glowing gold, its teeth rotten and yellow are looking rather sharp, and wrinkles litter its whole body. It begins snarling at us as we take careful steps towards the threat. Geralt and I exchange glances constantly, communicating in a silent and learned manner that we have created over the past couple of months that we have been together day in and day out, never taking even an ounce of attention away from the monster.

"A foglet!" He hisses, rummaging through his pocket for a glass vial while at the same time trying to hold his silver sword with one hand. I grab a vial of liquid out of my sash and flash it to him, which stops him from frantically digging through his pocket. He returns both of his hands to the hilt of his blade and starts to walk in front of me, creating a barrier between me and the monster as I quickly pop the cork off of the glass vial and pour half of the red contents on the tip and middle of my sword— Necrophage Oil. I quickly put the cork back in the vial, tossing it to Geralt who catches it with no hesitation. I spin around to the front of the Witcher right when the beast strikes, deflecting its claws with my blade as a loud ching shakes the air. I have to act fast before it disintegrates into mist and catches us by surprise, so there’s no time to breathe. It's already so foggy and the sun is beginning to set, it's hard enough as it is to see.

Geralt swings his sword and strikes the foglet from behind, the creature reacting suddenly with a loud shriek of pain as it begins to scratch the air violently in an attempt to defend itself. I stumble backwards before spinning my body towards the monster to gather momentum, and at luckily the right angle, my silver sword makes a clean cut just below the foglet's neck. With a thud the body falls to the ground, first onto its knees and then plunges fully forward into the mud, and its head follows soon after, a few feet away.

Geralt whistles. "Impressive."

"Thank you." I bow, wiping a few droplets of blood from my forehead. As I stand upright, I sheathe my sword back into its scabbard. The fog slowly dissipates, the light in the distance growing clearer. Geralt is busy prepping the head, draining the blood and brains in case we can score a few crowns off of the kill, but I continue to stare at the visage sitting on the horizon and I can finally make it out. There's a wooden building standing in the distance.

"Geralt, an inn!" I shout excitedly, dancing around him, while he’s crouched on the ground. He chuckles at my silliness and shakes his head.

"Now, now, don't wanna attract something else our way."

"I'm just so excited to sit by a real fire and feel my fingers and toes again! Oh, it's been too long!" I swing myself up onto Roach and wait a couple minutes before staring daggers at Geralt, hoping somehow I can control him with my mind and make him move faster, but to no avail. He treads over casually and slowly, then hooks the foglet onto Roach's saddle before mounting up as well.

"Let's get a move on, then." Geralt snaps the reins and shouts ‘ Hyah!’ in a booming voice, which causes Roach to begin cantering, the impact of her hooves against the ice almost deafening. In no time we reach the tavern, a large sign dangling from a post reads Inn at the Crossroads.

"Original name." I jeer, rolling my eyes.

"Shh," Geralt ties Roach's lead around a wooden pole, which is conveniently near some hay. "No sarcasm, no mocking, no nothing, hear me? It's the only inn for miles. I don’t want to cut off your purple toes."

"Fine." I groan. What's a witcher to parent me more than my own father? Shouldn't belittle him like that. Sorry, I look up to the sky like he can hear me.

Geralt pushes the door open, and immediately all of the bustling inside comes to a complete halt.

"Oi, a witcher!" A man shouts.

"Two!" Another gasps as I follow suit into the warm cabin. Whispers fill the tavern now, all eyes on us as we enter. The door swings shut behind me, the air inside welcoming and hot, though I could use a nice tea while sitting by the fire.

"No way that lassy there's one of 'em Witchers. They don't take girls in, only boys I ‘eard."

"I'm an exception." I sibilate down to the man, causing him to flinch from both surprise and disgust. Geralt grabs my arm, ripping me away from the table of men who began shouting obscene remarks towards me. Still holding onto my arm tighter than ever, pressure from the built-up blood beginning to pulsate, Geralt talks to the innkeep and practically begs for service.

The man is dressed in a leather jerkin overtop of a dark teal shirt that is beautifully embroidered with golden stripes around the wrists and on the bicep. There is a towel slung over his shoulder, his black beard is messy and scruffy, and he wears a towel wrapped around the top of his head as well. His forehead is wrinkled and coated in a layer of sweat, his eyebrows messy and furrowed.

"Only if ye behave, no exceptions. No funny business in my establishment." He scolds.

"Hey, buddy," I butt in, glaring at the man despite Geralt’s silent protests. "Daughter and father here."

"My apologies." The man’s gaze flickers to Geralt’s grasp on my arm and bows his head to the White Wolf, but I scoff at the misogynistic ignorance. "Come, I'll show you to your room."

Geralt eases his grip from my arm but continues to hold me, like a rabid dog on a leash. He can sense that I'm itching for a fight. We follow the innkeep down a short hallway and around a sharp corner. He unhooks a chain from the loop on his pants and fiddles through the large number of keys until he says aha! and proceeds to open the lock.

"There ye are," he says, pushing the door ajar. "That'll be 50 crowns for the room, nightwear, and meal. 10 extra for drinks. Firewood is of no extra fee for this evening, so I’d recommend grabbin’ a couple logs for your stay. It’s lookin’ cold out there."

"Sure," Geralt releases his hold on my arm and lightly pushes me into the room with his side. He rummages through his many pockets, searching for the right amount of coins, which takes a few awkward exchanges of sighs and shrugs. I hold a finger up in the air to indicate to the man to wait, he complies though looks unamused. Geralt, finally having scraped together the correct currencies, places them into the innkeeper's hand and he bows his head again, scurrying back to the bar where a line has formed of drunk customers who want another round of Redanian Lager. Those types of men are never too picky about the taste of the beer, no matter how shitty and cheap, rather they crave the buzz that helps them to forget their hardships for a night.

"Told you not to misbehave." Geralt shuts the door and starts to peel off his armor.

"Sorry." I whine. "I'm bored, hungry, tired.." I plop onto the end of the bed.

"Me too, but you don't see me egging people on."

"Hey!" I exclaim in a defensive tone. "They were calling me all sorts of names, didn't you hear?"

"You'll love Novigrad then."

Chapter Text

Running.

My legs are numb, aching, screaming, yet they maintain great strength. Probably from the panic. The fight or flight, the pure animal instinct. It's just enough to carry my body.

Away.

Gotta get away.

I can't stop running.

I can't look back. I can’t even sneak a single glance.

I'm out of breath, I can barely breathe, but I can't stop until I know I'm safe. Until she’s safe. 

I have no idea where I am. I've been sprinting for so long, only focused on moving myself forward.

It's freezing, well below anything humanly possible to survive in, the cold wind like a thousand razor blades slicing my face as I run full-speed through the unforgiving environment. I stumble on rocks and the occasional fallen tree branch, but more so on my own feet. I can hardly think.

In the distance..

A girl.

She has hair similar to mine and Geralt's, but it seems more mousey-blonde. Ashen. It's gathered into a loose bun. She stands with a single sword strapped on her back.

No matter how fast I run, I cannot reach her.

I see a deep, pink scar on her cheek. All around her eyes is smeared black makeup. Even though she seems far away, I can focus on her perfectly. Her eyes are glowing green. She seems so familiar and yet I have no idea who she is.

"Ciri?" I say aloud, that single word being the only viable thing able to escape my lips as I continue to run at breakneck speed, though I don't progress forward. I feel someone, or something, closing in on me. On us. On her.

Is this the girl Geralt had spoken so briefly about? The girl who had once been like a daughter to him, before me? The child promised to him by fate? By destiny?

A ball of grey and white swirling energy appears behind her. A portal begins to open, but not any ordinary portal. Frost and snow swirl out of the energy ball as a fully armored—what I assume to be— man steps out of the portal.

I try to shout, to warn the girl, yet my voice has been stolen. Not a single squeak can escape now. Still running in place, I watch the man tower behind the ashen-haired woman. She continues to stand completely still, watching as I panic in a frenzy, but she doesn't clue in. It's almost as if she's watching something behind me, as I am her.

The man grabs her.

He pulls them backwards towards the same portal as a scream leaves her lips. I finally regain control of my body, sprinting uncontrollably towards the woman at what feels like a hundred miles an hour as the rest of my body catches up to my legs, preparing to crash into the dense armour and break all of my bones.

I gasp loudly, springing up from my slumber. Sitting in bed, almost hyperventilating, I attempt to catch my breath. I notice Geralt sleeping soundly beside me, resting on his stomach with his head facing the wall. The thin white sheet we lay under doesn't provide much warmth, but luckily Geralt produces more heat than the fire itself. The upper part of his back is exposed and his right arm is hanging off of the side of the bed, and I begin to trace his many scars with my eyes. He always was a bit self conscious of them around me, which I find absolutely baffling since I nearly have more than him littering my body. Three long and deep gashes on my cheek are just beginning to scab. The cold air has been keeping all of the bacteria at bay, as well as numbing the pain. 

The embers in the fireplace are floating up the chimney, as we had fallen asleep long before properly extinguishing it. The logs of wood are charred and blackened, the whole room reeks of smoke. I assume the cold air had circulated through the flue during the night and fizzled out our fire.

I lay back down, careful not to wake the man beside me. Peering over his back, I can see a sliver of the sky through the window— over the hills is a bright golden sun peeking just above the horizon, the sky an extremely light blue with hints of wispy clouds here and there. Today will be much warmer and, hopefully, a more comfortable journey. We will continue to head to Novigrad. Hopefully we'll make it just before sundown. That is, if we can even make it through the gates.

The letter we received from Dandelion a few weeks past informed us that Menge and his men, the Witch Hunters, are cracking down on every mage and sorceress within the walls, burning them on pyres in the main square for all to see, as a warning for some and a sick sense of patriotism for others. Geralt is rather worried, as the so-called Free City is the last known location of his dear friend and sorceress, Triss Merigold, who has multiple bounties on her head. It wasn't our initial reason for returning to Novigrad, but it definitely sped up the trip by a week or so. It seems as if Geralt never stops walking except for the rare times I can watch him doze off. Some might say he still has feelings for the red-headed troublemaker.

I had never taken much of a liking to Triss, but to be honest I've never formally met her before. From what Yennefer has told me, she seems the type to betray even the closest of friends. I already don't trust her. 

"Goodmorning." Geralt mumbles, flipping himself around drowsily like a bear sunbathing in Skellige and lays on his back. We crane our necks slightly to look at each other and he smiles ever-so-slightly, examining the scabs forming on my left cheek. 

"Morning," I reply with a soft grin. "How was your sleep?"

"Fine," he rubs his eyes, facing the ceiling, "until you woke me up. Bad dream?"

"Very." I stir, an off-white nightgown covering my torso and upper-half thighs.

"About?" Geralt abruptly rolls out of bed, walking around in his white knickers. He begins to gather his undergarments and armour from the wooden chest at the foot of the bed.

"I was running and running.. I couldn't stop. I think I saw Ciri."

"Ciri?" He turns to me, half dressed, a shocked and captivated expression on his face.

"I believe so. Green eyes, scar on her cheek, ashen hair in a bun. A single sword." I elaborate, envisioning her perfectly.

"Sounds like her. In the past, Ciri in my dreams, it's meant she's in trouble." He continues suiting up, buttoning his shirt.

"She was in mine, too. I saw.." I pause, taking a deep breath, "a portal open behind her. Then a man grabbed her and pulled her in." I shiver, returning to the vivid point of view of the dream.

"A man?" 

"Yes. It looked like-- and I know this is crazy-- but it looked like my father's armour." I climb out of bed and quickly slip on pants fashioned from deer skin. I then pull the nightgown over my head, tossing it aside without a care, exposing my breasts. Geralt is used to them at this point, though makes a great effort not to look. 

"You think he wants Ciri?" The white-haired witcher speaks just over a monotonous tone as he straps on his armour. I wonder why Geralt has never asked who my father is. Perhaps he doesn't want to face the truth. Though, I could ask the same of myself, why I’ve never told him.

"If what you say about her abilities is true, then I wouldn't doubt it. But why? For what? That's my question." I continue speaking as I pull a fresh linen blouse over my head.

"No clue. He's your father."

"No, duh." I sneer, knowing that Geralt dislikes when I'm sarcastic. "I haven't seen him in forever. How would I know?"

Geralt shrugs and straps his two swords onto his back.

"I'll go round up some food for the trip. You can eat while we're on the road, have a proper meal once we arrive at Dandelion's tavern."

" Ahem ," I clear my throat. " Cabaret." I correct him with a sultry accentuation of my words as if my mouth is full and dripping of honey.

"Whatever, Frenchie." Geralt teases, a bit annoyed and still fatigued. "Get suited up and we'll leave."

"He's your best friend." I mock.

"Mm. I wouldn't quite say that." Geralt sneaks in a little smile and quick eye roll before leaving the room.

I continue getting dressed, strapping poleyns to my knees and slipping on my clanky metal boots. I secure my armour over my shoulders, which consists of a chain-mail base and a leather vest overtop. I strap my swords on my back and finish with the metal gauntlets that still feel a bit chilled, like they were packed in ice. I'm anticipating that while in Novigrad we can visit an actual armourer and buy some comfortable armour. Wearing the same thing for a month straight gets rather tiring, especially when the clothing isn't a very good shield from the roughest of elements.

Not bothering to tidy up the room, not even empty the chamber pot, I gently close the wooden door behind me and make my way down the narrow hallway. Geralt, standing at the bar, waits for the innkeep to finish preparing a package of sustenance. I lean on the counter next to him and notice that the tavern is empty, besides a few drunkards passed out in their seats and scattered on the floor from the previous night. The innkeep passes Geralt a basket full of bread, cheese and meat, along with a flask of Redanian Lager.

"Some water would be great." I add, pulling my own coin pouch out from one of my many pockets, delicately picking out two crowns.

"Right away, miss." The man obeys and fills another container with clean water from a nearby barrel tap. Handing it to me, I place the two coins in his palm. I smirk to Geralt, and he ignores me as I toss the flask into the wicker receptacle.

"How much?" Geralt asks with all seriousness.

"Only twenty-five for you two."

"Thank you, kind sir." I nod my head and Geralt grunts in gratification, counting the coins on the table then sliding them across to the man. The innkeep gathers them, holding his palm against the edge of the counter as he sweeps them into his hand. He then shakes them around in a closed fist and tosses them into a wooden bucket, almost like he was rolling dice.

I grab the basket of goods as we make our way out of the inn. Roach, warming her hooves on fresh hay, stands under a wooden shelter and drinks from a puddle of melted snow. 

"Alright, girl, got one last journey today." Geralt pats the horse's rump and attaches our bags to her halter, first untying the rope. The foglet head still hanging from Roach’s saddle is thankfully frozen, another thing the frost keeps at bay. I hook the basket on as well and lead the majestic animal towards the main road. Geralt and I both jump up, with me sitting in front like always, and he takes hold of the reins, guiding Roach to the forking path.

"Where'd the cape go?" I ask, and Geralt responds with a frustrated groan.

"Must've left it back at the scene of the foglet."

"Fuck!" I curse, shivering from the wind. Geralt just laughs.

"Won't be long."

"You better hope so or you'll be arriving with an ice sculpture instead."

"Huh. Maybe then you'll talk less." Geralt chuckles.

"Mean." I grin, and he reciprocates with a playful wink.

A faint silhouette of the city slowly comes into view, growing larger as we draw nearer to one of the many gates of the wall. The sun is a little ways above the trees still, we're for sure ahead of schedule. As we follow the winding path, we come upon a small village on the outskirts of town. We ride through with Roach trotting slowly, and I can’t help but notice all kinds of non-humans living amongst the human peasants— dwarves and even elves. Making eye contact with the one she-elf, I tuck my hair behind my ear, showing her the slight point to my own. She looks awkwardly down at the ground, but I take no offence. I'm a disgusting Witcher, a freak of nature that not even an outcasted and abused elf can sympathize with.

"Don't worry," Geralt assures me quietly and I untuck the hair, hiding my ears once again. "Not everyone understands kindness."

"Thank you." I whisper back, looking ahead at the stone walls of Novigrad that are lined with coral-coloured roof tiles. The bridge connecting the city and the mainland is absolutely packed. Glory Gate .

Geralt hops off of Roach then grabs a hold of me under my armpits and helps me down. It tickles whenever he snakes his hands in and I can't help but giggle, which in turn makes me feel like a ridiculous child. No matter how many times I tell him to stop, he won't. I grab Roach's lead and we push through the crowd, making our way to the front. Peasants curse us out and spit at our feet. It no longer offends me, but it sure took some getting used to. Many a peasant have lost teeth in the past, but perhaps I've done them a favour, considering most of the things in their mouth are stinking and rotten.

The metal gate is drawn open yet heavily guarded by men dressed in shitty armour lined with red and white material. They stand completely still holding axes that are almost three feet taller than them, fit with swords hanging from their hips.

" Redanians.." I lean over to Geralt and whisper rather hushed. He looks back to me, a worried expression painted on his face before gaining his composure again and quickly turning back around.

" Hey !" One of the guards shouts rather loudly with great force exerted from his lungs. He steps out in front of Geralt, nearly tripping the line over like dominos. Roach comes to a halt and neighs, a man shoves me out of the way in an attempt to steady himself, causing me to stumble. I retaliate in a fit of blind anger.with a shove back, though I underestimate my force and he ends up flying a few feet away, landing roughly onto the cobblestone path. His companions share a mighty good chuckle at that, some dirty wench is stronger than their mate. I grin in satisfaction.

"We're here on business-" Geralt is cut off by the soldier.

"No worry," The guard raises a finger to his lip subtly. "We've been expecting you both.” The man glances over to examine me then quickly fixes his gaze back to Geralt.

Geralt and I exchange confused expressions as the guard escorts us through the gates and into the city, pushing past all sorts of people who begin yelling out protests of “our kind.” Strumpets litter the streets like trash in a gutter, the neighbourhood and its residents are very clearly poverty-stricken, and ridiculously dressed Priests of the Eternal Fire are standing on wooden boxes, preaching their nonsensical verses to the easily-persuaded citizens of the town. Geralt slows down to walk beside me, our footsteps are swift to match as we stick close to each other. We have safety together, or not at all. The guard in his heavy clunking armour walks a few paces ahead of us, not even bothering to look back to check that we're still with him. Somehow he knows we'll follow him blindly, like ghouls to a freshly stinking corpse.

"A trap?" I mouth to Geralt, whispering audibly, though only just enough for his super senses to pick up on. He shrugs to answer.

"You may leave your horse here." The guard gestures to the stable. Exchanging another shufti with Geralt, I hand the man Roach's lead and allow him to take the horse. He walks the animal steadily into the structure and returns in no time, though in an unceremonious manner. "Alright, on we go."

Geralt clears his throat. "Mind telling us where exactly we're going?"

"The King ‘imself has a job for you two." The guard replies. "Gods know why."

"K-King?" I stutter, taken back by his words. "Radovid?"

"Aye, that's the King, miss."

"Geralt," I mouth my words in a panic. "Why?"

"No clue." He mouths back, shaking his head. He pats one of his pockets and I instantly feel relief— it's the very pocket where he keeps a hidden blade. Thank the Gods I have someone on my side in this blasted city.

Chapter Text

"Bring them in here." A voice from the next room echoes throughout the space.

"Strange place for a King.." Geralt remarks before stepping aside and allowing me to walk in front of him through the brothel, women swaying their hips and purring as they try to catch our attention. Following the guard into the next room, which is rather small, the King of Redania sits at a wooden desk with guards on either side of him.

"Just who I've been expecting." The man stands up, his arms wide open as he walks towards us with a rather mischievous smile on his face. His bald head wears a thin golden crown, his slender frame dressed in a red robe decorated with a large white eagle painted on the chest, who is wearing a jewel-encrusted crown as well.

"Your Majesty." Geralt bows slightly and I roll my eyes, standing with my arms crossed.

"I don't bow to the likes of you. I don't do politics like Geralt here." I stare into the King's eyes and carefully articulate my words.

"I like the fire in you, girl." The madman replies, and Geralt looks at me with disapproval. I'm lucky the so-called 'Stern Saviour of the North' didn't have my head chopped off right then and there. But I don't bow down to a King that slaughters elves and dwarves and mages alike, and for absolutely no reason at all, other than the cold, dead heart that resides within his chest, full of hatred.

"How did you know we were returning to Novigrad?" I ask, not removing my gaze from the man's brown bloodthirsty eyes, awaiting a response.

"Spies, my darling. I have spies everywhere. But onto the matter at hand."

"So, you're spying on us?" Geralt butts in, displeased to hear that.

"Not necessarily. I just check in once and a while. It's rather justifiable, as you can imagine. But what's a simple Witcher to understand? And two, at that?" He laughs.

People say Radovid has lost his mind, but he seems all too sane for my liking. Too clever. Too many steps ahead of us. I don't like it, and I don't like that he's called us here. Into a brothel, nonetheless.

"So in other words, you don't trust us." Geralt continues.

"No, as a matter of fact. Your girl here just proved she isn't fond of me. But who trusts anyone these days? You shouldn't in the middle of a war." Radovid smirks, now only staring at Geralt. I lean onto my right leg, thinking of how I could kill him if the need arises. Oh, how good that would feel.

"For starters, I don't trust you one bit. Now tell me why we're here. Why you're here." Geralt grows increasingly aggravated.

"Tsk, impatient as always, Witcher. I see your newest so-called 'child' has adopted a few traits of yours herself. She's not scared to speak her mind," he looks to me, "even if it means she'll have her tongue cut clean off." He bites his tongue lightly, resting the pointed appendage between his teeth.

"Not scared of your empty threats." I shake my head. "Get to the point."

"Not so empty, dearie. I'll have you on your knees in no time." The King looks at me like he's watching a juicy pork roast be set out in front of him after a week of fasting.

"Are you trying to lose your own tongue, Your Majesty?" Geralt crosses his arms and squints at the bald-headed man covered in jewels.

"Only jesting, Witcher," he says even though he very obviously isn't. "I have summoned you here on important business. Very important, at that. You are to capture a certain woman and hand her over to me, directly."

"A woman?" Geralt questions.

"Yes, indeed a woman. A sorceress. Triss Merigold."

I immediately feel the energy in the room shift. Geralt looks uncomfortable and radiates anger. I'm all too happy to hear we'll be finally ridding ourselves of the traitorous bitch.

"What do you say? I'll reward you generously. Redania serves its people right." Radovid sits back down, tapping his fingers impatiently on the arms of the wooden chair.

"No." Geralt swings his arm and shakes his head. "No way."

"Geralt!" I say, shocked.

"Geralt!" Radovid mimics me, a whinier tone to his voice. "Don't tell me you're still hung up on the red-haired cunt."

"Again, you're testing my self control. Insulting my daughter and then a good friend of mine? Going too far, Your Majesty." Geralt hisses.

"If only Witchers were more in supply, I wouldn't need to waste my time with simpletons such as you, White Wolf. Too fucking emotional. You Witchers are supposed to be heartless, and yet here you are, weeping over a sorceress bitch. Does a surplus in gold and coins not triumph some silly feelings for a traitor to the Crown?"

"Geralt.." I grab his arm gently, trying to calm him down as his blood begins to boil. "Let me handle this."

Geralt looks into my eyes and sighs, out of relief or anger, I don't know. He walks slowly out of the room, pushing the door open then slamming it behind him to emphasise his rage.

"Now, let's get to business." I demand.

"There is a rather large vault at the bank waiting for you, Lara. Bring me Merigold."

"I'll try, but-"

"NOW!" He shouts, slamming his fist down on the desk in front of him. I jump slightly, shocked by his actions. "There are no buts, no ifs. Do it."

"Okay. I accept."

"Good Witcher." Radovid praises me like a dog. I turn around, walking quickly out the door when Geralt grabs my shoulder, guiding me out of the brothel as fast as possible.

"What the fuck was that?" Geralt continues fuming with anger as wind blows against our faces.

"No fucking clue.."

"What happened when I left?"

"He.. bribed me."

"You didn't accept the offer, did you?"

"No, of course not." I lie, an offended and serious tone in my voice to match my facial expression. I can always do it behind his back.

"Good."

Crowns over clowns, huh? I can't possibly pass up an offer like the one that was just presented to me. I've been poor for far too long, but no longer.

"Off to the Chameleon, then?" I speak up, a bit nervous, and it's evident in my voice.

"S'pose so. I'm.. I don't know what I am."

I pat Geralt's shoulder and begin to walk down the sandy dirt path, leading from the brothel down through a patch of the slums. Somehow I still know how to get to The Rosemary and Thyme, even if it's not called that anymore. I haven't been to Novigrad since the very first time I arrived, back when I was fifteen and I left my home in Skellige. I ventured here in search of a better life, only to end up working as a lap dancer at nearby inns and brothels for a few months. One fateful night at the Passiflora— Novigrad's finest and fanciest brothel— Geralt had somehow found me and immediately took me to Kaer Morhen, the Witcher School of the Wolf. Training for a year, I was subjected to the Trial of the Grasses at age seventeen and completed my official transformation into a Witcher. Why me, I often wonder. How did Geralt even find me in the first place? I'm not sure I'll ever know.

Geralt pushes through the door to Dandelion's tavern— or more officially, cabaret. The main floor is full of patrons dancing and drinking, a five-person band stands on an elevated platform, they play each of their individual instruments in perfect time and harmony. Couples spin all around us, joyful and drunk, as suddenly they're pushed out of the way and one man even falls to the ground.

"Geralt!" The bard Dandelion exclaims, running into the arms of the Witcher, pulling him into a warm embrace. Geralt laughs at the troubadour who's dressed in silky purple pants with the same material on his head, fashioned into a hat. A long white feather sticks up from the beret, his brunette locks hanging slightly past his ears, his moustache and goatee shaved neatly.

"Great to see you again, old friend." Dandelion pats Geralt on the back.

"You too, Dandelion." The colour returns to Geralt's face as he lightly pushes the bard away.

"L-Laurelle?!" Dandelion stares at me, but his attention is immediately directed to the slashes on my cheek. "What ever happened?" He comes rushing over, grabbing me gently and pushes us through the crowd. I look back to Geralt, panicking, pleading with my eyes to follow, but he does not. Dandelion moves us into a separate, more private room and sits me down onto a bed.

"Ekimmara did it. Nice to see you too."

"Sorry, Laurelle. You know I'm only concerned about you. Let me get this patched up." Dandelion begins to prod and poke at the scratches and I wince, pushing his hands away.

"Really, Julian, I'm fine. Been out in the freezing cold for weeks, infection hasn't had the chance to set in."

"You're fortunate, Laurelle. Now that you'll be inside though, we must wash and properly dress it." Dandelion races around the room, gathering all sorts of supplies from various chests and cupboards.

"Fine," I groan. "Only so you don't worry."

Dandelion glances back at me briefly to smile in satisfaction. He eventually pulls a stool over in front of me and sits down, a basin of fresh water and soap on the floor beside him, as well as fresh herbs and a roll of white gauze. He grabs a cloth and dips it into the soapy water.

"This might sting a bit." He warns, a pained look on his enchanting face.

"This isn't the first time I've had a cut, Julian. Been on the Path for, what, two years now?" I tease, scoffing a bit, but enjoying myself.

"Mhm, mhm, you're a tough Witcher, Laurelle, I know." Dandelion licks his lips as he wrings the cloth out and brings it up to my face, beginning to dab my cheek with it. I wince ever so slightly, hissing through gritted teeth, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Still fresh, huh?" Dandelion alternates between dabbing the wounds and wringing the cloth in the basin.

"Yes.." I whisper, trying not to make any sounds, my hands in tight fists. "Really fucking stings."

"Must I wash your mouth out as well?" Dandelion says with a serious tone, but the silly smirk on his face says otherwise.

"It hurts.." I glare at him.

"Agh, I know. Almost over." Dandelion drops the cloth into the basin and starts to gently rub herbs on the wounds, white yarrow is what I assume it to be. He then unwraps some gauze from the roll and covers the scratches with two sticky sheets of the white bandage, carefully overlapping them.

"All done." He smiles kindly, his eyes sparkling in the dim room, only a few candles are lit. I grab his hand from his side and place it on my cheek, over the gauze, and he gently strokes my face. I close my eyes and savour the feeling of intoxicating intimacy, even though his hand pressing against the scratches hurts like Hell.

"How about some food?" I mumble, opening my eyes, my stomach growling as the acid starts to splash and eat away at my insides.

"Right away, Laurelle. Glad to have you here. How do you like it? It cost me a lot to complete all of the renovations. Luckily I have friends in high places that owed me favours." Dandelion stares at me, a goofy smile on his face, his eyes bright and wide and hopeful.

"I love it. Show me around?" I stand up, grabbing his hand and lightly pulling him to his feet.

"Of course," he bows his head to bring my hand to his face and he kisses my skin with his soft, tender lips, "m'lady." He looks up at me, his gaze almost putting me into a trance. I can't help but blush. I blow air out of my nose, trying to suppress a bout of embarrassing giggles, like a virgin maiden. Dandelion, still holding my hand, blows out the candles and then leads me out of the room. I look frantically around until I spy Geralt sitting at a table, playing Gwent with a few men and downing a big mug of something piss-yellow and frothy.

"This is a fine establishment and yet he still chooses that backwater swill he could purchase anywhere." Dandelion shakes his head, staring daggers at Geralt.

"You can serve me your nicest wines to test later, huh?" My cheeks are still as red as a tomato, fortunate for me the one cheek is covered by a bandage. I bite my lip, staring at Julian as we stand among the wild crowd.

"I'd love to. On the house."

"Well, duh." I joke.

"Let's go upstairs and I'll show you to a room. You can eat in there, I'm sure you'd appreciate some peace and quiet." Dandelion leads me up a creaky staircase. Stopping on the first landing, I grab and squeeze his hand.

"Your room, by any chance?"

"I'm sure you wouldn't have any peace and quiet in there." He winks, giving my hand a squeeze back. I roll my eyes, blushing harder, secretly longing for him. He's such a flirt by nature, I can never tell if he's being serious or not. I've never had the courage to act on it.

"Please?" I look up at him, feeling my eyes automatically becoming larger and dramatically sad. I don't mean to look— or feel— so vulnerable around him, but I just cannot help it.

"Okay, Laurelle. Can't say no to you." Julian giggles, almost like a flustered little girl. "What about Geralt?"

"I'm sure he'll enjoy a night away from me. We've been with each other almost every single day for, hmm.. About six months now."

"Took you that long to come back to Novigrad?" Dandelion continues to lead me up the staircase, all the way to the top.

"We weren't really planning on returning.. After you and I parted in Oxenfurt, I wasn't sure I was going to even stay on the mainland." I admit, unwillingly, yet I can't hold anything back from him. His presence is eating me alive. A few months before I reunited with Geralt, I traveled to Oxenfurt and attended the Academy for a short while. Had nothing else to spend my money on. I didn't want to drink my funds away. I met Dandelion, who just so happened to be a very dear friend of Geralt. I learned lots about Geralt's life. Dandelion was willing to release every single detail to me in explicit retellings, and I had to stop him a few times.

"Why's that?" Dandelion fiddles in his pocket and pulls out a loop with many keys on it. He sorts through them quickly, finding the key to the master bedroom— his room, on the top floor. Inserting it into the keyhole, he unlocks the thick wooden door.

"The Academy isn't a place for a Witcher. I felt stupid going and felt even more stupid for staying within a hundred miles." I step into the room and silently marvel at the amazing embroidered curtains and bedding. The curtains are stunning purple velvet lined with golden lace, the pillowcases are red and decorated with intricate designs, the blanket looks heavy and cozy, which is gold with bronze accents. The room itself is almost as big as the main floor where all of the guests parlay.

"You live here?" My jaw drops. Dandelion laughs, ignoring my previous statement about the Academy.

"Get settled in, I'll fetch us some dinner and I'll give Geralt the key to his room." Dandelion walks over to the door.

"And wine!"

"And wine." Dandelion assures me, stepping out of the room and disappearing down the staircase in a hurry as the door swings shut. I plop down onto the bed, looking around the room, studying every square inch. I can't believe he gets to sleep here every night.. With women, constantly, no doubt. I begin to feel uneasy, standing up quickly from the bed as I think of how many girls he's seduced on the very mattress. On one of the black cushioned benches, I notice clothes neatly folded and layed out for me, as if Dandelion had already prepared them weeks ago. Someone's eager to see me.

I start undressing, first removing the armour from my torso and I sigh in relief as the painful weight is lifted from my shoulders. I massage them a bit, the muscles are as tight as strung up ropes. Then, I slip off my boots and pants, standing in only a sweaty off-white blouse and black panties. Spying a mirror sitting on his desk, I walk over half-naked and begin to examine my body and face, as it's been so long since I've really looked at myself. I wear no makeup, as Geralt finds it a silly thing to 'waste coins on.' It's a miracle I look as good as I do, despite the huge bandage on my face and my knotted hair that's beginning to look a lot like a monster nest. Might need a bomb to clean it up after all.

Pulling the blouse over my head and throwing it to the floor, a black bra barely supports my breasts. I hold my hand over the gauze on my face, wincing as the wound stings from contact and continues to burn. I touch along my lips, noticing how dry and cracked they are. I trace my collar bone with my fingers, noticing that I've gotten skinnier these past few weeks of non-stop walking. I turn every which way I can, examining the old and fresh scars that litter my body. Despite having a figure all women would kill for— large breasts and a skinny waist— the imperfections that cover my skin usually turn men away now.

There's a large scar on my stomach, going diagonally through my belly button. That one was from a fiend in Velen's swamps. My arms have small knicks along them, from the tips of men's swords, or from grazing monster claws. On my left wrist is a burn mark from my time in Skellige as a young teen. Someone thought it'd be hilarious to try and brand me while I was sleeping. Apparently to Hjalmar of Clan an Craite, we were to be wed once I turned sixteen. Perhaps that's why I left at fifteen. My calves are especially scarred, as everyone always seems to aim for my legs. Perhaps to render me immobile, who knows. Why not go for the knees? Such imbeciles. Well, I don't ask questions. I just kill.

There are a few scars I lie about to others though— the ones on my thighs. I place my hand over the old wounds that are now mostly fully healed. All that's left are thin white scars with brown discolouration around them from my misadventures with a razor blade.

Suddenly, the door swings open and Dandelion carries two trays in either hand. One is packed with meat and potatoes and carrots all smothered in gravy, while the other is heavy with various glasses of wines. I turn around, the chill of the air making goosebumps rise on my arms and legs.

"Laurelle!" Dandelion gasps, wanting to cover his eyes but realising his hands are full. He shuts them instead, closing the door behind him with his foot, careful not to let anyone else see the sight before him.

"Sorry," I scramble over to the clothes he had layed out for me and I swiftly slip them on. "Didn't know you'd be back so fast. But you can open your eyes, Julian." I had mastered the art of getting dressed extremely fast, as I don't really want Geralt to see my naked figure. Melitele knows he doesn't want to, either.

Dandelion opens one eye to make sure the coast is clear, then turns away, placing the trays down onto a table near the door that conveniently only has two chairs on either end. I'm dressed in a dark emerald green tank top, with lace sewn onto the top and bottom. The pants are white silk, decorated with patterns of different shades of soft pink and lime green. Dandelion's always been one for fancy clothing, especially on women. He himself always dresses rather stylish as well. He takes a strong liking to Toussaint fashion especially.

"Wow," Dandelion praises, turning to me. "You look absolutely stunning, little bird."

I blush at the nickname. Dandelion, the greatest poet in the land, is flattering me! I feel as if I should be the one kneeling on my hands and knees, kissing his feet.

"Shall we?" He motions to the marvellous display of food set out on the table. He rushes around, grabbing a lit candelabra and placing it in the centre of everything. He runs over to my chair and pulls it out for me.

"Such a gentleman." I sit down, scooching the chair forward so I'm neatly tucked in at the table. Julian scurries over to his chair and sits as well, grabbing the first glass of red wine, lifting it in the air.

"A toast!"

"To whom?" I grab a glass of my own.

"To this wonderful barrel I received of Toussaint Red."

"To wine!" I cheer, about to take a sip.

"Hold your horses, Laurelle."

I take the glass away from my lips, rolling my eyes playfully at the bard.

"You know of all people that I'm a masterful poet, dear Lara. My toast cannot simply be ten words or less. As I was saying.."

I giggle, holding the wine glass out to his as our eyes lock. I gaze into his cornflower blue eyes with delicious hints of cinnamon swirls, and start to get lost. Until he opens his mouth again, that is.

"To you, Lara, and your safe return. And to Geralt, who's most likely missing you right now, but some time apart will do you both good. Lastly, to Triss. May our lady sorceress stay safe."

Awkwardly I smile, clinking my glass to Dandelion's and I take a long sip. Dandelion stares at me in utter horror as he swirls the liquid around, 'airing it for flavour' or whatever. I watch him slowly and carefully bring the glass to his plump lips, taking a light and tiny sip.

"Really?" I raise my one eyebrow, questioning this man's sanity.

"Yes, really. Laurelle, you must learn to," he takes another sip, "savour things." He swirls and clicks his tongue around in his mouth, 'savouring' as much flavour as he can.

"Tastes like ordinary wine to me, darling."

"Laurelle!" Dandelion gasps, leaning forward over the table and placing his glass on the table. He lifts up his pointer finger, scolding me as if I were a dog. "This is an aged Toussaint Red, sent to me by Duchess Anna Henrietta herself!"

"Wonderful," I say a bit sarcastically before I take another long sip. "Okay, fine, I admit it's pretty good."

"Of course it is, it's excellent! Now, enough chit-chat, let's dig in. I'm sure you're starving."

"Mmhmm," I agree, the sound muffled by a large amount of food already stuffed in my mouth. Dandelion only laughs, intricately cutting the meat on his plate before popping it into his mouth, then taking a sip of wine again. "Savouring it nicely?"

"Mhm," Dandelion mimics me as he chews on a carrot.

After finishing our dinner— actually, after I scarfed down the food and had to wait ten minutes for Mr. Prim and Proper to finish 'savouring' his meal— Dandelion and I continue to sip wines.

"I feel a bit awkward being in pajamas." I point out.

"Why, would you like me to strip for you, to make things even?" Dandelion swirls the wine around in the glass with his one hand, tapping his fingers on the table with the other.

"Tsk," I seductively scold the man. "Naughty, are we?"

"Want me to show you?" He replies rather ecstatic.

"I'd be delighted, but is it possible for me to take a bath first? I'm so dirty." I accidentally, and innocently, say the last part, not realising my words until they came pouring uncontrollably out of my mouth— and not until Dandelion started to snigger.

"Dirty girl," he snickers delightedly. "But yes, let me have my employees fetch you some hot water for the basin."

"Sounds amazing. Thank you."

Dandelion stands up and pushes his chair in, disappearing out of the room again. I decide to keep my clothes on this time, since his staff will be the ones carrying the buckets of boiled water. I finish off some of Dandelion's wine, since he left a good sip at the bottom of each glass. I roll my eyes, licking up every last drop. Luckily for me, Witchers don't get drunk easily, so all that wine has no effect on me. Well, besides a little feeling of lust, but I'm quite sure that was there beforehand.

I tidy up the table, placing all of our empty dishes back onto the two silver platters so the staff can take them away easily, and without delay. I've been dying for alone time with Dandelion.. To discover my true feelings for him, and his for me. At Oxenfurt, he was always so distracted with schooling and that's all we'd ever discuss. Well, besides incriminating and gruesome details about Geralt's life, or more specifically, sex life.

Dandelion opens the door slightly and peeks his head in.

"Laurelle, you still dressed in there?" Dandelion asks as if he isn't already staring at me.

"No, I'm fully nude." I joke, and I hear one of his staff members tell him they'll come by later. Dandelion instead tells them I was only jesting as he bursts into the room, a handful of workers following behind him. He holds two white towels, meaning he's thinking of joining me in the bath. The staff pour their buckets of hot water into the large circular wooden tub, filling it all the way to the top. I thank them as they quickly scurry out of the room, visibly embarrassed. Dandelion hooks a latch shut, locking the door.

"So," I strut over to him like a lion stalking its prey. "What now?" I stand extremely close to him, but not close enough to be touching. He looks down at me, bringing his hand up to my bandages and ever so lightly stroking my covered cheek.

"It's too bad you ended up a Witcher, Laurelle. So young.."

"I'm happy. Don't worry. Well.. Kind of."

"Let's discuss that matter later. Might as well not let that nice, hot water go to waste." Dandelion, still standing extremely close to me, takes his hat off and throws it somewhere in the room, the article most likely landing on the floor. I pull my lacey top over my head, throwing it aimlessly as well, all while staring deep in his eyes. I wish so badly I had some glamour, so I could return my cat-eyes back to their gorgeous blueish-green colour. Just for a while. Just so I didn't feel so disgusting to him. I bite my lip and shake my head, trying to get the thoughts out of my ever-worrying mind.

I begin to unbutton his blouse swiftly, and he assists me by pulling his white scarf over his head. Once the blouse is open, exposing his bare chest, he slips it off of his arms. I slip off my silky white pants, kicking them from my ankles and onto the growing pile of clothing and fabric. Dandelion marvels at my body, and rather than examining each scar, he traces my feminine figure and breasts with his eyes, bringing his hands up to my waist and holding me gently. I pull down his pants, bending to my knees to stare up at him. He discards the material, then places a finger under my chin, bringing me back to my feet. He stands there in white knickers, soft and smooth as silk. My black bra and panties are sweaty and smelly, I'm surprised he isn't running for a clothespin to plug his nose.

He reaches around my body, undoing the hooks to my bra and carefully peels the fabric off of me. It's stuck to my skin and he has to use a bit of force to get it off. It's such a relief to remove it. I wrap my arms around his neck as he bends down a bit, enough to grab the waistline of my underwear and tug it down to my ankles. I shimmy around to get them off of me, not bothering to add them to the pile of clothes. I'm hoping he has some fresh undergarments for me afterwards.

Not a single word has been spoken, my mind is racing like a thousand horses galloping through an endless field of stomped flowers. I stand totally naked, my arms still around his neck, and he swoops me up into his arms 'princess' style, carrying me to the basin of water. The water is emitting lots of heat as he holds me over it, steam rising from the tub and dissipating in the cold air. He gently places me down, giving me bits of time for my body to adjust to the boiling temperature. New nicks on my body sting, yet it feels strangely good. I watch Julian in anticipation, the ends of my hair floating on the surface of the water. He grabs a hairbrush and sets it on the floor beside him as he pulls his knickers down, surprising me with his sheer boldness, nevermind the size. It's the first time I've ever seen him naked, and him me, and I'm shocked at how natural and normal he's being. Especially about all my scars. I'm not sure if he noticed the ones on my thigh and I secretly cross my fingers. I look down at the water, crossing my legs over each other to try and close myself, make myself feel less vulnerable as he climbs into the tub behind me. He pulls me back so his legs are beside my body, I can feel his thighs against my hips. He's surprisingly not very hairy, which is a change from sleeping with Geralt every night, with his itchy calves scratching against mine while I toss and turn from the sensation, and his added wonderful snoring.

Dandelion gently pushes me forward a bit, reaching his arm around to my collarbone and pressing down gently, guiding me into the water. My hair tickles his stomach as I slowly submerge under the water, letting my hair soak in the bath. I can hold my breathe for quite an impressive while, so I stay under for a considerable amount of time and think.. Think about the naked man sitting under me. I eventually sit back up and he begins brushing my hair, water sploshing everywhere onto the floor as he works through the knots. He's careful not to pull on my scalp, which I appreciate so much. I close my eyes and feel the hot water against my naked body, my stinging scars. I actually feel relaxed. Candles flicker throughout the dim space, a fire is burning and crackling across the room. It's definitely a nice change from sleeping in a dingy, damp room with Geralt— who gave up on attempting to brush my hair a long time ago. I'll remember this when Geralt gets lice again and wants me to pick through his beard.

Dandelion pinches the tip of my ear randomly, startling me. The water moves around like the sea before a storm.

"Sorry, Laurelle. Just.. remembering things."

"Like?" I stay facing forward as he continues to work out the tangles in my white, flowing hair that emits a rather foul odour.

"Like, for example, that you're half-elf. And yet you still won't tell me who your parents are."

"Julian, I told you that I don't even know who my mother is. All I know is that..." I pause, closing my eyes. "She's long dead at the bottom of the sea.."

"I apologise." Dandelion squirts some shampoo into his hands from a container, beginning to massage my scalp with the foaming soap.

"That's alright." I close my eyes leaning forward a bit so that Dandelion can wash the ends of my hair as well. I grab a nearby bar of soap and run it over my body a few times. Once he's finished, he guides me under the water again and scrubs every inch of my white hair that's turned the water a bit brown from all the dirt and soot it's acquired over the past few weeks on the Path.

"Let's hop out. Water's a bit.. dirty." He chuckles, a tad grossed out. I silently apologise, feeling ashamed and embarrassed. He climbs out of the basin and swipes a towel over his body, drying himself off and then wrapping it around his waist to conceal his manhood. He grabs my hand, helping me stand and climb out of the wooden tub that looks more like a mud bucket now. I try to snatch my towel from him, but he lets me stand freezing and naked for a bit, examining me.

"You should really let me treat those other cuts as well." He pleads. I rest my hand over my upper thigh, hiding the cuts that aren't exactly like the rest.

"All the other scars have healed fine, don't worry. You've done quite enough, Julian. Thank you." I finally snatch the towel from him and he puts up no fight as I dry myself, my teeth chattering and my body shivering. Goosebumps litter my arms and legs as Dandelion dresses in a pair of knickers he pulled out from a drawer and proceeds to grab me a fresh pair of underwear.

"I really hope these aren't left over from some random lover." I glare at him, holding the panties away from my body, a bit disgusted.

"I promise, they're new from the tailor."

I groan, hoping he isn't lying as I slip them onto my legs and up my hips. They rest comfortably on my waist and around my thighs, they cover my rump perfectly. My hair, soaked and dripping, has created a large puddle of water on the floor. I throw my towel to the ground to soak up the puddle, squeezing my hair over it as well. Dandelion then grabs my shoulders and leads me to a seat at his vanity, grabbing a pick and combing my hair as he sits on his knees.

"What a sweetheart." I whisper outloud and he smiles up at me. I can see him in the mirror, glancing at my face every couple seconds before returning his focus to my locks. The coldness of the damp hair against my back makes me shiver. He can tell, so he speeds up his pace, yet still doesn't pull at my scalp. He's rather skilled with simple hairbrushing, which concerns me. How many women has he done this for?

"All done." He runs his fingers through my hair. I jump from the shock of his green emerald rings brushing against my bare skin. I stand up and place my hand on his chest, his large palm going to rest on my waist. I walk him backwards until his knees hit the wooden frame of the bed and he jumps onto the mattress. I join him, climbing under the covers.

"I'm.. glad you're here, Laurelle."

Chapter Text

My father holds my small hand gently yet protectively, his large calloused blisters scratch against my palm. He's dressed me in a delicate white dress that reaches down to just above my knees, and little booties that strap over my feet, the laces tied in neat little bows. I try to run to the park once it comes into view but he grips me tighter, reminding me not to go without him. I groan, whining like any child would. I suppose I understand his point of view now, with me being so young and new to the world, unaware of danger. My sixth birthday has just passed and my father is finally letting me play at the park with other children. As we near the playground, I don't spot any kids.

"Maybe next time." He smiles to me.

"Can we still play? I want to go on the swing." I squeeze his hand excitedly.

"Yes, my darling." He lets go of my hand once we cross the clean cobblestone street and I bolt to the swing, sitting down and staring back to him, waiting for him to come and push me. He walks slowly, his large figure like a creeping shadow as the sun begins to set and the sky turns a gorgeous dark purple, shifting to a blackish-blue as the stars begin to appear.

"Dad! Push me!" I swing my legs around and he laughs a bellowy chuckle. I grip the chains of the swing as my father pushes me with his one ginormous hand until I start to gain speed, swinging my legs back and forth to progress myself even higher.

"Push me again!" I scream, giggling like crazy. He does, as he can never say no to me. I always ask for candy before dinner and he always says yes. My favourite candies are hard peppermints and saltwater toffees. The house is full of them.

This time when he pushes me, I reach the height of the moment, the highest point possible on the swing, and time feels as if it's stopped. I feel high in the sky, like a bird flying over a great vast land, as I can see trees and water and all sorts of clouds around me. The widest smile I've ever had is stretched across my face..

Until I let go of the chains.

I go flying forward and land on the little pebbles of the playground floor, on my hands and knees. My father comes running and grabs me, pulling my delicate body into his chest and hugging me tightly. I begin to cry and wail, my knees scraped and stinging as I collapse into him.

"Shhh," my father repeats, comforting me until I calm down. "You're okay."

"Dad?" I look up to him, his eyes pale blue with specks of green, like mine.

"Yes, darling?" He holds my hand and wipes my tears with his other thumb, swiping away the salty water from my soft plump cheeks.

"I'm scared."

"I know. Can't you see now why I protect you so much?"

"Yes." I sniffle. "But I want to play with the other kids!" I start to cry again, my voice shakey.

"Shhh," he hushes me, placing a slightly dampened finger to my lips from all the tears he tried to catch. "Let's go home and clean you up."

A flash.

A flash of white light blinds me, a chill coarses through my body and down my spine, making my hairs stand on end.

A man dressed in heavy armour stands proudly in front of me, his iron helmet covers his face. He has a woman with ashen-hair kneeling in front of him, holding her hair as to not let her escape his grasp. She has tears streaming down her face, black makeup smeared around her glowing green eyes, a single but deep scar on her cheek.

"Dad? Ciri?" I take a step forward and don't realise until it's too late.

Her head has been cut clean off of her neck.

I gasp, startling myself awake as my legs and arms flail around, hitting Dandelion in many places. He rolls on top of me with ease, pinning my arms to the bed and my legs with the weight of his body.

"Laurelle?" He says groggily. "What ever is the matter?"

"N-nightmare. Again." I take a deep breath and regain my composure. He rolls off of my body, laying down onto his side, staring at me and supporting his head with his arm.

"What about? You seem extremely distressed."

"Ciri."

"Really? Cirilla?"

"Yes, Julian." I say with an annoyed tone in my voice.

"But, why? You've never even met her." He ponders like his usual philosophical self.

"I don't know. I don't know." I rub my eyes, picking some gunk out of the corners. I've never slept so well, yet I was awoken in such a terrible manner once again. Dandelion rests his head back down onto his pillow and drapes his arm over my body, gazing into my eyes even though he can barely keep his own open.

"What time is it?" He asks, whispering through a yawn. I glance up to the window and see that it's still dark outside, but a very slight orange and yellow glow has appeared at the bottom of the window frame.

"Sunrise."

"Ugh." He groans. "I'm so tired. Able to sleep again?"

"Yes." I whisper and he strains his neck to plant a soft kiss on my nose. Closing my eyes, I drift off to sleep again.

This time, I'm woken by a hardy knock at the door. Surrounded by warm rays of sunlight and the sounds of chirping birds and a bustling city, Dandelion lifts his heavy arm off of my waist. He climbs out of bed and unhooks the latch from the door, unlocking it.

"Yes? Oh, wonderful, thank you." He receives a tray of food from one of his staff members, careful not to let their prying eyes see anything they shouldn't, and then proceeds to lock the door again. He sets the silver tray down, taking a plate, a glass, and a set of silverware off, placing it on the wooden table. I sit up eagerly as wonderful smells fill the room. He walks over to me with the tray, his almost-completely naked body is a great treat to wake up to. He sets the tray down in front of me on the thick blanket stuffed with feathers, a display of eggs and bacon and freshly-baked bread makes my mouth water. I take a sip of orange juice and dig in, Dandelion sitting gently onto the edge of the bed to watch me eat.

"Go eat your food." I nod my head in the direction of the table.

"I will. Just savouring the moment."

"Enough savouring!" I laugh, taking a bite of the loaf. Dandelion stands up and leans over me, kissing the top of my hand and, rather loudly, smells my hair.

"Mmmm. Smells delightful."

"All thanks to you."

Dandelion trots over to the table and sits down in his usual spot, facing in my direction just enough to watch me.

"Can we go to a tailor today? I'd like new garments. As well as armour." I ask, swallowing my food with a sip of juice.

"Of course, Laurelle." Dandelion doesn't answer me fully until he's completely swallowed his bite of food. "I know the best tailors and armourers in town. We should also get your swords repaired at the blacksmith."

"Can I get a hair cut?" I ask, spurring Dandelion into his fashionista mode.

"Why, of course! It's gotten so long. A bit too long."

"Agreed. You know, elf hair grows extremely slow as our lifespans are so naturally long. And even though Witchers have almost longer than that, my hair grows fast because of, I guess, the mutations. Fast metabolism must mean fast everything, eh?" I go on a bit of a tangent explaining things.

"Yes, very keen observation. Perhaps the Academy served you well."

"I'm not stupid, Julian." I mumble.

"I know you aren't. But you think much more rationally and critically now." He praises me but I just scoff. He clearly has no idea who I am.

"Although I am critical," I laugh a bit, "I don't find that I think very rationally. Geralt actually has to stop me quite frequently from slicing people's heads clean off. I find that my rage consumes me."

"I know what you mean. Geralt used to be like that. Perhaps having you to take care of has made him grow up."

"So you're saying I'm just a child that Geralt needs to care for?"

"Not at all. I think you're badly misinterpreting what I'm trying to say. Let's not discuss that now."

"Okay." I agree, not wanting to fight. I don't mean to, I'm just so exhausted. These damned nightmares.. I finish off my plate and stand up from the bed, placing the empty tray back onto the table. Dandelion continues to eat, watching me in my underwear as I look around the room, searching for something to wear.

"I have a dress in the closet."

"A dress?" I groan, walking over and opening the closet doors. The one side is extremely packed full of Dandelion's clothes, and the other side only has one single garment nestled on a hanger. I take the dress off of the hanger and hold it against my body, walking to the mirror to see. It's a white lacey dress that reaches down just above my ankles. I slip it on and examine myself, the back still unbuttoned. The dress even has deep pockets on the front. The sleeves extend to the middle of my forearms, the material is very soft but the lace on the sleeves and neckline is rather scratchy. Dandelion admires me, I can see him in the mirror as he stands up and walks over to me. He swiftly does the buttons on the back of the dress and I spin around, smiling.

"Definitely not what I was expecting. It's really nice." I pat the shoulders of it, playing with the lace.

"It's not a lover's forgotten dress, I promise you. I spotted it the last time I was out perusing shops and saw the measurements, knowing straight away it was perfect for you." Dandelion cups my bandaged cheek gently, gazing lovingly into my eyes.

"Well, let's go! A Witcher can't be without swords on her back for too long." I walk over to the door and realise I'm not even wearing shoes.

"Would you like some footwear, Laurelle?" Dandelion laughs, pulling out something from another drawer. It seems he's been fully prepared for my arrival for weeks. Am I that transparent that he knows everything I want and need? He tosses me cotton socks and shoes and I slip them on, the shoes like white ballerina flats.

"Why all white? To match my hair and pale complexion?" I wonder, distracting him as I grab a coin pouch from my vest pocket and slip it into my dress.

"It's just the colour I envision when I think of you." He smiles, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the room, shutting the door and locking it with his ring of keys. He's rather insistent on locking the door. I'm blushing again, biting my lip as I try not to squeal from excitement. We walk down the staircase, all the way to the main floor of the cabaret. Geralt's sat at a table, playing Gwent with the innkeep. I let go of Dandelion's hand and run to him as if it's been ten years since we last saw each other.

"Goodmorning, Geralt!" I rush behind the White Wolf, wrapping my arms around his neck and upper chest to hug him tightly, careful not to squeeze his windpipe. He holds my arm with his one hand, the other sorting through a fan of Gwent cards.

"Missed me?" He chuckles.

"Of course." I squeeze him, not wanting to let go.

"I missed you too." His grip on my forearm tightens. Dandelion can't help but smile at the sight before him, standing with his hands on his hips.

"Winning?" I examine his hand of cards, still leaning onto his shoulder, my chin digging into his armour.

"Barely." The innkeep chimes in and we three laugh, Dandelion joining in the chorus.

"Okay, well, Dandelion's taking me to get some new clothing and armour, and maybe patch up my swords. Need anything?" I stand back up straight, Geralt hesitant to let go of my arm.

"No," Geralt says, his hand slipping away from the sleeve of my blouse, returning to the cards, picking through. "Thanks, Lara. I'll have to run my own errands today, don't worry."

"Okay! If you're sure." I saunter over to Dandelion and wave goodbye to Geralt as we exit the building and enter back into the noisy streets of Novigrad. The ground is a bit muddy from the melted snow and I step carefully, trying not to dirty the shoes Dandelion bought me. I wonder how much it all cost.. New pajamas, this outfit, and whatever else he hasn't surprised me with yet. Not to mention the stuff we'll be buying today. I'll convince him to let me chip in, my pouch of coins clinking in my pocket.

He leads me to all kinds of shops, and we even leave the walls of Novigrad to check out every single tailor there is. He buys me all sorts of undergarments, from underwear and bras to blouses and pants, and refuses to let me pay a cent. He gets my swords fixed by an elf named Hattori, or that's at least what he calls himself. Geralt has said that he's a master blacksmith, but I'll have to test that out for myself. I'm anxious to get out onto the Path again.

Dandelion begs me to get a new style of armour, but I can't help sticking to my old ways. You can't teach an old Witcher new tricks. I have an armourer craft me new gear, but it's essentially the same as I've always worn: chain-mail that fits me snug and a leather vest. With a few tweaks. The upper torso covering my breasts to my neck is metal armour, whereas my stomach is covered by the thick brown leather. Dandelion thought more protection near my heart would do me good, and I agreed. It comes equipped with metal shoulder pads and a gorget that goes up to the middle of my neck. For extra protection, Dandelion says. I reluctantly agree, since I'm not the one paying for it, and obviously Dandelion has funds to spare.

The brown pants are thick but fit me well, and Dandelion makes a rather obscene comment about my rump. He even orders fingerless leather gloves to be custom-made for me, and ensures that they'll fit under my shiny new metal gauntlets. He also purchases boots that are hard leather. He thinks they'll protect my feet more efficiently than the clunky metal that takes away from my upperhand at stealth, what with my Witcher senses and all. Last but not least, he pays for sword straps and scabbards. They're stylish and more functional, and easier to pull my swords in and out of. My silver sword is an extremely long and extra sharp blade, the crossguard pointed down and away from me unlike the steel sword, which has flat a crossguard. The hilt of the silver is a dark emerald green and the steel is a grey colour, both have silver pommels with a wolf head engraved on each, like the wolf head medallions Geralt and I wear around our necks, hanging loosely on chains.

Slipping shamelessly into a barbershop, the man is a bit surprised to be cutting my hair, especially since it's so long. He trims it to a little below my breasts, more so in the middle of my stomach, above my belly button. I suit up in a back alley, Dandelion taking the dress and flats I was wearing and holding onto them, glancing all around the dark street corridor to ensure no one's peeping in on the show.

"I am honestly blown away, Julian, thank you." I hug him. He pats me on the back with great force.

"Of course. The cost is worth it when it is your life at stake. The armour seems very sturdy, I'm glad we got our money's worth." He begins leading me back to the Chameleon and my mind immediately draws its attention back to the deal with Radovid, about Triss. I still have no idea how to find her, or how to turn her in without Geralt knowing.. or hating me.

"Hey, so.." I begin. Dandelion turns to me and awaits my words eagerly. "Do you know where Triss is? How to find her?"

"Last I heard, she was staying in the Putrid Grove."

"The city's underworld? Great. How am I supposed to find it?"

"Well, you seem to forget that you're a Witcher, Laurelle— a master tracker." Dandelion wraps his arm around my waist, snaking it under my swords as we stroll aimlessly through the streets, trying to waste a little more time together before returning to the cabaret and continuing on with our lives.

"Mhm," I roll my eyes and wrap my arm around the middle of Dandelion's back. "I'm so tired, you've no idea. I miss being in the world of the Aen Elle." Right as those words leave my mouth, Dandelion gasps and pulls me roughly over to a bench, sitting us down, my swords poking into my back uncomfortably.

"I beg you," he holds my hands and looks as if he's about to cry, "please tell me about it. I beg you!" He pleads and whines.

"Okay." I groan in frustration but I'm happy to be sharing it with someone. Not even Geralt knows this, neither does Eskel nor anyone else I've ever met. Of course all of my close friends know that I'm half elf, but I think they assume I'm Aen Seidhe, of the forest, which is rather offensive. I'm not a lowly squirrel ravaging merchant carts in the woods. But, what would an Aen Elle elf be doing in this world? Well, I'll tell you.

"It's simple, really. My mother died very shortly after my birth and luckily my father had me with him instead of her, or else I'd be at the bottom of the ocean too. He raised me, and considering I'm extremely different than all of the other elves there, I assume my mother was that of a human. Hence why my father was a bit embarrassed of me and why we avoided everyone."

Dandelion whines a bit when I pause to catch my breath and I squeeze his hands, signalling him to be patient. Which came with no results, as trying to tell Dandelion to be patient is like trying to tame a wild cockatrice.

"I had a dream about it last night, actually. A memory of my father and I at the park, in that world. It was the time I finally felt free as a bird.. but also the time I first experienced pain.. and fear." Dandelion stares at me, entranced by my words as he attempts to remember everything I say for his next ballad. "There's not much else I can tell you besides that my father started getting into dangerous things, therefore he sent me to the an Craites when I was but a lass. I don't know why or how. It's all a blur."

"Wow.." Dandelion says in awe, completely shocked. "Then you came here?"

"Yes, I left in the summer when I was fifteen. The boat I snuck onto actually made the journey all the way here. Thought I might have to swim the rest of the way somehow." I smirked.

"How was the Aen Elle world?" He continues to pry, conjuring up questions in his overactive mind at a rapid rate.

"Peaceful, relaxing, beautiful. But enough! I need to find Triss without Geralt knowing, okay? Understand? Under no circumstances can you tell him." I look him firmly in the eyes, still gripping his smooth hands.

"I'm not sure what you're up to, Laurelle, but I'll just have to trust you. I promise, not a peep."

"Thank you." I let go of his hands and kiss his cheek, quickly standing up and taking a few steps forward.

"Wait!" He shouts, standing up, and I turn around, walking back over to him a tad embarrassed from the cheek kiss. "There's a door in the district of Lacehalls, it's not easy to miss. A man stands on the other side. Knock four times exactly, and say 'old sow's farrowed piglets', okay?"

"What? Nevermind. That's a strange phrase, Dandelion, and I'm quite curious how you've come to know that. But, thank you. Again." I hug the bard tightly before releasing him and wandering away, trying to remember where the neighbourhood is while at the same time trying to hide my flustered expression. It's already around late afternoon-early evening and the taverns all around the city are slowly flooding in with people. Strumpets are starting their shifts out on the streets, preparing to lure in drunk impressionable men for their daily source of income. I can't judge, or blame them, since I was once in that situation too and probably still would be if it weren't for Geralt. Although, I'm not sure which one would be the lesser evil. A murderous freak of nature? Or a prostitute addicted to fisstech?

Guards stand at their posts and make chit-chat with each other, yet they still take time out of their day to stare daggers at me and even spit at my feet, or call out slurs. 'She-elf' has actually become a very insulting term that these worthless humans throw around like a whore. It takes every ounce of self control inside of me to not slaughter each and every last one of them. By the time I realise that I'm lost, I come across a guard who smiles at me.

"Hello, good sir." I approach the Redanian guard dressed in all red and silver armour.

"Madam," he nods to me, "what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for Lacehalls and can't seem to find it, and no one else is willing to help me."

"Aye, I see. Just down that way and take a left. You should spy an elf, the blacksmith, along the way. Then you'll know you're in Lacehalls."

"Why, thank you eternally!" I smile, extremely grateful that there's still, at the very least, one decent guard within these walls. I continue on my way, following his directions until I recognise the area. I've already been here today with Dandelion! Why didn't he point out the door? Has he forgotten about Triss so quickly? I grin, a bit satisfied with that thought as I pass Hattori's hut. He's outside, hammering away on an anvil. I wave as I pass by and he nods, a kind and warm expression on his face as he watches me nearing the door.

Knock knock knock knock.

I bang on the thick wooden door and immediately a sliding rectangular peephole slams open.

"Password?" The man's voice is accented and gruff, which makes him sound all the more like a drunken sailor.

"Umm.." I panic, trying to think of the words. "Old sow's farrowed piglets." I sigh in relief as the man slams the peephole shut and then props the door open a smidge. I slip through, entering a whole new town it seems.

"Business?" The man asks, who really does appear to be a dirty drunken sailor.

"Looking for.. someone."

"Aren't we all. Gonna tell me, or ya gonna take it up wit' the boss?"

"Boss?"

"Aye, Bedlam, the King o' Beggars. 'Aven't you 'eard? He's in that 'ouse just over there, at the end of the walkway." The wannabe guard points.

"Oh, right.." I snap back to reality and search through my mind, trying to remember everything I can about Novigrad. Times have definitely changed. Last I was here, there wasn't a gigantic war going on between Redania and Nilfgaard, this land was still called Temeria, and mages didn't have to hide in filthy slums to avoid execution.
"Thanks." I mumble to the guard, walking towards the King of Beggars' hideout. Or shall I say, castle? I am in his kingdom, after all.

I carefully saunter up the steps, my movements as quiet as a mouse. I'm grateful that Dandelion convinced me to get leather boots instead. I push the door open, entering into a dim and mildewy room full of tables stacked with coin and treasure. A man with a very balding head sits at a desk, he's rather ugly and is dressed in rags slightly nicer than those worn by beggars out on the streets.

"Why, hello." He looks up to me, not bothering to stand as I approach his desk.

"Hello, Bedlam."

"Looking for something? A job, infact?"

"Not what I came for but I'd be willing. No, I actually came looking for a certain someone."

"Aye, a certain sorceress, I presume?" He scribbles with a feather and ink on a scroll of dirty paper.

"How did you know?"

"Word travels fast among kings."

"Radovid is your enemy, no? Why would you hand Merigold over to me?"

"Yes, indeed he is. When did I say I'd hand her over? I'm not sure what you think I know, but all I'm aware of, is that you and your Witcher Geralt are searching for the redhead."

I close my eyes and breathe out deeply for a brief moment, thankful that Radovid didn't warn Triss or Bedlam beforehand. If he did, well, then I would think he truly was insane.

"Exactly that." I place my hands on my hips, trying to keep my cool.

"Now, why would Radovid know that? What purpose does he have in telling me, or you telling him in the first place?"

"What are you doing talking to him? Aren't you supposed to be the exact opposite, protecting non-humans?"

"Indeed, but we all must communicate once and a while. You're a very smart girl, huh? Perfect for this contract. But first, Merigold."

"Radovid's been sending spies to check on Geralt and I all across Velen." I huff, hoping that maybe Bedlam will provide us with some protection.

"Radovid is a paranoid old prick as always, I see."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Uh-uh," He wags his finger, "I shall in due time. I'll direct you to Merigold so long as you give me your word you'll return to hear my proposition."

"You have my word. As long as it pays well, I'll be here."

"And it does, dear Witcheress. Merigold is upstairs." He gestures towards the wooden stairs and I nod my head, silently thanking him. I'm sure if Geralt had been here, that would've gone sour. He likes to believe he's good at politics, but quite frankly I don't trust that thought anymore, not after all of the assassination attempts that have been made on him for decades. He's an ass-kisser, that's the problem. He bowed to Radovid, a corrupt and horrible king that's invading a town famous for being known as the 'Free City.' Under his reign, it's not so free anymore.

As I make my way slowly up the creaky stairs, I frantically plot in my head how exactly I'll grab her. I should probably turn on her outside of the Putrid Grove, otherwise I'll have tons of mages and Bedlam on my ass, trying to save her.

"Francis?" I hear a woman call out from a room across the hall as I reach the landing of the second level. I creep closer, following the noise and the scent. Smells like.. juniper.. and.. strawberries?

I approach the door and slowly push it open, as it was already unlocked. I'm assuming she was expecting Bedlam, and certainly not me. Now's the moment I've been waiting for, to finally meet Triss. What kind of a person hooks up with their own best friend's lover? I was going to ask her exactly that.

"Oh, hello." Triss scrambles to her feet, standing up from her seat at a vanity. "I wasn't expecting company." Triss is long and slender, she's just a tiny bit taller than me, her red hair is fashioned into two loose buns at the back of her skull and there are two tiny braids dangling on either side of her face.

"I know. Sorry to drop in unannounced."

"That's alright." She walks over to me and looks into my eyes. "You're Geralt's daughter."

"That I am. And you're his ex-lover."

"Spot on. Nice to finally meet you. My, you've gotten big. The last I spoke with Geralt, he told me about how short and small you were. Like a mouse, he said."

"I'm sure it wasn't that long ago," I smile, realising Geralt's been messing with her. "I've never been short, always the tallest."

"Oh," she giggles, covering her mouth with her fingertips. "Forgive me." Her eyes are hazel, but the colours are more so blended together rather than having specks or swirls of brown. The green is muted by the brown, and she wears thin eyeliner on her bottom waterline, a smokey purple eyeshadow lightly covers her top lids. Her eyebrows are as firey and scarlet as the hair that sits atop her head. She has large golden brown freckles littered underneath her eyes and on the bridge of her nose, and a bit on her forehead and cheeks. She has very faint lines on her skin, and a tiny mole on the left side of her face, a bit under her lip.

"That's alright, we all know Dandelion's a bad influence on Geralt with all of his over-exaggerated tales." I can't help but grin.

"That's for sure. Please," Triss grabs my shoulders and guides me to a little table in the corner of the room, "join me for some tea."

"Oh, I really musn't." I awkwardly oppose as she forces me down into the chair anyway.

"Nonsense. I'm so happy you're here!" Triss sits down across the table, which doesn't put much distance between us. She begins to scoop a mixture of dried leaves and fruit into two teacups, the scent overpowering my senses. She's dressed in a long flowing turquoise-green dress that exposes much of her chest and thighs. I try not to let my eyes wander. It's embroidered with branches and leaves of gold, and she wears a necklace of the same colour. Her forehead is dressed in golden jewellery too, a band wraps around her head and under her hair, a small crystal dangling between her eyebrows. In her hair is a large golden flower fashioned out of metal with an enormous blue stone in the centre.

"Well, thank you. I feel very welcome." I smile kindly, shifting in the chair so that my swords can rest comfortably against my back. "I also feel underdressed." I chuckle a bit.

"I was actually getting ready for a ball tonight at the Vegelbuds' estate. I'm sure you've heard of them and their famous horse derbies." Triss pours hot water from a teapot into the two delicate white cups, and I watch as the tiny leaves swirl around inside, soaking and infusing in the water. She grabs a pot of honey and sets it in front of me, sliding one of the full teacups carefully over, so as to not spill any of the scorching liquid.

"Yes, I've heard lots about it. Geralt's been meaning to take me. You know, to enter the races, of course. Not the ball." I snatch a small spoon from a woven basket nearby and begin to add honey into the mixture, stirring it around to dissolve, the metal spoon clinking against the delicate porcelain of the cup as an audible sound. Round and round the tea leaves swirl and tiny bits of dried strawberry float to the top.

"Well, I'd invite you to the ball tonight. Only if Geralt won't feel jealous." She takes a sip of her tea, a small smirk on her otherwise-flawless face.

"Want honey?" I push the jar over to her side of the table, avoiding what she had just said.

"No, thank you." She smiles and takes another sip. "It's strawberry. Sweet enough for me."

"Mmmm." I sniff the tea, inhaling the fragrant scent of the strawberries as she herself wears strawberry perfume. The smell is extremely overpowering in the room as I inhale so deeply that I feel lightheaded. "So, what's this about inviting me to a ball?" I muster up the courage to talk about the subject at hand, as this is a rather pressing matter, what with the bank vault waiting for me. I can't get too close to her, I need to remember what my goal is. I cannot become her friend.

"It's the annual masquerade ball. We dress up fancy, wear masks, drink wine, eat marvellous food, play games.. It'll be my fourth year going." She marvels at the memories.

"Sounds fun."

"Would you like to come?"

"Yes." I blurt out, not thinking, mentally hitting myself on the head over and over again as I take a sip of tea to shut myself up. I pucker my lips, cringing a bit as the tea is so sour. Triss just giggles.

"Sour? I suppose my pallet is much more matured than yours."

"Yeah, and how old are you?" I mock.

"Ehhh," she crinkles her nose. "Certainly not older than a century like my dear Yen and Geralt are. Well, almost are."

"Still fiery about losing him?" I ask partially joking, remembering what Geralt told me about her powers, how she can summon and control fire at will— which matches her hair and personality perfectly, in my opinion.

"Yes, to be quite honest with you." Her voice is rather monotonous and deeper than any ordinary woman's. Sort of like mine. Not too high-pitched and whiney, not sultry and smooth, but a bit thick almost. Mine I can blame on puberty, or Witcher mutations, hoping one day it'll go away. It isn't the worst thing in the world. I can still sing fairly well, whenever I happen to do so.

"That's okay. You've plenty of time to find someone. It's only 1272." I reassure her kindly.

"Yes, but.." she sighs. "Sorry. No hard feelings to Yen or Geralt."

"No worries. I understand how it must feel.. What ever am I going to wear tonight?" I shift the conversation back to a positive matter of interest. I can take this ball as an opportunity to get her drunk and capture her easily without a fight.

"You must go visit a tailor, and be sure to tell Geralt of your plans this evening." Triss stands up and pushes in her chair slightly. I follow suit as well, after taking one last gulp of tea, using my teeth as a filter to stop the chunks of leaves and strawberries from going down my throat along with the hot liquid.

"Ah," I exhale in satisfaction. "Thank you for the tea and hospitality. Time to visit another tailor!" I laugh as I'd been at tailors all day long already, and with Dandelion, nonetheless.

"Meet back here as soon as possible?" Triss looks at me excited and rather twinkly-eyed.

"Sounds good. You sure my bandage and cat-eyes won't stick out too sorely tonight?" I walk to the door.

"I can mix up some glamour for you. If you've ever used it before." She offers and I swiftly tuck my hair behind one pointed ear. "Oh! Wow. Seems Geralt left out a crucial detail."

"That's for sure." I laugh, waving slightly as I walk out of the room and down the hall to the stairs.

"Find what you were lookin' for?" Bedlam glances over to me, still scribbling away with his quill.

"Yes. Thanks, again." I push through the heavy door, stepping out onto the dirt street. I make my way to the secret door I had entered from and see the same man still standing guard. "I'll be back again later." I tell the man and he nods, a bit displeased and bored. He opens the door for me and pushes me out of the small crack. I gasp a bit at the sudden force.

I decide to revisit one of Dandelion's friends, an elf named Elihal who's rather skilled in his craft. His black hair is long and unruly but slicked back at the forehead, giving it a greasy texture. He hems a dress for me, pinning it to fit my body nicely. It's a soft lavender, the material is nearly see-through which reminds me of home in the Aen Elle world. The sleeves are tight and reach all the way to my wrists, and the neckline is U-shaped and a tad revealing. Elihal tightens the corset-like strings that sit upon my busom to hold my breasts up a bit higher. The dress fits my chest, arms, and waist extremely well, showing off my figure. The skirt of the dress is a darker purple, yet not too dark, but a shade of violet. The material is loose and hangs a bit past my feet, yet it is fluffy and voluminous. I purchase slip-on flats that are black and decorated with golden designs. I feel a bit awkward as I carry the dress and shoes back to the Chameleon. I get extremely dirty looks from passerbys. Perhaps they think I've stolen the dress. Rude.

"About time." My heightened senses pick up on Geralt's little mumble as I enter through the door. Dandelion and him are sat at a table. Dandelion seems to be reciting poety, whereas Geralt is hesitantly sort-of listening as he downs mugs of frothy Viziman Champion.

"Helllllo." I speak up, walking over to the table and Dandelion turns around, looking a bit offended that I've interrupted him.

"Where'd that come from?" Dandelion jumps to his feet and snatches the dress away from me, stroking the soft material and admiring it, all the while staring at me.

"I'm going to a ball tonight. The Vegelbud's."

"Phew," Geralt sighs in relief after he takes a swig of beer. "Now I don't have to go."

"Hm?" I question.

"It's Triss's favourite. Has been for four years now. I went last year and have to say, wasn't my favourite."

"Perfect. I was planning on going alone, anyway. What better way than to hook up with rich, unsuspecting men? And without my father watching over my shoulder? Even better."

"Mhm." Geralt scoffs, smirking slightly. Dandelion looks quite offended, like I've just told him how his mother reeks like a gutted fish.

"Well, I'm off to get ready."

"I gathered some makeup for you, Laurelle. It's on the vanity." Dandelion chimes in, handing the dress back to me.

"Thank you." I smile to both men before making my way quickly up the stairs, my footsteps heavy as I jog a bit.

"She's going alone? What ever for?" Dandelion sounds worried as I can hear their conversation perfectly, even from the top floor.

"I don't know, but c'mon, let the kid have her fun. You had plenty of time to whore around." Geralt monotonously points out.

"Yes.. No denying that. But the problem is that she's here now."

"And?"

"And I might just be ready for something more serious."

Chapter Text

"Wow," Dandelion's mouth gapes. "You look amazing!" He comes running over and picks me up from the third step of the stairs. I laugh uncontrollably as he does, his wandering hands making me squeal as he spins us around in a circle before setting me gently onto the ground. I fix my skirt, making sure it didn't hike up too far or get wrinkled.

"She really does." Geralt chimes in, still sitting at the table, drinking.

"Thank you, both." I do a fancy little bow like any noblewoman would. Not that I'm noble or anything, but sometimes I miss living a luxurious life. "Well, I'm off! I really should've gotten a horse.."

"Take Roach, just becareful with her." Geralt points over to the stables.

"Mhm, of course. Thank you." I scurry over to him to kiss his cheek, and he pulls me into a half-hug. I love when Geralt shows affection, whether it's through physical displays or just a simple smile. Sometimes I worry he's slowly losing his humanity to the cruel world and all it's put him through.

"See you tonight?" I scurry over to Dandelion and hug the bard, pecking his cheek as well, a bit of my red lipstick has made kiss prints on both men's faces. Before either one of them can say anything, I disappear outside and into the cold frosty air, my breath visible as I scamper over to the stables. Untying Roach's rope from a pole, my skirt exposes my undergarments as I hop up onto the horse, leading her out of the barn and into the cobblestone streets of Novigrad. The snow has melted a bit more, considering there are lit braziers a few feet away from each other on either side of the road. Guards huddle near them, as do the half-naked strumpets who are clutching themselves, while at the same time are trying to sway their hips in a sexy manner.

"Woah," I tell Roach, stopping to a halt. I jump off, fixing my skirt quickly as guardsmen stare aroused, considering I look more like an innocent victim rather than my normal Witcher self. I give them dirty glares, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure they aren't watching me too closely. I tie the horse's rope to a fence and then approach the door.

Knock knock knock knock.

The peephole slides open with a bang.

"Yes?" The same man from earlier groans.

"It's me."

"Password?"

"Ugh," I huff in frustration. "Old sow's farrowed pigs."

The door doesn't open.

"Nope. Not quite, girly." The man's eyes are all I can see through the slot, and he's staring at something behind me.

"Excuse me?"

"That's no' the password."

"Yes it is. I was just here."

"Yer not too bright, are ya?"

"Seriously? Don't make me raise a ruckus out here. There's tons of Redanians." I'm nearly whisper-screaming at the man, who's getting on my nerves. And he can tell.

"Piglets. Old sow's farrowed piglets." He stresses, opening the door a smidge and yanking me inside.

"Are you kidding me? Since when?"

"Ugh, alright, your mind's on other things. Get goin'." He lets go of my arm and I scoff. What a drama queen. My shoes click underneath my feet as I hold my dress up, so the ends don't scrape along the dirty floor of the slums.

Entering Bedlam's house again, I silently sneak upstairs after he sees that it's only me. Don't need a knife at my throat. Not tonight. I'm more excited than I want to admit about going to this ball. And about going with Triss.

"Hello?" I knock softly.

"Come in!" Triss calls out and I push open the door. My breath is taken away as she stands in front of the mirror, tidying up her lipstick. She looks back to me, surprised at how well I clean up.

"My, my.." She turns around, prowling over to me like a fox stalking a bird, careful not to startle its prey that can easily fly away. "I almost didn't believe it was really you. Thought you hired a lookalike."

"Ha-ha, very funny. I do enjoy events like this, as a matter of fact. Especially the dressing up part."

"It's going to be a blast." She smiles, her lips are caked in a glossy pink lipstick.

"You look awfully a lot like a sorceress. Are you sure you should wear that?" I look at her body up and down a few times, my hand on my hip, my eyebrow cocked.

"My eyes are up here, Lara." She places a finger under my chin and guides my eyes to hers. "Your makeup looks wonderful. But I won't be wearing this."

"Did you make the glamour? You know, for covering my piss yellow eyes?" I ask, her finger still under my chin, holding delicately. I have a light purple eyeshadow thickly applied on top of and under my eyes, a thin line of eyeliner on the top lid, and mascara on my long thick lashes, not to mention my cherry red lipstick.

"I don't mind them at all," she continues to gaze deep into my slitted pupils. "But, I suppose it may start a brawl at the party, which is the last thing we want." She slowly takes her finger away from my chin, her facial expression a bit shocked as she turns around and grabs a small pot from her vanity. She twists the lid to open it, scooping a bit of the sparkly neon green gel onto her pointer finger. I close my eyes as she swipes it over the crease of each top lid, and a strange tingly feeling overcomes me.

"All done." I hear her pop the lid shut and place the jar onto the vanity. I open my eyes slowly, walking over to the mirror. Placing my fingers on my cheek, over top of the bandage, I can't help but nearly cry tears of joy as I see my eyes. They're ice blue, almost glowingly white with flecks of parakeet green. I haven't seen myself like this, not since I became a Witcher.

"I love it so much. I need that stuff by the barrels." I turn around and hug Triss before she has any time to react. She stands there shocked as I nearly begin to weep into her shoulder. She gently places her arms around me, holding me tightly and securely.

"I'm glad you're happy." She whispers into my ear.

"Thank you." I look up to her, backing away a bit and coming out of the hug. "Sorry about that.." I awkwardly look to the floor.

"No sorries allowed here! But I still need to change. Mind, uh, turning around?"

"Mhm." I follow her orders, turning around and chewing on my lip as I hear her shuffling through a closet. Eventually she grabs my shoulders, spinning me around. "Let's go! Before it gets any later!"

I notice that she's wearing a red and green dress that almost covers her feet. It's strapless, her large breasts are rather exposed and pushed together. She wears red gloves that go up a bit past her elbows and wrap around her middle finger, the end of the dress is the same colour, whereas the rest is a rich dark green. Around her neck is a golden chain and an emerald green diamond on the end of it, resting against her pale skin. Her hair is gathered into only one bun now, the braids have been taken out and now two curly strands of red hair rest on either side of her cheeks. That was a quick change.

"How ever will we hide you from the guards?" I ask, and she swiftly grabes a cape hanging from a hook.

"Usually a simple hood works. They're idiots." Triss ties the cape around her clavicle. She grabs two masks that are laid ontop of each other before leading me out of the room and into the hall.

"You got that right." I giggle, following her down the stairs.

"You two have fun," Bedlam cooes. "Don't be out too late."

"Thank you, Francis." Triss simply replies, looking over her shoulder.

"Cute." I roll my eyes, remarking sarcastically to Triss as we exit the door. We begin to run, holding our dresses up a bit so we don't slip or dirty them. The watchman sees us coming, with ginormous smiles spread across our faces, and he opens the door wide. We race through, laughing. Triss stops suddenly, putting up the hood of her cape. Luckily, the guards in the close vicinity have left their posts. I untie Roach's rope, leading the horse over to Triss, who's standing in the darkness.

"Hello, Roach." Triss strokes Roach's snout. "I haven't seen her for quite a while."

Hopping onto Roach, careful not to rip my dress, I saddle up. I grab Triss's hand and pull her onto the horse with me. She sits sideways, hooking onto my waist with her left arm to steady herself, but I can't help but blush at the constant warmth pressing against me. The cold air stings my eyes and hurts my sinuses, the wind nips at my bare legs as Roach gallops at a steady pace. Nothing new to me, though. My second winter out on the Path isn't anything compared to last year.

Triss whispers directions in my ear from time to time, guiding me and Roach to the Vegelbud's estate. Many glowing orbs begin to appear in the distance as we near the party, many fires are burning in and around the lot for the guests and festivities. Once we near the estate even more, we marvel at orange and yellow decorated laterns that are strung up on poles and the like. Two large angel statues stand proudly above the main gate, where two guards stand watch down below.

"Here," Triss passes me a mask after I hop down from the saddle. She puts hers on first— a reddish-orange fox that covers her forehead down to below her nose— and then I grab her waist and hoist her down. I slip my mask on, which is a silver bird with an emerald beak. I've always been afraid of birds, yet it's the animal that most relates to me, as well as what people depict me as. "Come on!" Triss hooks her arm with mine as we walk in sync to the gate.

"Invitations, please." One of the guards holds his hand out.

"Of course." Triss digs through the pocket of her cape and hands the man a folded up piece of paper. He opens it, scans his eyes over the document, then tosses it into the fire nearby.

"Go on in, the party awaits!" The guard takes a key and opens the door, stepping aside and allowing us in. A long stone path awaits us, with torches standing tall on both sides of the walkway. Large, thick trees and lavender flowers litter the courtyard, splashing the green grass with some colour and life. Even though it's quite dark out, the moon is large enough to provide a soft blue glow to everything. We step forward, arms still linked, as we pass guests scattered around the area. Some give us dirty looks and whisper into each other's ears.

"What's the matter with them? Why are they whispering?" I lean over to Triss and mumble quietly, observing the judgemental glances being shot our way. I ensure that my hair is covering my ears.

"Must be because they... well.. they think we're a couple." She whispers back, her warm breath tickling the hairs in my ear and I uncontrollably shiver from the arousing sensation.

"Oh." I say shocked, at a normal volume. "Oh my."

"Is that a problem?" Triss tries to unhook her arm from mine but I hold her tighter.

"Not at all." I smile, meanwhile an older woman gasps, offended at the sight before her. What the fuck is going on with me? I'm supposed to be trading her in for a bank vault, not taking her out to a party, befriending her, flirting with her! Way to dump salt on the wound— even before the wound's been opened!

To the right is a fountain full of water, and in it sits a blonde man and brunette woman, both with masks on. They're wet as wet can be, splashing around like bathing birds. They're either drunk, or stupid. Or both. I scoff, motioning my head towards them so that Triss will look. She covers her mouth with her hand, chuckling. We continue on our journey up two sets of stairs that are decorated with golden banners, and on the third level is a large pool of water and two ginormous angel statues standing on either side in miniature ponds, wearing marble hoods over their heads. A man with his pants rolled up to his knees is splashing around in the main pool, shouting nursery rhymes to a small crowd that has gathered to watch. I glance to Triss, raising my eyebrow, trying not to burst out laughing.

We meander even more stairs until we reach another wooden gate. It isn't guarded so we enter on through, revealing a whole new side to the party. An extremely gigantic fountain stands in the middle of everything, trickling water from the top to the bottom— I'm almost surprised that it isn't pouring wine. There are tables full of men playing Gwent, a whole section of the grass is packed with women and couples dancing around to a man playing his whistle. A drummer stands nearby, pounding out a steady rhythm that everyone's hips sway and feet stomp to. A red shelter shields the food tables from the elements and any bugs that might want to join in on the festivities.

"I'm starving." My mouth is practically dripping with saliva as my mouth prepares for food. Triss leads me over to the tables in a fashionable manner, as I haven't been to an event like this in years and I'm not too sure I know how to act 'properly.' We each grab a golden metal plate, which are rather reflective and I glance down to see my reflection staring back at me as we slowly walk along behind a line of people, each of us carefully picking through food and setting it onto our trays. I shove a few bites of everything into my mouth as well as onto my plate. Triss playfully threatens to tell on me, and I proceed to pop a grape into my mouth, grinning. She has me hold onto her tray as she grabs two goblets for us.

"Follow me!" She calls out over all of the chatter and noise. I oblige. Pushing through the crowd, Triss finds an empty picnic table that we immediately claim as our own. Sitting on either side, we watch each other and make conversation as we eat. Our plates are full of thinly sliced meats, olives and grapes, pickles and cheeses, crackers and bread. Triss grabbed some desserts as well, along with the two goblets full of wine.

"So good." I sigh, extremely pleased. I wash everything down with a chug of wine, exhaling in satisfaction once I finish. Triss finishes almost simultaneously, then pushes her tray in the middle of the table for me to have access to it as well. Chunks of cherry-filled chocolate cake fill my stomach up to the brim.

"Still starved?" Triss sips her wine.

"Stuffed." I pat my belly, leaning back a bit as I really feel like I might explode.

"Hey!" I hear a man shout from across the courtyard and I focus my attention to that conversation. "You freak, you don't belong here. You belong on a pyre like the rest of them." The mystery man spits. I immediately jump up from my seat, my fists balled tightly, my fingernails digging harshly into my calloused palms. I narrow my eyes, clenching my jaw as I search for this man. Triss follows quickly behind me, trying to keep up with my stomping pace, but I can barely pay attention to any of my surroundings now. I am consumed with rage, seeing red as I try to find this lowlife.

A man is sitting on the floor, yet he doesn't appear to be down there willingly. His mask is on the ground along with him, a few feet away. He looks rather young and yet his mostly flawless face is covered in blood and he's clutching his nose. A small crowd is watching, gasping and holding each other in fear of what's to come. A taller, meatier man stands above the one on the ground, shouting slurs and insults down at the helpless victim. My nostrils flare as I shove people out of the way, my head pounding and I feel all of my blood rushing into my fists and my brain, which is waiting to explode as a blood vessel sticks out on my forehead. I rush over to the man, grabbing him by the sides of his vest and smashing him up against the stone wall.

"What the fuck!" He yells and thrashes but I hold him tighter, crushing him against the scratchy stone and ripping off his otter mask.

"Shut up." My voice thunders throughout the area and everyone is silent. That is, except for the man pressed against me.

"The fuck is your problem? That man there's an elf! See his pointed ears!" The man shouts, trying to get the crowd to hear him and come to his rescue— but no one does.

"Can't you see, you idiot? I'm a fucking elf." I hit him against the wall, baring my teeth as his expression turns from cocky to horrified.

"Miss, I didn't mean any tro-" I cut his bullshit sentence short with a white-knuckled fist to his face and he groans at the impact. He coughs, gasping, trying to get away from my grasp. I let go of him and he falls, his feet planted firmly back on the ground, yet he still cannot escape as my fists of fury pound away at his ugly mug. I can feel Triss trying to grab my arms, but she can't. I can't stop. I cannot stop beating this man. He is going to die.

I swing my arm as hard as I can and knock my fist just above his temple. So I don't kill him. He slumps to the ground, out cold. People murmur amongst themselves, the tension in the air can be cut with a knife. I look down at the unconscious man, his face is black and blue and stained with red, as are my fists.

"Holy fucking shit." I say outloud, examining my worn out knuckles. I swear I can see my white bones poking through the stretched out skin. I look over to the other man sitting on the ground, his face is that of an absolutely horrified animal who'd just been beaten. Well, he had been. I hold my hand out to the man, who's quite hesitant to accept it— but he does. He stands up and pulls me into a warm embrace, crying into my hair.

"Thank you, thank you!" He repeats over and over, pulling me as tightly as he can into his chest. I can't help but cry too, my mascara trickling a bit down my face. I cannot believe what just happened.
After a while the crowd disperses, leaving the man and I alone hugging, while Triss stands and watches, stunned by the events of the evening. Eventually he lets go and I tell him firmly to go home and tidy up. He gives me many crowns that I happily slip into one of my secret pouches.

"Lara?" Triss finally speaks up. Quickly wiping my cheeks, I turn around to face her. I almost can't, as I'm so embarrassed and ashamed that I ruined this ball for her. I shake my hands out, my knuckles stinging and burning terribly.

"I have no idea what just happened." I stare blankly at the ground and she grabs my shoulders, leading me into what appears to be a labyrinth. Somehow we end up in the centre of the maze in no time, surrounded by completely nude statues and a fountain that she sits me on. I can't take my eyes off of my knuckles as I clench and unclench my bloodied fists. She sits beside me, taking off both of our masks and chucking them to the ground.

"Lara?" She cooes again. I turn my head towards her, staring into her eyes that are sparkling from the reflections on the water.

"I am so sorry that I've ruined the night, I-"

"Hey." Triss cuts me off before I start rambling.  "You did what you had to do. If it were a mage, I would've done the same. Except with a little more fire involved." She smiles sadly.

"But it was only just the beginning of the party! Look now!" I hold up the back of my hands for her to see. "I can't go back out there looking like this, everyone knows that the girl with white hair just beat the shit out of that guy." Triss grabs my hands and the contact burns, but she holds them on her thighs, stroking my raw skin with her thumbs.

"No one did anything to stop him. Or you. I'm sure they're more embarrassed."

"I don't know, Triss, I'm so afraid. I'm becoming a monster, Triss. Can't you see? Don't you see what I just did?" I start to break down, crying again. She swoops me gently into her arms, staring up to the moon, unsure of what to do as I sob into her chest. After a little while, she places a finger under my chin again and guides my eyes to hers.

"Lara, I wish I could look into your real eyes right now. You're an elf, but you're also a Witcher. It's just who you are now. If you weren't a Witcher, I bet that other man would be on the brink of death right now, just for the reason alone of being an elf. Witchers slay monsters. You did just that." Before I can open my mouth, her lips press against mine. Her finger goes to my bandaged cheek, her palm cupping my face. My eyes are wide open, staring at her closed lids, feeling her soft and sticky lips pressing against mine, which are kind of chapped at this point. I close my eyes, sinking into the moment, feeling her other hand still holding mine. My free hand wraps around her waist, pressing my mouth back onto hers, our lipsticks meshing together and messying our faces as we begin to open our mouths, kissing with intense passion. We both can't help but moan slightly, all of our tension and arousal seeping out of our bodies as we continue to move our lips, adding our tongues into the mix. They dance together perfectly, she's so soft and delicate with her movements as she squeezes my hand, blood trickling out a bit onto her dress.

"Wait," I pull back ever so slightly and she releases my hand, prompting me to suck on my knuckles and lap up a bit of the blood. "We should be helping you escape, not.. doing this."

"What's the harm in having a little fun for one last night before I must leave?"

"Nothing, I don't know, I'm just getting a bad feeling." I look around the centre of the maze, glancing out of the corner of my eyes.

"Perhaps you should get home and tidy up. Same with me," she looks down at her lap and sees splotches of blood soaking into the fabric. "And you and Geralt can plan something."

"Sorry.."

"That's okay." She hugs me again. "I'm proud of you. You did what needed to be done, what other people couldn't stomach."

"Thank you." I whisper, hugging her back. "Will you be able to get home alright?"

"I'll just open up a portal, hopefully it works. If not, I'm sure I can manage."

"You don't think Radovid's mages will sense your magic?"

"I have my ways."

"Goodnight, Triss." I stand up, turning back to smile to her once more.

"Goodnight." She calls out as I begin running off through the maze and out into the main courtyard, where the man is still unconscious on the ground, slumped against the wall. People are continuing their festivities, ignoring the man as I rush by, not wanting to catch anyone's attention as I don't don a mask anymore. I bolt down the stairs and out the main gate, running to grab Roach. Untying the rope, I saddle up quickly onto the horse and snap her reins with a hiyah! The horse runs as fast as its long legs can take it, the wind blowing through her black mane and my white. By the time we reach one of the gates to the city, there are very few guards standing watch. I enter the town at breakneck speed, coming to a halt at the Chameleon, which is right by the bridge. I don't bother to tie the rope to anything, instead letting Roach wander into the stable on her own.

"Geralt, help!" I yell, crashing through the door and collapsing onto my knees, sobbing again. The crowd inside has come to a stop, they've all turned to stare at me. Even the music came to an abrupt halt. Geralt comes rushing over, falling to his knees beside me and swooping me into his arms, craddling me like a baby. He doesn't make a sound, allowing me instead to release all of my pent up emotions first. Yeah, like beating that man's face to a pulp didn't release anything. It did, it did.. but now I feel so guilty.

Dandelion, working behind the bar, notices that his patrons have all stopped dancing and are now staring in one direction. He pushes through the crowd— rather they jump out of the way— as he comes to inspect what has happened. Perhaps another drunkard has collapsed?

"My, what ever happened?" He says in a panic, noticing the sight below him. He stands there, frozen.

"No idea." Geralt says quietly.

"Alright," Dandelion turns to the crowd, "clear out! Chameleon's closed for the night!" He yells and frantically motions his arms towards the door. People boo and groan as he practically shoves them out of the building.

"Shhh.." Geralt hushes me, rocking me back and forth as I bury my face in his arm, hiding from absolute embarrassment. "Can you speak?" He asks and I look up at him, nodding slightly. He releases his hold on me so I can lean back a bit, to look at him and Dandelion, who's now crouching on the ground with us.

"I.." I try to speak but my voice is stuck, my throat is tight and the walls of my trachea are clenching together, I can barely breathe. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself as tears trickle down my face when I blink. "I found Triss."

"That's obviously not why you're upset." Geralt reads me like an open book. I nod, swiping some salty tears away with my sleeve.

"We.. were eating, having a good time," I sniffle, "when I heard a man. He was beating on some elf, calling him names, saying he belongs on a pyre and.." I pause, staring at the ground. Geralt and Dandelion exchange concerned looks, waiting for my next words. "I couldn't think, I could only see through tunnel vision trying to find this man. A crowd was watching him beat the elf's face to a pulp and so I grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, and I.. I punched and punched his face, as hard as I could, I couldn't stop. I could feel Triss trying to grab me, but my fists just kept pounding his face until finally I took one big swing and knocked him unconscious."

Geralt grabs my hand and inspects the bloodied knuckles, one bone is sticking through the skin as I beat it so raw. Dandelion grabs the hand from Geralt and caresses it.

"We're all proud of you." Geralt simply says, tucking my hair behind my ear, revealing the point. "That's your job, Lara. You did it well and you did it right."

"By almost beating him to death?" I sob.

"It was the lesser evil. Would you have rathered him kill the elf, or carve his ears?" Dandelion chimes in.

"Of course not."

"Then listen to us. I'm sure Triss told you something along the lines of this as well, as I know her." Dandelion continues, his voice calming me down.

"Okay." I hug Geralt before standing up, the two men following extremely close beside.
"Can you clean this up?" I hold my hands out to Dandelion and he swiftly nods, pulling me into the same room as he did on the first night I arrived with deep slashes on my cheek. He grabs the same bucket of water and a cloth, delicately cleaning the wounds.
"Is that going to heal?" I ask, looking at the white chunky bone protruding on my left hand. The knuckle of my pointer finger had torn through my skin.

"Might need stitches, Laurelle."

"That'll be my first time."

"Not that I condone you and Geralt not using stitches, but I may be able to glue it shut with sap."

"That sounds more desirable. Thank you." I look up to him and he smiles sadly down at me. "I really wish you had gone with me. Perhaps we could've ended things differently."

"I know. Truthfully, I wanted to go, but Geralt gave me reasons not to. I suppose you must learn to survive on your own. You're growing up fast." Dandelion prepares some sticky sap and starts dabbing it in the wound, pulling the skin close together as he would with stitches. I wince, hissing through my teeth as I nod, trying to stay engaged in the conversation. "There," Dandelion finishes and dips his hands in the water bucket to wash away the stickiness. "Now I'll wrap it up, but you can't use that hand for the night."

"Okay." I take note as Dandelion starts to wrap my knuckles with gauze.

"All done." He leans down to gently kiss the bandaged knuckle. "May it heal."

"Thank you so much, Julian.. You do too much for me. I don't deserve you."

"I could very well say the same thing. Um, Laurelle?" Dandelion, holding my hand, looks at me rather seriously— which is always a bad thing when it comes to him.

"Y-Yes?" I stutter, the words slipping carelessly off my tongue.

"I know that we haven't seen each other in so long, and we still hardly know each other, but.."

"Julian.." I cut him off, knowing what he's most likely going to say. It's not that I don't want to be with him, but.. things are confusing right now. He stares at me doe eyed and terrified.
"I kissed Triss." I blurt out.

"What?"

"Well, she kissed me.. but I kissed her back."

"W-W-Why?"

"I don't know, that's why I don't want you to finish that sentence. I've never been in a situation like that before, and now.."

"Now you want to be with her and not me?"

"No, no," I squeeze his hand, "not at all. I just.. I feel like.." I scramble to find the right words. I hold his other hand as well, and he reluctantly clutches back. "I feel like.. I really like you. And I want to see where it can go. Yes?"

He nods.

"Okay. There's still other people I'd like to try that with too, though.."

"You know what, Laurelle?" He says and I'm absolutely horrified of what he's about to say. "Okay. I'll accept that."

"Wait, what?" I say, shocked.

"Yes, I'm okay with that, because I will wait for you as long as I need to."

"Dandelion-"

"No, really, Laurelle. I've tried being with other women, I've been with every girl I could possibly dream of and yet they still don't satisfy me. Because they aren't you, my beautiful bird."

"I-"

"Shhh," he places a finger to my lips, "don't speak, my lily. Just listen, and listen well. Priscilla, the troubaritz, was madly in love with me. I'm sure you've heard of her. But, anyway, I tried so hard to love her back and I could not.. All I could dream of, laying nestled beside her, was you."

I sit still, my mouth opened wide along with my eyes, as I'm dumbfounded at his confession. Perhaps he feels bad that I am entitled to tell him of my kiss with the redheaded sorceress. Without thinking, I press my lips to Dandelion's, smearing some of my leftover red lipstick onto his pink and plump lips that are oh so kissable. He tastes delicious and sweet and the way he grabs my head to pull me in closer is magnificent. It's just a kiss though, that's it, it doesn't go any further than just our mouths pressing together because he swiftly releases me.

"Please, go spend time with Geralt."

"I will be up for bed later." I squeeze his hands before letting go and leaving the room, and he sits there frozen for a while, thinking.

"Hey.." I speak, pulling up a chair next to Geralt. "Look." I show him my left hand, all bandaged up. "I look badass."

"You do," we both laugh. "I think once that heals, and this Triss business is done, I'm going to take you somewhere. As a surprise."

"Well, now that's gonna bug me. You know I hate surprises."

"Mhm." He simply says, finishing off a drink. "Dandelion!" Geralt calls out to the bard once he leaves the little room next to the kitchen. "Another round for us?"

"Coming up!" Dandelion smiles softly, scurrying to behind the counter and to the beer tap.

"So, what do you think of Triss?" Geralt continues.

"She's... great." I sigh, thinking back to the deal with Radovid, thinking back to how I lied to Geralt's face about it, and how I'm lying again. "It was really fun until the whole brawl started, to be honest. But, she made it fun afterwards too."

"Good to hear. Triss was always like a sister to Ciri. I'm glad she can be something to you." Geralt nods as Dandelion sets two large mugs infront of us, exchanging an uncomfortable and quick glance with me before walking up the stairs. "How are things with Dandelion?"

"I almost forgot!" I exclaim, leaning in a bit to whisper to him. "He just told me how he's been with every girl in the world,"

"Charming."

"No, wait," I giggle. "And how he didn't like any of them. Guess who he couldn't even take his mind off me with?"

"Who?"

"Priscilla."

"Damn, Lara." He raises his glass and I swiftly raise mine, hitting the wooden mugs together. "That's impressive." He downs his drink and I follow, wanting to get drunk. Seeing as no one's at the bar anymore, I might not be able to.

"This hurts like hell." I look down to my knuckle.

"Another scar to prove your worthiness is how I see it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks, Geralt. I owe it all to you."

"Why's that?"

"You're the one that found me.. Chose me.. Took me away to Kaer Morhen and made me who I am. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me? How'd you even find me?"

"Destiny."

Chapter Text

After a long night of planning with Geralt— which inevitably lead to lots and lots of drinking— I awoke to the sun bathing the room in soft golden light. Dandelion had been sleeping when I finally crept upstairs last night, and now that I've woken up, he's no longer laying next to me— rather the bed is empty, his sweet scent lingering in the sheets where the dent in the bed is, where he lay. It must be nearly noon, as the sun is high enough to shine so brightly inside. I rub my eyes, yawning, being hit with a hangover like a pike to the head. I groan, pulling the heavy blanket off of my sweating body to sit up on the side of the bed. I look around to see a tray of food on the table, which still appears to be steaming. Guess I'm a heavy sleeper.

I stand up, dressed in only underwear, and I spy my dress from the night before in the corner of the room, the shoes laid out neatly in front of it. I sigh, clutching my head as I stumble over to the table and nearly fall as I almost miss the chair. I scarf down the contents of the plate, which is the same breakfast as yesterday, but I'm not complaining. After I satisfy my hunger, my hangover eases up a little bit— but I still can't walk, or stand, very straight. I limp over to a chest of clothes, holding onto furniture and various objects as I make my way towards it. I struggle to lift open the heavy lid of the brown wooden container, which is full of my undergarments and armour. Struggling to put on my black bra, I hear the door open.

Turning around and covering my bare breasts quickly, I sigh in relief as I see the intruder is only my dear Dandelion.

"Goodmorning, Laurelle," he shuts the door and scurries over, hooking the bra for me. "I see you were very hungry."

"Goodmorning." I smile, turning around again as I put on my light brown leather pants, which are tight around the waist and bottom. "Thank you for the wonderful breakfast."

Dandelion admires my body up and down, his eyes gravitating towards my breasts that are large and smushed together. "Of course, my beautiful bird. Shall we start the day?"

"Mhm," I groan, pulling my off-white blouse over my head. "Maybe I shouldn't have drank so much last night..."

"Indeed, Laurelle, today is a big day. Our dear Triss has a rather long expedition lined up." I hear a bit of tension and awkwardness in Dandelion's voice. "She's off to Skellige."

"Wow, really?" I slip on cotton socks, jumping around, trying to keep my balance as I alternate standing on one foot at a time. "She, uh, never told me. Our conversations were quite short, to be honest."

"Spent most of the time kissing?" Julian pouts as I slip on my leather boots, but I stop and stare at him with only one foot in.

"Excuse me?"

"I-I'm sorry, Laurelle. That was inappropriate of me."

"Listen," I step closer to Dandelion and stare intensely up to him, a stern look on my face to match the tone of my voice. "We hardly kissed. I was the one that pulled away. She was the one to kiss me in the first place."

"Okay, okay, I believe you."

"I wasn't asking for your approval, Julian." I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth together.

"Sorry I mentioned it. As you know-"

"Yes, I know." I cut him off, already knowing that he was about to remind me of his feelings towards me as if I didn't feel the exact same way. "Let the day begin."

Walking downstairs in my full suit of armour, the few odd patrons in the tavern look at me with fear in their eyes. Dandelion has already sat down with Geralt and looks a tad upset, and Geralt shoots me a glance that screams help me. I sit down in a chair across from both men at the square table.

"Morning." Geralt speaks.

"Goodmorning." I raise my eyebrows and Geralt shakes his head. Dandelion sits there in silence and looks at Geralt and Geralt alone. I feel a bit strange, his vibe is off, which is extremely unusual for the preppy and enthusiastic bard who's a tad too full of himself. He seemed fine upstairs.

"Down to business," Geralt sits up in his chair and focuses in on me, watching me stare at Julian who's still only paying attention to Geralt. I frown, giving up and looking to Geralt as well. "Dandelion and I will stage a robbery at Vivaldi Bank, the one in Hierarch Square. No, we aren't really going to take anything, we're not bandits," Geralt looks to Dandelion and says exactly what he was thinking. "You'll get Triss from point A to point B, which is the docks. That's all."

"Sounds.. kind of boring." I exhale, resting my face into my hands.

"What's the matter?" Geralt glances to Dandelion.

"Too hungover." I groan, my words muffled by my hands. I remove them and slump back into my chair. "Fuck it, I'll do it. Don't worry."

"I know. I'm not."

"Should we get to it?" Dandelion still only looks to Geralt for approval, not acknowledging my existence at all. Before anyone can say anything else, I roughly stand up and kick the chair out of my way, huffing angrily as I storm out the door. What the fuck is up with Julian?

I shake my head, balling my hands into fists a few times and squeezing them tightly before letting go, trying to relax. I slap myself lightly on the cheek— the one without the bandage— trying to wake myself up a bit. I assume Geralt will need Roach, so I head over to Lacehalls on foot, which is surprisingly only the next neighbourhood over from the Chameleon. I'll need to buy my own horse soon.

When I arrive at the same secret door, I notice that the peephole is slightly open and a green eye is looking through.

"Psst," someone whispers from behind the wooden wall. I walk over carefully, glancing around at each guard in the vicinity, who're all too busy to be looking at me. No one dares look at me when I've got two swords strapped to my back.

"Triss?" I whisper, the door opening a smidge. I'm yanked inside; this time, by a certain redhaired sorceress. She wears black leather pants and burgundy boots that appear to be quite dusty, and the same colour gloves that surpass up above her elbows and hook around her pointer finger. Over top of a yellowy-brown leather shirt that exposes much of her breasts, she wears vibrant blue material down to her elbows and up her neck, but a brown cape covers most of it. Her makeup is the usual, her hair is all gathered back into one bun at the base of her skull. She pulls me into an embrace, catching me off guard, but I sink into her body and wrap my arms around her torso.

I pull back slightly, just to be able to look her in the eyes. She can tell I'm upset, I just know it. So far she's only hugged me when I've been angry. It's almost like she has a special radar on my emotions, and yet she still toys with them.

"Ready to leave this shithole?" I eagerly ask, excited for her, but a bit sad that she's leaving to such a far away place.

"Never been more ready." She hugs me once more before letting go, putting the hood of the cape up over her head, covering her hair and most of her face. "Let's go."

I happily oblige, exiting the Putrid Grove with Triss, who has nothing more than the clothes on her back and a pouch of coins for her journey. Guards pay no attention to us, as a hooded figure is commonplace for Novigrad. We walk slightly staggered, so no one thinks we're together. A Witcher alongside a hooded person might come off as a bit too suspicious. My mind races as we meander through the city, thinking of my kiss with Triss and how strange Dandelion was acting. I can't stop wondering what Triss feels for me, if anything. She's notoriously known for toying with people, specifically Geralt, whom she's been using to further her own agenda for years.

Guards begin to run through the streets from all directions as the city's large bell begins to toll, alerting the Redanians of an emergency.

"Must be Geralt and Dandelion." I whisper to Triss, who in turn slows down to let me catch up to her.

"Yeah?"

"They're robbing the bank."

"Oh." Triss says. "Smart?" She sounds sarcastic and almost worried.

"I guess," I shrug. "Didn't really think of anything else."

"I suppose it'll have to do."

"Here's hoping I don't have to break their asses out of jail." I say with all seriousness, but Triss covers her mouth to giggle. I can't help but smirk, glancing over to her emerald eyes that are peeking through strands of unruly red hair. No one bats an eye as we continue through the city and to the docks. The streets are void of guards, seeing as they've all run to tend to the 'emergency' that Geralt and Dandelion have created.

"Can I tell you something?" I turn to Triss and I begin to walk slower.

"Of course." She has an anxious look on her face.

"Radovid wanted us to turn you in."

"Well, of course-"

"No, but wait." I cut her off, sighing and bowing my head in shame. "I agreed."

"You- what?" Triss comes to a halt, staring at me with her eyebrows furrowed.

"I didn't know you, I thought you to be a traitorous bitch, don't you see?" I snap, Triss watching, her mouth open as she tries to find the right words. "But you've been so kind to me, I just can't bring myself to turn you in. Not for all the riches in the world."

"Thank you." Triss hugs me, almost tackling me she does it with such great force. She quickly lets go, just as fast as she had started, and we begin our trek again.

"You're welcome." I whisper, feeling a pit in my stomach, whether from embarrassment and guilt or attraction and sadness. As we arrive at the docks, only sailors stand around, drunk and drinking as they load their boxes onto their mighty ships. Triss frantically looks around, scanning the shore until she spots the captain she'll be traveling with. She clutches the coin pouch in her hand and speeds over to him, zigzagging through groups of sailors, seeming a bit too eager to leave. I can't help but feel awkward as she discusses the plans with the man, about how they must set sail immediately before guards rain on us like hellfire.

"Oh shit," I turn around to see guards flooding the area, shoving fisherman out of the way as they scramble around. "Too late."

Triss turns around, an absolutely horrified expression painted on her face. She takes her hood down and I protest, but she simply walks past me and down off the boat. I follow, running, trying to keep up with her.

"I, sorceress Triss Merigold, have doomed you to your fates." She yells, all the guards freezing for a second when they spot her. "Bastards." She says quietly, only loud enough for me to hear, before moving her hands in a certain enchanting way, conjuring up a great ball of fire between them. The men begin to run away but they're too slow— Triss' fire rains down on them, burning and scorching their armour, even killing some of them immediately. I place my hand on the hilt of my steel sword, just incase something goes awry. Suddenly, I see Dandelion and Geralt, masked, running towards us at full speed. How could I ever mistake those fools for someone else with the idiotic way they run and flail their limbs?

"Triss!" Geralt shouts as one of her fireballs nearly scathes him. She's almost in a trance-like state, finally getting revenge on all the corrupt people within these walls that have been slaughtering her brothers and sisters. Well, besides Radovid and the Witch Hunters, but this'll do. I secretly hope the guard who had assisted me isn't here. Geralt arrives at the base of our ship, dead bodies of the red Redanian men litter the cobblestone street. Dandelion carefully steps over the corpses, ripping his purple mask from his face and tossing it to the ground. He runs to me, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"I was so worried about you." He pleads into my ear, holding my head close to his chest.

"I'm fine, always will be." My words are muffled by his clothes, and by the amount of noise Triss is making, but I speak as loud as I can over the screams of the guards.

"Triss," Geralt lightly places his palm on her shoulder and she steps backwards, startled. "You have to go."

"Only helping." She smirks, hugging Geralt and he reluctantly returns the gesture, staring at me with widened eyes.
Dandelion lets go of my sides, looking down at me with a saddened look. As Triss and Geralt scramble around, fighting off the remaining guards, I put my hand back on my sword.

"What the fuck is up with you today?" I ask simply.

"It's just.. strange for me, alright?"

"What?" I hiss, angered by his face.

"Triss! You kissed her!" He exclaims, loud enough for Geralt to hear. He glances over, looking worriedly at us. I let go of my sword, grasping Dandelion's shirt collar.

"We already discussed this. What's the big deal?"

"I d-don't know."

"Then shut your mouth for once." I release my grasp on him, glancing to Geralt. I pull out my sword, storming away from Julian and descending to the docks. He tries to stop me but I yank my arm away from his petty, weak grasp. As Triss and Geralt take their sweet time, I begin to lop off heads at a constant rate, necks spewing long squirts of blood as bodies slump to the ground, the decapitated heads flying a few feet away. "Triss!" I yell, my face coated in splotches of the red liquid. "Go!"

She stands still, shocked by my actions and yet afraid for me. I motion for her to get onto the boat and hesitantly she obeys, searching around the vessel for the captain. More guards are flooding in, I'm terrified as they seem to be coming in endless supply. Geralt is fighting alongside me, slashing and hacking at skulls. We're both soaked in blood, heaving and panting as we desperately search for a way out... when suddenly the bell tolls again. The remaining guards quickly flee the area, disappearing into alleyways and backstreets as they follow the next emergency, their armour clinking as they jog away. We're left standing in a battlefield full of bodies and carnage. Geralt sheathes his sword, as do I, and I drop to my ass and sit criss-crossed. Geralt bends down, resting on the tips of his toes. I wipe my forehead with my sleeve, looking down to see all the blood smeared across my new clothing. Fuck.

"Damn." I huff, out of breath. "What went wrong?"

"They fucking knew it was a ploy. Spies, I guess."

"W-What? How is that even-"

"We must be underestimating Radovid. I have no clue."

"Shit." I curse, standing up again and dusting off my rump. "Now what?"

"Now Triss leaves." He stands back up. "For some reason, the bell made them retreat." Geralt speaks, yet I rush away to meet Triss on the upper deck of the boat, where the captain stands clutching the wheel of the ship.

"Lara!" She comes rushing to me. "You're soaked." She winces, keeping a distance from my bloodied armour.

"Sorry. Witcher business and all." I grin, holding my arms open, waiting for her to enter. She pulls out a hanky and begins to wipe my face, scrubbing as much blood off as she can. She tosses the cloth aside and runs into my arms, pulling her head away and surprising me with a kiss. I taste the blood on my lips, as I'm sure she does too. It's metallic and surprisingly sweet, or perhaps that's from her lips that are glossed in pink strawberry lipgloss, which is shining in the afternoon sun, glinting off of the sea water. Dandelion and Geralt watch, both shifting uncomfortably on their heels. They exhange glances, not sure whether they like the sight before them or not. Geralt is surely confused and the thoughts in his mind are rather obscene, as are Dandelion's, and yet he hates it with every ounce of his being. It's like time has stopped, like I've died and I'm watching my body from above. I grab Triss' head and roughly pull her closer to me, her hands snaking around my hips and under my swords, holding me tight as our lips continue to clash together softly but with immense passion. Running out of breath, I pull away and wipe my mouth with my glove.

"I'm gonna miss you." Triss' voice squeaks out, her voice caught in her throat.

"Me too." I hug her again, the blood on my armour has dried a bit but the crusty specks begin to fall off. I pull away, blushing. "Maybe I should go get cleaned up."

"That's okay." Triss smiles, brushing strands of hair away from my face that've stuck to some of the bloody mess smeared across my forehead and chin. "I don't mind. We won't see each other for.. quite some time, I believe."

"I promise to come see you."

"You better keep your word, for your own sake." Triss grins widely before grabbing the back of my head, pulling my hair as she plants her lips onto mine again for one final goodbye. Or rather, see you later.

"Good luck."

"Thank you," she has a somber look on her face, but her eyes gleam with hopefulness. "I'll need it." We let go of each other and I quickly scurry off of the boat and onto the docks, waving to her constantly as the ship begins to set sail from the harbour, before it shrinks to a small dot and then disappears entirely through mist. I stand still, unable to tear my eyes away from where I had last seen the boat. I'm startled when Geralt places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes reassuringly.

"Come on, let's get a drink."

"You read my mind." I sigh, turning away from the shoreline, but glancing back every once and a while. Geralt walks close beside me, looking up at me in five second intervals. Dandelion walks on Geralt's side, farthest away from me. I don't even care right now.

"You okay?" Geralt breaks the silence once we enter through the door of the Chameleon and I immediately begin stripping my body of my bloodied armour.

"I honestly don't know." I say, sitting down on a chair to take off my boots and pants. Luckily the tavern's closed for the day because of our little escape plan, as I'm left in only my blouse, underwear, and socks. Dandelion is in the kitchen preparing something to eat but I don't feel hungry. I don't even feel like taking a bath or tidying up. I miss being a Witcher, dirty and bloody, stinking and living off the land. I feel too out of place in a city, especially with Dandelion and his judgements.

"Wanna talk about it?" Geralt says nonchalantly.

"What's there to say?" I grab a mug off the table and polish it off, licking up every last drop.

"Don't wanna get too drunk, do you?"

"I do."

"Okay." He shrugs as Dandelion watches, walking over with a tray of mugs and some bread and stew. Placing it before us, I down the mug almost immediately.

"Another, please." I hold up the mug to Julian, staring blankly at the table. He reluctantly takes it from me once Geralt nods to him in approval. Or is it guilt? "I'm sure you know all too well about parting with people."

"I do. Luckily I always have you." Geralt takes a sip of his beer, leaning over the table a bit, sitting directly across from me. I'm grateful that Geralt isn't angry.

"I'm glad to have you." I look up to him, our cat-eyes meeting. I didn't even notice Dandelion sit down to the left of me.

"You too." Geralt simply states, but his eyes say more.

"I think I'll bunk with you tonight," I hold eye contact with Geralt. "As I'm sure you already know every detail about Dandelion and I." I talk openly to him like Julian isn't sitting right there, as payback.

"Laurelle, you don't need to." Dandelion butts in.

"Oh? I'm sure I do." I slam my mug onto the table and stand up, storming upstairs and entering Dandelion's room, which is unlocked already. I begin to collect my things, feeling unwanted and disliked by a man that had recently just confessed how much he fancied me. My arms are piled with clothes as I frantically try to grab everything before Dandelion convinces me to stay. Love is foolish. Only fools fall in love. What kind of a fool would I be to love him? Him! I'm a Witcher, an elf, he's a human and a bard— an annoying one at that. I don't understand what I-

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the audible click of the door swinging open, revealing a panicked Dandelion who comes rushing through and blocks the entryway with his body.

"Huh. Speak of the devil," I say hushed. "Get out of my way. I don't wanna hear it." I storm up to him, glaring, ready for battle.

"Laurelle, please. I think you do."

"Mhm." I can hear Geralt agree from all the way downstairs. Fucking superhuman senses, I bet he's always eavesdropping on me. Wonder what scheme he and Dandelion have cooked up this time.

"Okay." I reply, dropping all of the clothes laid over my arms, my hands on my hips, standing before him still dressed only in underwear, socks, and my blouse; which are all sweaty.

"Okay, what?" Julian says like a fool.

"Speak!" I demand, his expression displays that he's taken back by my tone and is practically shaking in his boots. Before I can react, he grabs either side of my face, still being gentle with the bandaged side as he grasps me firmly and smushes his lips to mine. I hesitate, unsure of what this man is thinking, wondering if he's truly gone insane— but I can't help but instinctively wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back, a feeling of guilt and anger rising in my chest and yet I feel so free and loved and... and..

"I love you." Dandelion whispers through bated breath, still continuing to move his lips with mine as he pushes us up against the wall and spins around so that my back is pressed tightly between him and the hard wood that's cold on my thighs.

"I-"

"Not yet." He quickly pulls his mouth away and places a finger to my lips, stopping me from returning the three simple yet meaningful words. I'm breathing heavily, my eyes wide and my eyebrows raised. "Say it after. It'll be.. perfect."

"What, for your next ballad?"

"Maybe just a little." He smiles, his cute smirk causing me to bite my lip. "Now you've done it." Dandelion growls, picking me up by my thighs, eliciting a high-pitched noise from me as his rings and nails dig into my skin. He smashes me against the wall again, littering my jaw with soft kisses, slowly getting rougher as his mouth trails down my neck and to my collarbones. He carries me to the bed and gently places me down. Is this what Dandelion considers to be rough sex? So careful.. I bite my lip again, excited for what's to come, a feeling of wetness pouring out of my core and soaking my underwear, butterflies flying around like crazy inside my stomach as my whole body begins to tingle from arousal.

"Again!" Dandelion groans. "Must you be so provocative, so tempting?" He undresses himself before pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it away. "So scrumptious? Delicious?" He wastes no time taking my underwear off as well and snatching my socks from my feet. "Like a starving war orphan, staring inside of a marvellous castle at a cookie jar he cannot reach." I feel self conscious being so sweaty and most likely smelly, yet he doesn't seem to react at all, just continues to recite strange poetry. "But a beautiful bird has landed before me on my wooden windowsill, allowing me to see the inside of her spectacular blue wings, but how am I deserving? Maybe I shouldn't ask and jinx my luck."

I'm a giggling mess as he continues to whisper his strange prose inbetween kissing my neck and sucking lightly, leaving soft maroon circles on the pale skin. I, once again acting instinctively, wrap my legs around him and tug at his hair as his mouth makes its way down my scarred chest and to my nipples, placing his lips around the one pink bud and flicking it. This isn't the first time I've ever had sex, but it's one of the first. Hjalmar was rather pushy when I was a young, impressionable girl. Geralt told me that he was desperately in love with Ciri, so maybe white hair is his fetish. Dandelion begins to grind his bare crotch into mine, our naked bodies colliding together and creating hot friction between our stomachs, the pit in mine growing and my core tingling. My clit fills with electricity as his dark pubic hair rubs up against the swollen bud. His mouth detaches from my nipple with a light stinging sensation, almost like papercuts and yet it's sent jolts down to my core as well. The feeling is overbearing as his lips connect to mine, kissing me roughly and yet so softly as I begin to moan accidentally, not able to hold back anymore. I feel him snake his hand between our bodies, his rings scratching against my stomach as he strokes his already hardened cock.

"Please." I pathetically whimper out, longing for that feeling of being full. It's been too long. Dandelion teases my wet entrance with the tip of his penis, the uncircumcised cock spreading my liquid around the slit. Just as I'm about to open my mouth again to beg, he steadily pushes inside of me with a breathy groan. He snaps his hips, his cock hitting deep inside of me and I moan loudly, scrunching my eyes closed. He starts slow but continues slamming into me with force, his hands resting on either side of my head as he stares down at me in wonder— probably jotting down every minute detail in his mind as he can.

"F-Faster." My voice is weak and pathetic and he does nothing but smile at this, dipping his head into my neck and stopping his thrusts for a brief moment. Suddenly, he begins to slam into me at a rapid and rough pace, flexing his large cock into my g-spot, causing me to cry out nonstop, my eyes rolling in the back of my head, my sharp uneven nails clawing at his back. "Oh God!" I scream, not even caring who can hear, whether Geralt the peeper is listening or whether I'm loud enough for all of Novigrad. "Yes, yes." I scratch Julian's back, leaving long sharp lines along his flawless skin as his member rams into me perfectly, hitting just the right spot, a knot tightening in my stomach.

"Fuck." He hisses through gritted teeth, our bodies sweaty and shining in the evening glow of the setting sun, pink and purples gently painting the sky.

"Please. Please make me come." I barely choke out, so desperate for my release.

"I'm almost there." He heaves into my neck, sucking on a pre-existing hickey and making me moan. Every sound spurs him on, my walls tightening around his cock as my legs begin to shake. "Shit, so tight. So warm and wet and beautiful." He cooes, bringing his face up above mine to stare at me as we both begin coming undone together. My orgasm hits me like an enormous ocean wave after an intense storm, liquid squirting and pouring out of my core as Dandelion begins to slow down, allowing me to ride out my high and calm down as I feel him coming in me, the warm seed coating my insides. He rolls off of me and collapses on the bed beside my body, the nice silky blankets have been utterly destroyed and will need a good wash. The pillowcase is wet with saliva and sweat, as is my entire body, my neck and mouth and nipples and everything below. We turn to face each other and he grabs my face delicately, kissing me with intense passion as his semen seeps out of me ever so slightly.

"Wow." I laugh, sighing in relief after the long awaited escapade with none other than the most charming man on the Continent. I feel all of the tension and anger within him subside, the energy of him and the room are normal once again, if not better than before.

"Wow is right." Dandelion smiles, caressing my bandaged cheek. "You are so beautiful. That after sex glow is gorgeous, I've never laid my eyes on such a wonderful, rare sight."

"Oh, stop." I blush, biting my lip. I quickly stop as his eyes change, realising that's his biggest turn on. He pecks my lips again before jumping out of the bed and slipping on a pair of knickers.

"I will fetch us some hot water for a bath. Care to help, seeing as I've given all of the staff the day off?"

"Of course, I'll help." I smile kindly, springing out of bed and grabbing a large shirt out of the closet. It's long enough to almost reach my knees, which are shakey and weak from the pounding I had just received, the insides of my thighs coated in his sticky spill. I cannot fucking believe Julian has that in him. I would never have guessed that he could be so rough, and nevermind how he found my spot so perfectly. Must be all the experience.. I start to grow uncomfortable and self conscious at his sexual history, feeling nearly like a virgin compared to him. Bastard.

"What?" He asks.

"I said that outloud?"

"Um, well, yes."

"Shit. Nevermind." I roll my eyes. "But.."

"Yes?" Julian steps over to me, holding my waist and I wrap my arms around his neck.

"I love you too."

Chapter Text

"Where is she?" A man shouts, entering the door to the Chameleon, interrupting the guests and their evening festivities.

"Sir," Dandelion rushes over to the guard who's dressed in red fabric and silver shining metal, placing a hand to his chest to try and stop him from entering, yet the man is too strong. "You cannot come in here, it's a private booking."

"Do I look like I care?" He grabs Dandelion's wrist and practically throws him out of the way, his strength is overpowering. "Where is the she-elf?"

"Y-You mean Lara?" Dandelion quickly recovers from being thrown around like a pebble in a slingshot, running into the guard's path again as a few burly patrons make their way over to protect the establishment's owner.

"That's what I fuckin' said. Radovid has issued for her capture and I'm here to carry it out."

"What! Capture? No, no, see— you've got it wrong."

"I don't believe I do."

"Dandelion?" I call down the stairs, Geralt standing beside me as we listen in on the conversation. I don't have my swords.

"Lara!" The guard shouts. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

"Come on." I whisper to Geralt, giving him a reassuring glance and a slight nod. He hesitates, but allows me to walk down the stairs, following behind. "What do you want?" I say to the guard as I descend down the last few steps.

"Your head— but we can't always get what we want, you disgusting she-elf, freak of nature."

"Listen here, buddy," Dandelion cocks his fist and shakes it.

"No." I say to Julian sternly. "I can do this." Dandelion retreats, stepping back a bit as Geralt comes closer. "I get it, you hate me and my kind. What's new?" I mock.

"The warrant for your arrest is what's new." The guard grabs my arms forcefully and holds my wrists behind my back, binding them together with handcuffs that are glowing green.

"Dimeritium?" I scoff. "I'm no sorceress, you bumbling idiot."

"Watch your mouth, slut. Before I fill it."

Dandelion and Geralt are fiddling nervously as they watch the man shove me out of the tavern, spewing lude insults.

"You have to let me follow!" Dandelion pleas.

"I'll go. Don't worry. Stay here, Lara will kill me if anything happened to you." Geralt says quickly as he runs through the door to catch up with the guard and I. I sure wish the nice guard was here right now.

"Fuck you." I struggle with the man's grasp, which is holding me like death's grip. I thrash around, trying to break loose. The guard uses his other hand to grab my hair, pulling my head backwards to look at him, strands being ripped out of my scalp with a sting.

"Shut up, you filthy whore." He spits, his disgusting breath bathing my face and entering my nostrils. He lets go and I stand up straight, glancing to Geralt that's following close beside. The guard takes me to the same brothel as before— to see the King, no doubt. He kicks me, guiding me into a room like a sheep dog. He lets go as he shoves me forward, causing me to lose my footing and fall to the ground onto my knees, my arms still bound behind my back. Surprisingly, the guard leaves and the room is empty, save for the three of us, Geralt unnoticeable and unbothered like a shadow.

"Stand." Radovid's voice bellows in the small room, Geralt standing in the corner and watching, ensuring that nothing gets too out of control. He knows I can handle this, I appreciate him staying out of it, but I still don't like that he's here. It makes me feel like he doesn't truly believe I can handle it. I struggle to my feet, yanking at the cuffs around my wrists in the process. "You know why you're here." He says and I gasp, trying to speak.

"Silence." He stands up, walking over to me, staring directly into my eyes. "I didn't allow you permission to speak." Radovid smirks, an evil glint in his expression. I stand there helpless, his glare penetrating my soul, and I feel so vulnerable; yet I'm not scared. I'm never scared. I don't fear Kings. They're too weak to do their own dirty work— well, besides raping every woman they can get their grimy hands on. I shiver, looking down to his clothed crotch, noticing the slight bump. I shift on my heels, nervous of what's to come.

"Good," he praises. "Good, quiet whore." Radovid tucks my hair behind my one ear and I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth together, biting my tongue so I don't get myself into anymore trouble. "You had a deal with me, and still you broke your promise. The riches weren't enough?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Why not? Hmm?"

"You're a filthy degenerate full of hatred and insanity. How could you?"

"Tsk, tsk." He softly traces my jaw before squeezing my bandaged cheek harshly. I curse, wincing at the pain, feeling bits of the scab peeling off. The white bandage starts to turn red with seeping blood. "Watch your words, she-elf. You may be a Witcher, but you're still an elf. We don't welcome your kind here. You should be thankful I didn't have you killed the second my guards spotted you. Should carve your stupid ears for that."

"Thank you, dear King," I hiss, "but death doesn't scare me. Neither do threats about my ears."

"Ah, but see," He grabs my throat and I cry out, struggling and gasping to breathe. Geralt wants to leap forward to save me— but he doesn't. "Now, I'm not going to kill you. That would be too easy. You must suffer for your treason." He smiles at me, watching my face turn colourless, I feel like my head's about to explode from all of the pressure. Finally releasing me, I want to clutch my throat but I can't, coughing almost violently, inhaling and exhaling deeply, the noise raspy and raggedy as I struggle to stay standing. "And you, Witcher," Radovid walks calmly over to Geralt, shaking a finger at him. "I know Lara didn't tell you about our little deal, so let me be the one to inform you."

"Deal?" Geralt asks. Radovid is extremely focused on Geralt, which I take advantage of, slowly sneaking around the room in search of a weapon. Somehow I find it suspicious that there's no guards in here with us.

"Yes, Witcher. Deal. A deal Lara made with me, that of which she promising to fulfill. To deliver me Triss Merigold."

"You're lying."

"But I'm not!" Radovid laughs maniacally. "That is what's so funny. Hilarious, even. Perhaps that's why Witchers don't work together— since you're all traitors to your own kind. And your King."

"You're not my King. You're not anyone's." Geralt realises what I'm doing, searching quietly through a desk drawer with my hands still tied, and he begins to edge the King of Redania on. "You're just an idiot. You would be nobody if it weren't for Philippa Eilhart, yet you still gouged her eyes out."

"Watch your tongue, Witcher, before you lose it.  Wouldn't want to execute two Witchers on the same day. Or perhaps I'll have your eyes gouged out too. You can match with my dear, dear Philippa." Radovid and Geralt talk back and forth, challenging each other as the conversation escalates consistently. I finally discover a dagger in one of the drawers, as well as a key to my shackles which I struggle to unlock. I nod to Geralt, his eyes flickering to mine as he tries not to raise suspicion, seeing that I've managed to free myself. Making my way carefully to the King with the dagger in my hand, stepping ever so lightly and with great caution, I stop right behind him.

"Ahem." Geralt clears his throat, signalling me to make the move. I wrap my arm around Radovid's neck and press the blade of the dagger tightly to his jugular. He does nothing but laugh.

"Try it. Try and kill me, you dirty, pig-suckling wench, you worthless sl-" Radovid's insults are cut short, quite literally with a bubbling sound coming from his throat when I dig the blade deep into his skin and drag it across his neck with speed and precision. The horizontal wound spurts with blood, splashing a bit on Geralt as his body slumps lifelessly into mine. I lower him to the ground, dropping him with a thud. I toss the dagger beside him with a clang, brushing my hands together.

"One less dirty son of a bitch." I declare proudly, happier than I should be that Radovid is dead.

"We have to leave." Geralt says in a monotonous voice yet I can sense the panic. I grab as many crowns as I can, shoving jade necklaces into my pockets. "Come on!" Geralt is holding the door open as I come rushing through, filling my pockets to the brim. We run at full speed out of the brothel, except I slow down a bit to ensure that the riches don't fall out of my pockets as they jingle and jangle all over the place. Guards are confused as we pass, with me limping, clutching my sides, Geralt coated in spots of blood. As we enter the doors of the Chameleon, it's completely empty. Perhaps Dandelion sent everyone away due to the circumstances of my arrest.

"Laurelle!" Julian exclaims, running to me and pulling me into a rough embrace. "Oww.." He says, all of the jewellery and coins digging into him and he backs away.

"I just killed a King!" I say, emptying my pockets and reaching into my bra, all of the golden items clinking onto the table.

"W-What? What is the meaning of this? Why do you bring all of these stolen treasures?" Dandelion beings to panic. "Killed a King?"

"Slow down!" I laugh, my pockets empty as I run to hug him again. "Laurelle the Kingslayer! Catchy ring to it. I'm probably the youngest person to kill a King. Probably the first woman ever!"

"Lara, we have to keep this a secret." Geralt speaks.

"Or Melitele knows what they'll do to you." Dandelion's gaze meets mine, he can see I'm excited and he returns this emotion, but I can also see the seriousness in his face. "So, you killed Radovid? How? That's wonderful!"

"Dandelion!" Geralt scolds.

"Hey, you can't blame me. I'm happy the bastard's dead. Lara's the one that killed him." Julian defends himself.

"Slashed his throat. Like a badass."

"Wow! Nice!"

"Not nice!" Geralt grabs my arm and yanks me away from Dandelion's grasp. "We did what we had to do to protect ourselves, but this could put us in hot water with the city's underworld. You have to be quiet."

"Ughhh," I pout. Finally did something notable and now it has to be a secret. "Fucking fine. Bedlam did say he had a job for me."

"Do not mention any of this." Julian chimes in, trying to earn Geralt's approval again.

"Okay, okay!" I put my hands up, signalling them to back down. "I get it." I stumble up the stairs, shaking with excitement and still a bit sore from yesterday. I smirk to myself as I strap my swords on, securing them. "Alright, I'm off. See you later." I nod to the two men as I exit the tavern and make my way to Lacehalls. It feels weird knowing that Triss isn't there, waiting for me. This time, I don't even have to knock on the door, seeing as the man opens it as soon as I near the wall.

"Welcome back." He utters.

"Thanks." I grab a crown from my pocket and slap it into his hand, walking swiftly to the end of the street. "Bedlam." I speak, entering the dim room, still full of unamountable treasure.

"Ah, hello." He looks up to me, holding out his hand. I shake it, using the hand that just killed the King. "Here for the job?"

"Mhm. Ready." I cross my arms, leaning on my right foot.

"Great to see you're so eager," he says sarcastically. "There's been something killing my men at night, when they're drunk and pissing themselves on the streets. I don't have anymore information than that, but I'm sure you can manage. You did just kill Radovid." He says nonchalantly.

"How-How the fuck did you know that?"

"I don't reveal my sources. But I should warn you."

"Warn?"

"Ah, forget it." He wipes the thought away with his hand, dismissing me. "Go find the monster that's killing my thieves. I'll reward you with five hundred crowns."

"Damn!" I accidentally say outloud. "Accepted." I hold my hand out again and he firmly shakes it. As I make my way out the door, I turn around. "What did you mean by 'warn' me?"

"Just be on your tippy-toes. Especially in Novigrad.. and Oxenfurt. Just feel special I didn't hire the other Witcher that's supposedly in town."

"Thanks." I smile uncomfortably. Wait.. Other Witcher in town?

"Mhm. Go kill the beast."

I slip out of the door and back onto the streets of Novigrad. Small mounds of snow are still frozen on the ground, but most have melted. A few buildings are dripping with dissolving icicles, splashing me on the head. I rub it gently, drying my hair. Monster.. Where to start..

Suddenly, a scream.

"Convenient." I whisper to myself, running towards the sound, which is coming from a nearby backalley. If this is the monster, it's sure as hell gotten more confident attacking so close to the rest of the population. Especially so early in the evening, seeing as the sun hasn't disappeared entirely yet. Racing around the corner, a body is laying on the ground, the limbs sprawled out. I quickly drop to my knees, resting on the dirt path, beginning my examination of the corpse. The skin's pigmentation is completely white, almost grey, as I notice all of the blood's been sucked out of the man's body via two holes in his neck that I gently trace with my finger.

"A vampire." I whisper, jumping to my feet, looking around the dark alleyway. "Shit." I curse, digging through my pockets for vampire oil. I coat my silver sword with the purple liquid, preparing for the attack— which doesn't come. "Where are you?" I shout, intimidating it. No reply. I sheathe my sword. How the fuck did a vampire get within these walls? I pull out another vial, downing the blackish-red liquid that will protect me from a vampire's bite and harm them in return— Black blood.

Suddenly, loud screeching fills the air and I follow the sound once again. In a clearing of trees, I see a gigantic woman with flowing red hair. She's blocking my view of another person... who's swinging a sword like a madman! As I look closer, I see that the blade has runes inscribed along the middle. A Witcher! The man lunges towards the woman, who's shrieking. She turns to me, her eyes red, matching the blood spewed across her chest and dripping at the mouth. She hisses, revealing sharp teeth, and slashes her claws through the air which appear to be a good ten inches long.

"Shit!" I yell, spinning backwards and out of the way of the crazed vampire— an Alp. I unsheath my silver sword, which is already coated in the correct oil. Leaping to the woman, I drag my sword along her back, strange purple blood oozing out of the wound and spraying the other witcher. He groans, his cat-eyes flickering in the darkness. "Lambert?" I ask outloud, momentarily stunned.

"Watch out!" He shouts, snapping me back to the situation— the Alp is coming straight for me. Just as I close my eyes, flinching.... nothing happens. Wait, what? I open my eyes, looking around until I notice the Alp's body laying lifeless before my feet. Lambert is covered in specks of the purple blood, panting. "You're welcome." He sheathes his sword, as do I.

"Shit," I run over to him, hugging him. "Thank you!"

"It's been too long, kid." Lambert laughs, wiping some of the splatter off of his forehead.

"Tell me about it. How are you here? Why? And how'd you find this thing before me?" I quickly ask, a bit too fast.

"One thing at a time," he laughs again, visibly nervous to see me. "First of all, I rode a horse here. Secondly, I missed the big city. Thirdly, I was hired to hunt this monstrosity."

"Ha-ha, such a smartass like always." I roll my eyes, shoving his chest and he stumbles backwards a bit.

"Classic me. You love it."

"Mhm, sure. Who hired you?" I bend down to the Alp, pulling a small blade out of my pocket, working away at cutting the beast's head off.

"Radovid."

"What? When?"

"Like, five minutes ago." He stands proudly over me, his arms crossed, watching my facial expression turn horrified.

"I-I killed him today!"

"Uhh, no you didn't. Are you taking fisstech? I just saw him. Now I have to go turn this head in for my reward. Care to accompany me?" He offers, speaking calmly with his usual sassy tone. I stand up quickly, leaving the head of the vampire hanging half way off its neck.

"I slit his throat. Geralt watched. He was literally in the splash zone."

"Are you both on fisstech?" He laughs and I hit his chest with my fist.

"This isn't a joke!" I panic, tears welling in my eyes.

"Hey," Lambert grabs my wrists and notices large indents from the shackles and the bandage around my left hand. He's surely already noticed the bandage on my face, that's speckled with bits of blood underneath. "What's the matter?"

"I told you," I yank my one arm away from his grasp. "I killed him! Oh God, if he lived.. My head has a bounty now. Again! I bet everyone in the whole Continent is already searching for me."

"No way. You?"

"That's all you can say?" I'm shaking, cold and nervous.. Horrified.

"Come on. Let's get you back to Geralt." Lambert starts dragging me away, not even knowing where he's taking me. I escape from his grasp and run back to the Alp, continuing to hack at it's head.

"I need this. Five hundred crowns!"

"Eight hundred for me, but fine. Have it your way."

"There's no way.." I whisper, grabbing the head of the beast and holding it by the long red hair. It reminds me of Triss for a second. I lead Lambert to the Putrid Grove and set the head on Bedlam's desk in front of him, dripping with thick purple blood.

"Wonderful!" Bedlam exclaims, standing up and grabbing a bunch of coins from around the room, plopping them all into a pouch. "Here you are," he hands it to me, "six hundred."

"Thank ya." I nod my head, shaking the pouch in my hand before slipping it in my pocket. "Wait," I storm over to Bedlam, who's sat back down at his desk. "You said it yourself that Radovid was dead. Why is this idiot telling me otherwise?"

"Hey, mean!" Lambert punches my arm and I swat his hand away.

"Poor girl." He shakes his head, faking a sympathetic look. "He's not."

"For fuck's sake." My whole world starts to spin as I rush out of the door, nearly hyperventilating. I can hear Bedlam laughing. Fuck! Played like a fucking fool!

"Wait up!" Lambert shouts and jogs beside me. "What now?"

"I have to try not to get murdered, that's what's next!"

"Come, I'll take you to Radovid. I won't let him hurt you." Lambert gently grabs my wrist again.

"Why, so you can get a larger reward for that Alp?" I rip my arm away from him.

"What? Of course not, Lara. What?" He stops walking, pausing, clearly offended. I stop as well and walk over to him, moping.

"Fuck. Fine." I hold my wrist out and he grabs it, laughing. "So funny.."

"Let loose a little bit."

"Wha-how? I'm about to be strung up on a noose."

"Don't jump to conclusions."

"Obviously you know nothing about Radovid. You shouldn't have come here."

"You'd be dead right now, so I think you should be happy Eskel let me leave the keep."

"Eskel?" I whisper. I almost forgot about him amongst all this madness. "How is he? Considering I'm not gonna live to see him again."

"Damn, kid." Lambert looks at me concerned, unable to resist chuckling at my ridiculous behaviour. "You're gonna be fine. And, uh, he's.. okay. Misses you."

"Aw." I smile sadly, thinking of his face when he learns the news that I've been burned at the stake. Shit. Entering the exact same brothel as earlier, my anxiety is off the roof. My hands shake, as do my weak knees, my mind races, thinking of every possible escape route that I can.

"You didn't kill him, so why are you scared?" Lambert leans over to me as we push through a crowd of half-naked strumpets and drunk patrons with hard ons. Lambert can't help but let his hungry eyes wander. I huff in frustration.

"Because I did, Lambert." I whisper, looking down to the floor as he yanks me into the same room as earlier, where I slit Radovid's throat and watched him slump lifelessly to the ground. Inside there is no one. No one sits at his desk.

"He was just here." Lambert looks around.

"I told you! He's dea-" My panicked statement is cut off by the sight of none other than Radovid. He enters the room and walks calmly to his desk, sitting down.

"Killed the Alp, but no head.. so no reward then. Sorry." Lambert says.

"Nonsense." Radovid shakes his head and smiles kindly. He gathers a pouch of coins from his desk, tossing it to the brunet witcher who then slips it into his pocket. "I trust you." He grins, moving his gaze to mine.

"I-I.." I stutter, fumbling to find words.

"Surprised, girl? Didn't you just slit my throat?" Radovid asks curiously, that evil smirk never leaving his lips. My eyes are wide and burning. He only laughs. "Haven't you heard of dopplers?"

"I killed.. a doppler?" I feel so guilty to have murdered it, yet it was harming me. Was going to. Not all non-humans are good.. Just as not all are bad.

"Proud? Must've felt nice to think you killed me. I especially don't trust you now, Kingslayer."

My mouth hangs open as Lambert grabs my wrist again and yanks me close beside him. "What's your deal?" Lambert stands proudly.

"My deal? Why don't you ask your little she-elf there why she broke our deal?" Radovid grows impatient, his voice changes tone, staring daggers as his eyes shift between the two of us.

"Let her go. Unharmed." Lambert declares.

"Yes, I shall. She's lucky the doppler was there to take the fall, seeing as he's much crueler than me." He stands up, walking close to us and invading my space. "Huh, girl? You hear that? You're so lucky that you murdered the doppler and not me. If the doppler had found my body instead, he would never spare you as I am." He spits. "He would string your dismembered body to the ceiling and fuck your insides out. Through every hole, too."

I shiver, as does Lambert at the thought of that disgusting statement. Obviously Radovid's trying to scare us. Scare me. Well.. it's working. I can handle torture, I can handle a couple teeth being yanked, a few nails torn off, a hot iron, a knife... anything. Anything but rape.

"You sure about that?" Lambert speaks up, his voice caught in his throat a bit.

"Don't test your luck any further." Radovid stares at me as I cower behind Lambert's shoulder. "I see now that you're afraid." He glares to me, leaning in closer, Lambert puffing his chest out. "That's good. I've scared you into submission. Get out of here before I change my mind."

Lambert can sense I'm about to say something rude and fight with Radovid to prove that I'm not afraid, so he quickly drags me out of the brothel.

"Don't need you killing him twice."

"But, wouldn't that be.. you know, better?"

"I don't think you would wanna kill him when there's thousands of guards within these walls, itching for a good witch hunt. Or should I say, Witcher hunt?"

"Aren't you on a funny streak today? Sheesh." I start walking away, leading him to the Chameleon. Lambert rests his arm on my shoulder before wrapping it around me, comforting me. We've always had a weird dynamic.. From the first time I arrived at Kaer Morhen to now, he's always been like an idiotic brother to me, yet his playful crush is quite apparent. It's friendly, he's always been sweet, never pushy or weird about it, so I try to forget I ever noticed.

"Aren't you just a kid still? The same kid that had no idea how to do anything?" Lambert retorts and I scoff, a bit angered by his comment. Geralt and Lambert both have decades of experience on me, I've only been at it for two or some years, so I find that a bit unfair. "Seeing as I still have to save you from certain doom."

"You do not. I could've managed fine on my own."

"Yeah, sure.. You'd still think Radovid was dead. And I was the one to convince him to spare you."

"Fine, okay?" I wrap my arm under his swords and around his back. "Thank you."

Stepping slowly to stay close beside me, Lambert squeezes my side every now and then to remind me that everything's okay. I'm grateful he was there.. Although, for the record, I could've killed that Alp perfectly fine on my own. What was an Alp doing in Novigrad? Usually they stick to Toussaint. That's a rather far way from home.. My mind races as I take large strides to keep up with Lambert. I've always wanted to go to Toussaint.. Seems so beautiful. And free. Natural. Especially artistic. I've always wanted to paint, to play instruments, to sip wine in the castle. Maybe one day... Being an elf, I've already learned a few instruments yet I never have the chance to play anymore. Geralt doesn't want to waste coins on a recorder, seeing as the nice handcrafted ones cost a hefty fee.

Entering through the door to the Chameleon, Dandelion once again comes running over to me and pulls me into an embrace, Lambert hesitantly removing his arm from my side. I close my eyes, inhaling his sweet scent of Erveluce, sticky toffee, and his cologne: Nuit de Beauclair. He kisses the top of my head before grabbing the sides of my face, gently bringing my gaze up to his.

"What happened to your cheek?" Dandelion says in a concerned voice, only noticing now the reddened bandage.

"Courtesy of Radovid. Who isn't dead, by the way." I reply, clutching my cheek and making contact with Julian's soft hand, his cold rings giving me chills.

"I-Isn't dead?" Julian stammers.

"T'was all the works of a doppler. Luckily, Lambert here saved my ass." I smile to the Witcher as I wink— who has two prominent slashes on his forehead, the one reaches all the way past his eye and down to his chin— who returns a smirk.

"Lambert!" Geralt walks over and the two Witchers hug, patting each other on the back. "It's been too long."

"Agreed. You look older than ever."

"Typical Lambert. Still pricklier than ever." Geralt laughs slightly as Dandelion pulls my face into his, kissing me softly but with intense passion. Geralt notices the look on Lambert's face; that of shock and disappointment and awkwardness. Seems every which way I turn, someone's always jealous.

"Let's get a new bandage on that. What an asshole! How dare he lay a finger on you.. Hurting you. You were right to kill him. Well, the doppler." Dandelion grabs my hand and leads me into the room next to the kitchen, which is the cook's private quarters, but has started to feel more like the infirmary. He sits me down on the bed, grabbing a cloth and soapy bucket of water before sitting in front of me on a stool. He grabs my hand, inspecting the bandage still wrapped around my knuckles. "Let's check on this one, shall we?"

I nod, and he begins to unravel the gauze from around my hand. It's a bit sticky from the sap, so he tosses it aside and grabs more of the white bandage from a large roll of the material.

"Healing nicely." He inspects it from all angles, seeing that the sap set well and held the skin together, gluing it over top of the protruding bone once again. A scab has formed.

"Stings a bit." I exhale. "So does my face." I bite the inside of my cheek, chewing on the flesh as I try not to show any signs of weakness. Even though we had just confessed our love, I now feel that I must act tougher than ever. He's becoming too worried about me. At this rate, he'll never let me back out onto the Path again.

"I'll take care of it." Julian smiles kindly and seductively as he brings his lips to my hand, kissing the bandage gently as he looks up to me with his bright blue eyes, which are twinkling in the dim candle-lit room.

Once I'm tidied up with fresh bandages on my disinfected wounds, we exit the tiny room and enter back into the main tavern. Lambert and Geralt sit at a table, downing mugs of frothy beer and playing Gwent, meanwhile a few patrons have flooded into the Chameleon and are off doing their own things, leaving the Witchers be on their side of the room. I prance over to the table and sit down, eager to talk to the men. Lambert shifts in his chair, hiding his lower body under the table. Dandelion brings me a cup of water and practically forces it down my throat. I forget to hydrate a lot.

"You know me too well." I raise my glass to Julian and he pretends to be holding a mug, hitting the two together with our imaginations running amok.

"How're you holding up?" Geralt asks me, Dandelion walking away and slinking into the kitchen.

"I'm okay. If it weren't for the doctor over there," I glance in the direction of the kitchen, "I'd surely be on the brink of death."

"Second that." Geralt laughs, thinking back to all the times he saved Dandelion's ass with a big gulp of beer. I sip my water, my lips uncomfortably moist as they beg for hydration. "Actually, something came for you while you were gone."

"Ooh, what? A present?" I ask excitedly.

"Seems to be." Geralt pulls a parcel out of his one large pocket and slides it across the table. I snatch it eagerly, ripping it open. A picture of Triss falls out and I blush, seeing as there's a kiss print on the corner of the photo along with a message written in the same colour of lipstick. It's a painting of Triss from the bosom up, her large chest spilling out of her shirt.

I have arrived safely. Eagerly awaiting your next visit..

With love,

Triss xoxox

"That's embarrassing." I scoff, my cheeks burning bright red as I notice the two Witchers peering over my shoulders. I turn the photo over to face down on the table.

"Don't worry about it." Geralt shakes his head slightly and smiles. He's surprisingly very content with all of this Triss business, considering he slept with her how many times?

"Am I missing something?" Lambert leans over the table, slamming his mug to the wooden surface.

"Triss and I..."

"They kissed. Many times, apparently, according to our zealous bard." Geralt butts in.

"Hey!" I quickly lean over and hit Geralt's arm. "More like spy! Not your story to tell. Neither is it Dandelion's. I better not hear about any of it in his next ballad."

"Damn. Didn't know you were into girl-on-girl action." Lambert grins and I lean over to the other end of the table to punch him. Geralt chuckles, Lambert joining in with his usual snickering.

"Perverts." I mumble, downing the rest of the water in my glass. I continue going through the package, sorting through various things Triss sent. How'd she send it so fast? I wonder, examining everything she included, which consists entirely of homemade beauty products. I smile, my lips cracked in the middle and slightly bleeding as I apply some of Triss' chapstick to the split. In a matter of seconds, my lips are fully hydrated and smooth again. "Must be enchanted." I stare in awe at all of her gifts, which are in tiny jars and pots.

"Excuse me," I hear a voice coming from the front door. Somehow Dandelion is already over there, servicing the man.

"Would you like a room to rest? Perhaps some of our famous house stew to fill your grumbling tummy? A drink to wet your tongue?" Dandelion eagerly recites his usual shtick. The man looks awkwardly at the bard.

"I have a telegram. For a.. La.. Lo.." The man, who's wearing fancy red dressings, stutters to pronounce the name.

"You mean Lara?" Dandelion gestures to me. I stand up, walking over to the two men.

"Yes.. Her. The Witcheress. Here you are. That'll be five crowns please."

"Wha-?" I snatch the scroll out of the man's hand. "I'm not-"

"No problem, sir, I'll cover the cost." Dandelion nods to me, looking rather offended as he digs through his pocket, placing five coins into the man's palm. He swiftly exits the tavern. I walk back over to my seat and open the scroll.

"What is it?" Lambert asks, Dandelion standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders.

"Shh," I scold. "Let me read... Francis Bedlam, King of Beggars, and the Great King of Redania, Radovid, hereby summon you to the annual fight of the night. Fight of the night?" I look up from the paper.

"It's a tourney of fistfights." Geralt states.

"Yes! How very fun, watching grown men beat on each other." Dandelion says, the statement itself sounds sarcastic, but his tone is sincerely excited.

"Why me?" I ask outloud, placing the scroll on the table neatly next to my gifts from Triss.

"Must be a trap." Geralt says.

"No," Lambert holds up his pointer finger, his elbow resting on the table. "He must see something in her." Our eyes meet and I sense that he sees something in me as well. I quickly look away, up to Dandelion. I grab his face with my bandaged hand, pulling him down to kiss me again.

"Get a room." Geralt jokes.

"We already have one." I lick my lips, Lambert shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"I will meet you upstairs, my beautiful bird. I will fetch you some proper attire for this tournament." Dandelion plants a kiss on my head again before tending to some of his patrons who have lined up at the bar.

"So, it's tonight? I'm a bit nervous.." I admit, twiddling my thumbs together.

"Ah, don't be." Geralt says. "It's last minute, yeah, but I was planning on taking you to watch anyway. Now you're going to be in the ring."

"The pit, more like." Lambert adds.

"Don't scare her." Geralt scolds the middle-aged Witcher.

"Scare me? Why? What's the pit?" I lean in closer to Lambert. He sits back in his chair to further the distance between us.

"The pit is a ruthless place." He gestures. "The men there— all they do is fight and bloody their knuckles." Lambert begins his retelling of a fantastical tale.

"It's a fight to the death, basically." Geralt cuts right to the chase. My jaw drops.

"Death? To the death? Okay, now you've gone and scared me. I'm not even nineteen yet and I may die tonight!" I begin to panic, leaping from my chair and pacing around.

"When you become champion tonight," Geralt says in a very confident voice, "we'll celebrate your birthday for days."

"Don't hold your breath on that. Have fun celebrating without me. Put lilacs and roses on my grave. Baby's breath too." I shake in my boots, legs still a bit like jelly thanks to Dandelion's handywork.

"Damn, kid. Why are you so doubtful of your skills? You thought the Alp was gonna kill ya, thought Radovid was gonna hang ya from a noose like a Christmas ornament-" Lambert's unsympathetic sassiness returning to his voive.

"Hey! This is serious, you prick." I smack him upside the head and he groans, swatting my hand away.

"I know it's serious, and all I'm saying is: stop underestimating yourself." Lambert shakes his finger at me. "If you keep at it, you'll really end up dead. Fight. Fight for it. Fight for glory, for justice.." Suddenly, he's interrupted by Geralt, who again wants to get straight to the point.

"For your life."

Chapter Text

"I'm worried about your face.. nevermind that knuckle of yours." Dandelion paces around the room as I change out of my armour and into 'proper' fighting clothes, which consists of brown leather pants and a loose white blouse— so, pretty much what I wear under my armour already. My breasts are flooding out of the shirt, the strings at the top of my sternum are loosely tied.

"Hopefully my ginormous bust will distract my opponents well enough!" I laugh, squeezing the large breasts together. Dandelion stops in his tracks, staring me dead in the eyes, trying not to allow his gaze to trail down towards my chest— yet his eyes still flicker to them, my nipples barely visible through the material.

"Not funny, Laurelle. I'm afraid for you." His gaze quickly returns to my eyes.

"Well, I'm no longer scared myself. So why should you be?"

"Because you're content with death, Laurelle. I'm not prepared for that. For anything to happen to you. These fights are.. insane." Dandelion's voice is shakey as I walk closer towards him, small leather boots with metal toes fit snug on my feet as I hug him, breathing in his warm scent.

"I promise, I'll be fine. Just.. come and support me. Don't be scared to come. I need my own posse of swooning men." I grin, looking up to the bard that's somehow switched mindsets with me, as I've gained his courage and he's gained my cowardice.

"I'll make sure Lambert wears a tutu." He smiles and I can't stifle my laughter, the mood lightening a bit. I pull away, exiting his grasp and strutting to the mirror to tidy my makeup.

"I look like a whore."

"It'll help. Believe me."

"Doesn't mean I'm happy with it."

"Every fighter has their own persona, a distinctive style and personality. It's just a performance. Makeup doesn't make you a whore. Makeup is.. art!" He gestures magnificently with his hands.

"I'd say it's a tad different, seeing as we fight to the death and all." I roll my eyes, my hand shaking slightly as I fix my cherry red lipstick, scrubbing it off of my top front teeth. Black eyeshadow covers my top and bottom lids heavily, accenting the yellow irises between even more. I feel a bit like Ciri, if what I see of her in my dreams is accurate.
"Are you sure I shouldn't glamour my eyes?"

"I'm positive." Dandelion reassures me, watching me in awe through the reflection of the mirror. "Perhaps we should remove your bandage though."

"Oh?" I continue to speak to him through the mirror, watching him step closer to me.
"You're the one who begged to put in on."

"It might throw people off. Which is what we need. Same with your eyes."

"Okay." I respond, Dandelion delicately peeling the sticky bandage off of my face. I look intensely at my reflection as he does so, not recognising the girl staring back at me. The monster. Dandelion closely inspects the deep wounds, which are red with irritated skin and bloodied scabs.

"It looks.. well. It should be okay exposed to that grim air down there. Just," he sighs, "try not to get hit in the face."

"Not planning on it." I smirk, trying to mask my nervousness. I feel a bit overconfident in a strangely self-conscious way. Lambert tells me not to underestimate myself, yet I can't help it. I've never done anything like this before. I've punched people of course, but never like this. There is a real chance I will die and no one can save me. They're not allowed, and they'll be slaughtered alongside me if they dare try.

Walking slowly down the stairs with nothing on my person other than the clothes on my back and the white material wrapped around my left hand, Geralt comes rushing to me once I reach the bottom, somehow still in a calm and collected manner, as per usual. Geralt's always had a knack for staying neutral. At least on the outside, that is.

"You feeling alright?" He asks, Lambert watching close behind. Both men's gazes fall immediately to my wounds. Lambert looks surprised, seeing the scars that mark my used-to-be flawless face. Maybe he isn't much attracted to me anymore, seeing as it turns most everyone else away.

"Yes." I nod, smiling to Dandelion. I grab Geralt's large and hairy hands, which are extremely calloused and split. Somehow I only have slight callouses forming on my palms, at the base of my fingers from holding my sword a bit too tightly.
"Make sure you bet a large sum on me," I squeeze, "because I'm not going to lose." He grips my hands firmly before gently letting go, his arms lightly falling back to his sides and mine to my hips.
"Shall we get going?" I look around the inn, all of the customers have lined up in our direction and are waiting to follow us to the arena.

"Let us go." Dandelion calls out to his patrons and they rush close behind me, all of us stepping out of the door and into the night air. The breeze sends chills down my spine, the nipping frost stinging the scratches on my face that will surely not heal nicely or gracefully, not after tonight. The crowd lingers a few paces away, giving me some sense of space and aloneness, including the bard and the two Witchers. I walk proudly to the arena, hips swaying and arms relaxed, careful not to show anyone of my inner thoughts or feelings. Maybe I can make a run for it.. Go to Kaer Morhen for the winter and then cross the mountains. Radovid'll never find me there. Perhaps Nilfgaard will take me in. I shake my head visibly, thinking to myself, battling my conscience. No! I have to be brave. I have to fight. For elves, for Witchers, for women. For my pride, my honour.. For myself.

Arriving at the gated entrance, two men with white painted clown faces usher the crowd down a wide staircase. Another two bouncers appear out of thin air as one herds the three men down the stairs as well, the other introducing himself to me.

"Yer the fighter, yeah?" He says, his voice accented and twangy, which is rather annoying. He begins to lead me through the black-metal gate, yet we take a sharp turn down another smaller staircase.

"Yes. Lara."

"No last name?" He asks, showing me into a room full of fruit and candies and wine, as well as an empty tub with a robe and towel neatly folded on the bench next to it. There are round braziers hanging from the ceiling by thick chains, illuminating the room just enough.

"Um, no." I uncomfortably respond.

"You Witcherses are weird. Anyway," he fiddles around the room, lighting each and every last candle with a match he struck without me even noticing. My nerves are too strong. "Need anythin'?"

"I-I don't believe so, thanks.."

"Leave yah to it then." He bows slightly, almost in a mocking way, before scurrying out of the door and shutting it behind him.

"What am I supposed to do?" I walk aimlessly around the small room and find myself eyeing the table full of yummy treats. I pick up a strawberry and pop it in my mouth, chewing around the green calyx and setting it down on a napkin. I glance to the door, wondering when I'll be called out, unsure of how any of this works.
"Hopefully I'm allowed to take these." I mutter outloud, placing a hard toffee on my tongue, moving it around in my mouth as I suck on it, relishing the flavour. I pick up a goblet full of dark boysenberry wine, taking a long gulp and finishing with a satisfied exhale.

Then, a knock at the door.

"Come in!" I shout, quickly eating a grape as Bedlam enters as though he were my friend.

"Scared?" He simply asks, watching me pick through the display of food on the table, sipping the wine inbetween nibbles.

"Should I be?" I ask, a bit suspicious, yet I don't believe he's threatening me.

"Perhaps. I've a rather large wager on you, so I do hope you take this seriously." He steps closer towards me, snatching a loose purple grape off from one of many silver platters.

"Why wouldn't I? I'd rather not die tonight."

"Good, good.." He chews the grape. "Because Radovid is betting on your undoing in the very first round."

"Wh-what? Why even invite me then?" I stutter, losing a blueberry from my clutches, which rolls along the table and to the floor. I resist the urge to stomp it, imagining it was the King of Redania's bald head.

"To kill you in an inadvertent way, I assume."

"So why'd you bet on my victory?"

"Because I know you. Radovid's lost his mind long, long ago. He wouldn't know a hairy whore from a stinking goat." Bedlam places his hand firmly on my shoulder and squeezes, seemingly trying to reassure me of my chance at success.

"Are women even allowed in these fights? Are elves? If you haven't noticed yet, I'm both of those things." I cross my arms and he removes his hand.

"Mhm. You're the exception this year." Bedlam takes another grape, yanking it from the vine before he walks to the door, opening it with a swing. He looks back to me and chews.

"Seems that's the case with a lot of things." I utter, watching his jaw move.

"Good luck." Francis exits the room and waves behind him, almost as if he were dismissing me, leaving the door wide open. The same man from before comes rushing in right on cue, taking the goblet out of my hand and placing it back down on the table.

"This'll be here when ya get back. If ya get back." He says, not helping the growing pit in my stomach as my heart sinks further and further into it. He leads me out of the room, practically stepping on my heels to signal me to get movin'. We descend down another narrow stairwell, through squeaky metal gates and past walls lined with lit torches.

"Through 'ere." The man gestures me through another larger gate, practically pushing me forward. I jolt, tripping over my feet and stumbling to catch myself. I stand in a wide room with another large gate at the end, when I turn around to try and make a break for it, but the entryway closes abruptly with a clang. The guard stands behind with his arms crossed and I open my mouth, unable to speak. I exhale, turning around and waiting for whatever's to come next, clenching my fists already. Yes, I've been in fistfights before— fair ones, at that— but never like this. Not to the death.

"And now," a large and loud disembodied voice echoes throughout the room. "We welcome a new addition to fight night this year." The voice sounds an awful lot like Bedlam. "The exception... A witcher.. An elf.." the crowd gasps, murmuring amongst themselves as I continue to stand hidden from view. "A woman.." everyone gasps again, and I hear a little child giggling.

"Bring the wench out!" A man yells. Thanks.

"Laurelle!" He presents and the gate infront of me slowly opens, sliding upwards into the ceiling with a loud buzz and then a boom as it comes to a halt. I muster up enough courage within myself to step forward and out into the arena. I am several metres below the crowd in a hollowed out hole in the ground, along with other gates all around the pit, where I assume my opponents will be emerging from. I look up to see wooden barricades separating the crowd from falling into the arena, people are leaning over them anyway to catch a better glimpse of me.

"She don't look like no elf!" A man jeers. I scoff, tucking my hair behind my ears to show it off, spinning around in slow circles as I examine the crowd. Radovid and Bedlam stand at one end, separated by wooden planks from the rest of the crowd as well. Apparently they're too important to stand directly next to peasants. I roll my eyes, quickly continuing to scan the crowd for my friends and lover. Aha! I whisper, finally meeting Geralt's stare and he nods. Dandelion waves rather frantically to catch my attention, a goofy smile across his face, yet a slight look of worry painted in his eyes. Lambert holds up a thumb, winking, mouthing the words good luck. I nod silently as the crowd eventually settles down. The same voice from before begins to shout again.

"First, our promising young challenger will face..." He pauses, the crowd waits in anticipation, holding their breath as they eagerly listen in silence.
"The Iron Mortimer." The people cheer and scream and pump their fists in the air, while others clap. I'm not pleased at the volume that this man is cheered for. An extremely bright light shines on, bliding me. The gate to my left begins to rise, the heavy black metal squeaking and ending with another boom as I jump forward, realising the one behind me has slammed shut. I immediately raise my fists to my face, my left hand curled into a tight ball near my neck to protect myself while the right is further out and higher, preparing to attack. The man is probably six foot five, which makes my five foot eight look like a tiny toy chess piece. Prominent lines wrinkle his face, his black hair is loosely gathered into a small ponytail at the back of his head. His eyebrows furrow as he walks carefully and slowly, staring at me with dirtied brown eyes and large bags underneath them as we circle each other, furthering the distance between ourselves as much as possible. His moustache is pencil thin and light, like he decided to shave but stopped in the middle of it. His beard is in an anchored style, with only a skinny line of hair connecting his bottom lip to his chin, which has a thin beard growing out of the underside of his jaw. He wears no shirt and his chest hair is bushy, which extends all the way to below his belt line, under the white shorts he wears. His pot belly is plump and he wears a large ring on his right pinky finger.

The crowd continues to scream, biting their lips and standing on the edge of the barricades as they wait for one of us to make a move. We continue to shuffle in a circle, both of our fists up. I cock my right hand and shake it a bit, lunging forward and hitting the man in the face. He grunts, hawking up phlegm from his throat and spitting it out on the dirt ground.

"Disgusting." I sneer, quickly spinning out of his reach as he takes a swing at me. He grunts again, in frustration this time rather than in pain. I duck down, avoiding his grasp as he tries to grab my hair, and I leap around to his backside. Without realising, he turns around just in time for my fist to meet his face for the second time.

"Stupid bitch." He spits, this time blood spewing out. I jump backwards, holding both of my hands in front of my face to protect myself.

"Go Laurelle!" I hear Dandelion shouting, clinging onto Geralt's arm as he watches in awe and fear, unable to tear his eyes away. I try not to look up to him yet I can't resist. Even though it's extremely bright now, since all of the lights are shining down onto me, I squint my eyes in an attempt to meet his gaze. Instead, I'm met with a firm hit to the face. Everyone gasps as I clutch my jaw. Thankfully the man hit the side without wounds.. Perhaps to wreck that cheek too, says the evil and satisfied smile on his face. I clench my teeth, swinging at the man but missing as he dodges my attack, instead grabbing my wrist and flinging me around straight into the stone wall. The air is knocked out of my lungs and I can't inhale, only wheezing outwards as I regain my composure, leaping to my feet and rubbing the middle of my spine.

"Fuck." I barely manage to whisper, inhaling desperately as I force my lungs to take in air. I'm lightheaded, everything begins to spin as I shuffle my way around the arena again, me and the man circling each other.

"Finish her!" A man shouts and others cheer in approval. I keep my eyes glued to my opponent, who's grinning slyly, licking his bloodied lips. I barely even notice my own blood trickling down my face, a split on my cheekbone dripping profusely. I quickly wipe it away, smearing the back of my hand with the red liquid. Mortimer comes charging at me, catching me off guard. He takes a whack at my face again, which worsens the stinging pain stemming from the fresh cut and I cry out in pain. I try to shuffle backwards yet he takes many long strides, not allowing me to escape him. I bend my knees, dropping down as I run under his arm. This time, I manage to bash him on the head and he falls with a thud, dust swirling around in the air as I breathe heavily, inhaling some of the particles. The crowd begins to cheer louder and I'm not sure why. Is he actually down? Did I.. Did I win?

"Kill 'im!" Another member of the audience yells and people scream excitedly. Bloodthirsty fucking dh'oine. Somehow, in this moment, I feel like a true elf, which doesn't last long. I stare at the unconscious man before me, who looks rather small curled up on the ground, fast asleep like a baby. I think of this man, how he has a father and a mother and perhaps a beloved. Maybe even a child. I drop to my knees, debating ever so quickly as I decide whether to kill him or not, a devil and an angel on either of my shoulders as my conscience struggles with me again in the nonstop battle of good and evil. After all, it is a fight to the death. Perhaps ridding the world of this worthless Redanian would do us all a favour. And so, I pummel his temple a few times, panting from exerting myself so much until a loud crack is audible throughout the whole room. His skull has broken and blood begins to trickle out of the contact site. People cheer even louder now, my ears about to pop from all of the noise and my head still spinning from loss of oxygen. 

"The winner of round one.. Laurelle!" Bedlam shouts over the commotion, staring down at me and winking. I can barely make out the details of his face. I'm scared to think of what would've happened if I'd lost. Another smaller gate swings open as two men come rushing in, grabbing the man's dead body and dragging him by the legs, disappearing back into the hall. I jump to my feet, holding my arms in the air victorious as the people scream louder. For me! I shiver, looking down at my fist, the knuckles raw and bloody. I whip the hand around, trying to alleviate some of the pain as if I could simply shake it away.

"Good job, kid!" I hear a familiar voice shout, looking up to see Lambert as my pupils finally have proper time to adjust to the bright lights. I stare at the three men shocked, my eyes widening as another gate begins to open.

"Let round two commence! Welcome, one and all... Archibald O'Neil!" The man comes stepping through, clenching his fists at his sides already. He appears to be a peasant, perhaps a fisherman, as his face is rough and has clearly seen his fair share of hard days. He looks more like a Skelliger to me, despite the obvious Nordling way about him.

"Come 'ere, whore." Archibald snickers as if I'm his next backalley victim, storming over without delay, wasting no time in starting the fight. My face is still coated in wet blood, as is the back of my hand and my sore knuckles. So far I've done a rather good job of not using my left hand, though. He grabs my hair roughly and unexpectedly fast, thrashing my head around like a leather whip. I scream in pain as I manage to swing my leg upwards and kick his elbow with my heel, freeing myself from his grasp, which causes me to trip where my previous opponent had fallen. A puddle of blood squishes underneath my shoulder blade as Archibald towers over me with a lump of white hair in his clenched hand, discarding it into the air as it floats gently down to the ground as if we were in a field of dandelions, the kind you make a wish on and blow. I quickly extend my leg again and swing it at full speed, knocking his one ankle and making him stumble. I jump to my feet as he struggles to regain his balance, reaching down to hold his ankle. I take the opportunity to smash his nose with my palm, the bone swiftly shattering in all directions. For a split second I can see the injury, but as I blink he trips backwards, falling onto his arse as he grabs his nose, which is now pouring with gore.

"Y-You dumb cunt!" He continues to clutch his face with one hand as he lunges at me, punching me in the stomach with great force. I turn around and hurl, my dinner and some blueberries spewing up along with bile and stomach acid that burns my esophagus and throat, the liquid dyed a reddish-purple hue from the wine and fruit. I wipe the chunky undigested vomit off of my lips and chin, dirtying my blouse further. Luckily this shirt isn't even mine, as I'll surely be burning it after this is over. If I survive, that is. I'm hoping they won't bury me in it.

"Fuck you." I turn around just as Archibald is nearing closer, crawling on his knees. I swiftly place the heel of my boot onto his forehead and push him with great force. He screams in pain as I further the damage done to his nose, now giving him a massive headache. He fumbles backwards, trying to crawl away from me as I strut over to him like a borderline predator, readying to attack.

"Burn in Hell." The man yells, his voice shaking and garbled from the blood pouring down the back of his throat. I hawk up my own pleghm and spit straight into his face, the bitter taste of vomit still lingering in my mouth, as I'm sure he can now taste too. He gags, yet before he can puke, I knock the side of his head with my heavy steel-toed boot and he falls back with a thud. Vomit fills his mouth as his body convulses violently, which then suddenly comes to a permanent halt. The crowd cheers even louder now as the same two men run out of the gate once again, groaning as they dirty their hands with the man's throw up that had spewed out onto his face and torso during his seizure-like episode. He disappears down the hall, just as the other man had. I drop to my knees, clutching my stomach as I feel disgustingly nauseous again. He hit me quite hard and the aftershocks are still coursing through my nerves, my hands begin to twitch, as well as my bottom eyelids. I can't fucking wait to get out of here, be it dead or alive. I hang my head, staring to the ground.

"Just kill me already." I look up to Bedlam, shouting the words without thinking. I feel so miserable. I don't want to have to kill again, just for some brute's entertainment. To win someone a few crowns. Perhaps it truly would be better to end my suffering here and now, so no one could blame themselves for my inevitable death. I can't survive in this world. Witcher's were designed to be emotionless killing machines who took no pleasure or guilt in murder, and yet I'm the exact opposite. I am ashamed to be somewhat enjoying this. My gaze reverts to Radovid, who's laughing his ass off.

"You can count on it," is all he says before Bedlam shoves him backwards with a hand to the chest. Francis announces that I have won round two, but I'm barely listening. It will only matter if I win round three. A gate rattles as it opens, as does another on the opposite end of the ring.

"Two?" I whisper to myself, backing up towards the wall and keeping my eyes set on both entrances, flickering between the two, my breath heavy and laboured. First comes a regular looking man who appears to be Nilfgaardian. He has black tattoos on his left arm and blue on the right. His beard is bushy and dark brown, as are his eyes, their gaze piercing as he holds his arms in the air as if he's already won, spurring on the crowd. He wears a toque on his head.

"It is my pleasure to introduce the champions from last year. Two brothers hailing from the great Nilfgaardian vassal state of Metinna!"

"Boo!" A small crowd jeers through the excitement.

"Nilfgaards are fuckin' pricks!" A voice yells but everyone ignores the discriminatory comment.

"Hal, and his brother, Sofus the Bull— the Beast of Metinna!"

Just fucking great, I think to myself as an extremely large man comes stomping out of the extra high hole in the wall. He must be eight feet tall, if not taller. He wears a blue headdress that covers his entire head and neck, draping over his shoulders. His bare chest is mostly hairless, instead covered in black tattoos, as are his arms and even his knuckles. He wears many chunky silver rings on his thick and gigantic fingers, which I'm not looking forward to feeling smushed into my face or wherever else this.. this beast decides to hit me! Is this what people call entertainment? I'm going to die. Fuck.

Without further delay, the large monster of a man comes hurling towards me, swiping his arms around unrelentlessly to try and grab me— almost like a rock troll. Suddenly, my Witcher instincts kick in at the surprising connection and I duck, spinning around his large frame. Instead of attacking him though, I focus on his smaller brother, Hal, who looks easier to take down. Perhaps I can use the brute against him. Hal is wary at this point, standing at a distance as his brother begins charging at me from every which direction. I wipe the sweat off my brow, smiling slightly to myself. I truly feel as though I can win. Running behind Hal, I hold him tightly in a head lock as he struggles and punches the side of my head. I can almost feel my brain rattling around until I knee the man between the legs. His hands go to his crotch, clutching in pain as he stumbles around once I release him from the unforgivable hold of my elbow.

"Get her!" Hal points to me, screaming orders at his brother as if he truly were an animal, while he backs up against the wall to take a breather, still holding his family jewels.

"Aww," I sneer sarcastically, "is your tiny dick hurt?" I giggle, enjoying myself a little too much, forgetting that I'm probably going to die. Well, I haven't forgotten. I just figure I might as well have some fun, give the crowd what they want, and please Radovid's thirst for blood in the meantime. Not that his craving can ever be sated.

"Bitch!" Sofus grabs me with his hand, which is almost two or three times larger than my head. Maybe even four. He holds me by the torso before flinging me up in the air, allowing me to fall to the ground with a thud, the wind being knocked out of me again as I thankfully only land on my back. I barely had any time to recover from my previous injuries, so now I can barely breathe at all as I cough up blood— almost vomiting— still having to dodge the bull. Lucky for me I'm not wearing red, or I bet his charges would be ten times worse. He really is a bull.

As Sofus begins to charge at me again, Hal grabs and holds my arms behind my back with his, linking our elbows. I thrash and scream, shouting as I watch the monster coming straight for me. In a split second I headbutt Hal, just hard enough to loosen his grip on me and allow me to break free, dropping to my hands and knees as I crawl through his legs. Sofus smashes into his brother, having had no time to react, crushing me against the wall in the meantime. I groan, the weight almost killing me surely. I wiggle out of the literal rock and hardplace, jumping over Sofus as if he were a large stone. I remain on his back, wrapping my arms around his neck as tight as I can. It doesn't choke him, but it allows me to hang from him as he stands up, trying to swat me away like a dog with a tick. I swing my legs at his arms, kicking his hands away so he can't properly grab ahold of me. He's far too tall for Hal to rip me off, but Hal gets close anyway and I have to shimmy my foot out of my one boots once he gets a grip on it. I climb up Sofus' neck, sitting with my legs around his throat now. I grab his headscarf, along with his ears, and I begin to direct him in the direction of Hal. The monster beneath me stumbles and struggles against my directions, I feel as if I'm really on the back of a giant. I've never seen a real giant before, the kind that eat villagers and hoard treasure and live in caves. Geralt slayed one in Skellige with Hjalmar last year apparently. I've yet to see that trophy, which I presume is mounted above Hjalmar's fireplace.

I wonder how everyone is doing. Cerys, Hjalmar's sister, became queen. Seems we've all grown up.. Geralt and the others hadn't allowed me to be at Kaer Morhen last year for the battle against The Wild Hunt— the infamous Aen Elle wraiths that I know all too well— and so I never reunited with any of my childhood friends from the Isles.. Never met Ciri or Triss either, as well as my elven friends, not that anyone knew I was Aen Elle— they still don't, besides Dandelion— and so they believed I would be at risk since I was still a 'newbie'. Hah. Luckily the 'good' team lost, and The Hunt was able to retreat. Haven't heard or seen anything from them since, but it's the same with Ciri. Geralt says that she disappeared into a portal and he's never known what happened to her. I think it keeps him up at night sometimes, other instances waking him in a cold sweat.

Sofus finally grabs me, slinging me off of his shoulders and dangles me upside down by my one bare foot. I'm light as a feather in his hands. Hand. I flail and scream as Hal starts to beat away at my face, not caring about the wounded side as he relentlessly pounds my mug, my nose and cheeks bleeding, all the blood pooling into my head causing me to almost pass out— if it weren't for his punches keeping me awake. I hear a snap in my nose and I cringe, feeling as though the bridge has been broken. I begin to cry, my mascara running down my face as eventually Hal stops, feeling that he avenged himself and his jewels. Sofus slams me to the ground, my nose hitting the dusty floor, dirtying me further as it clings to the blood and flies up my nostrils when I try to inhale. I clutch my face, trying to figure out if anything really did break, as well as trying to catch my breath at the same time. I'm given no time to recover as Sofus lifts me to my feet with a single pinky, then swiftly punches me in the same spot on my stomach that the other opponent had struck. I vomit, although only dry heaving as nothing's left to be expelled. He throws me again, against the stone wall and I slump down to the ground, preparing to die.

"I'm finished." I say outloud, barely any energy left inside of me. I'm going to die and that's okay. I'll be okay. I lay still and the crowd quiets down, it seems as though they're actually concerned for me.

"Is she dead?" Radovid asks, loud enough for all to hear.

"No." I say, not having to raise my voice much as the room is silent.

"Then GET UP!" Radovid screams in anger and frustration. "Keep fighting, you dumb bitch!" The crowd gasps at his insult when I swiftly stand to my feet, my knees shaking, slapping my cheek slightly as I try to snap myself back to reality, my palm sticking to the various bodily fluids that coat my skin. Everything spins, my vision fades to black for a few seconds as my brain lacks oxygen, my face covered in the blood which is still pouring from my nose and cheeks. A new split on my forehead has opened and my knuckles are even dirtier.

"She's doing good," I can barely make out Geralt's words, "she can make it."

"Don't hold your breath." I whisper, glancing up to them as I suck in a sharp inhale, charging at Hal who's been standing and watching me lay helpless on the ground. I swing my arm, about to hit him; when he grabs my fist with his hand and stops me. I laugh. Only a distraction. My other hand knocks him right in the temple, at a very specific angle, killing him instantly. I wince in pain as my healing knuckle absorbs a lot of the impact. The audience screams, not in fear or disappointment, but in hope and confidence and excitement. They're actually rooting for me. I smile up to the crowd, spotting a small child staring back down at me. He smiles before suddenly pointing and screaming at something behind me, his face terrified. I can't believe a parent would bring their child here, to watch torture and cruelty and murder— not like the whole city isn't just that. He reminds me of Travik, a small boy Geralt and I found at Crookback Bog last year. I had decided to take him with me, back to Crow's Perch. He lives there still, helping in the stables alongside a girl whose specialty is in the kitchen. I wish so badly I could have a child of my own. I wipe my tears away, gaining strength from the thought of having my own children, and at the thought of Travik and Gretka, the girl at the Baron's castle, specifically the little child Ciri had rescued from the forest and from poverty. And the certain death she was sent to by her very own parents. Sounds familiar.

Gritting my teeth while grinning at the same time, I realise what the boy was pointing at in utter horror. I turn quickly to see Sofus bawling his eyes out, charging at me again as if I was holding a large blanket of blood red cloth, signifying the blood of his brother that I had shed.

"I'm sorry." I shout over the commotion once again and he stops dead in his tracks, not coming one step closer to me. I sincerely meant my apology, but I need to get out of here. Alive. Before he can react, I climb up his body, using his forearm as a stepping stool to jump on his shoulders. In one big swing— that strips me of all the remaining energy and power that was once in my body, mind, and soul— the brute falls to his knees and his face plants into the dirt floor with a thud, the ground soaked in vomit and blood and whatever else escaped our bodies during the fight. A roar emits throughout the room as the audience goes absolutely ballistic. I collapse off of Sofus, rolling to the ground beside his dead body and I glance to Hal, whose eyes are locked in a cold dead stare, looking at nothing in particular. I allow for my eyes to close, falling asleep amongst the corpses and the crowd and the concerned screams of my friends, as well as the loud booming voice, announcing me as winner. All sound is drowned out by the loud pumping of my heartbeat within my ears, which pounds like a drum in a steady, rhythmic tune.

Chapter Text

The air was cold and damp, yet Lara's nostrils were warmed by the emanating stench of rotted corpses, those of which hung from nooses with various appendages chewed off, others strewn across the broken floor, ripped to nearly unrecognisable shreds. Blood painted the long-forgotten Elven ruins like an abstract painting, the room full of crumbled architecture that humans could never dream of existing. Lara groaned, plugging her nose with her thumb and finger as she struggled to enter, following behind Geralt, who was seemingly unbothered by the smell and scene unfolding before them. He had been through this too many times, how could it bother him anymore? He hated to admit that he was used to the fetor, whereas Lara was still learning how to control her gag reflex at all of the ghastly sights she had to face everyday. Almost two years on the Path, and yet she still couldn't get used to the life of a Witcher. She didn't think she'd ever get used to it. It was too different than the various lifestyles she had grown up with. Even though she had experienced so many disparate cultures, at least they held some decency. The customs of a Witcher meant dealing with some pretty disgusting stuff. Though Skellige had its fair share of bloodshed and gore, she had only been a child and the task of dealing with it never fell to her. Now, her DNA in itself had been altered specifically just for that. How the tables have turned, she thought.

A horrible, breathy screech echoed throughout the chamber, and Lara was sure anyone above ground was able to hear it too. The few surviving villagers of Byways were eagerly awaiting the Witchers to descend the ladder and enter the beast's lair, either excited to catch a glimpse of, not one, but two Witchers at work, or they were hoping to loot their bodies once the monster ripped them to shreds as well. Geralt stepped further into the room, the walls caving in and filling the space with rubble and rocks and dirt. The peasants had fell over the props to collapse the ceiling, yet it had not buried the very monster they were now hired to kill. Chests full of treasure lined the room, a few of which were open and empty. A trail of jewels and various golden goblets and accessories led further into the ruins, where the other grave robbers had fled to - which was deeper into the monster's lair. Idiots. Emerging from where the treasure ended and a pool of dried blood started was a disgusting purple creature which towered meters above the Witchers, who seemed insignificant compared to the beast. It was no wonder that thing was able to wipe out the whole heavily-armed Nilfgaardian patrol.

The contract pinned on the notice board wouldn't have been noticed by Lara if it had not been written on such expensive paper. She had to resist the urge to use it to wipe her ass with. The title caught her further attention as well, Missing Soldiers . It had read, Let it be known that the Imperial Army is in need of a man who knows the area - a hunter or a scout, for example - to help us find a missing patrol. It is possible the soldiers fell prey to a monster. If this suspicion is confirmed, anyone delivering the beast's head will be paid a reward by the undersigned. Address any and all questions to the same individual.

Glory to the Emperor!

- Milan Noran, commander of the division stationed in Oreton

Rather than suggesting to Geralt that they accept the contract, she first complained of Noran's sexist assumption that only a man could deal with the issue. Lara was a rather masterful tracker and took offence when people doubted her. Now, standing within the Aen Seidhe's disintegrating temple, she was face to face with the foul monster who was recently awoken from its deep slumber. The peasants who had disturbed it were unaware of the dangers they faced. Their badly mutilated bodies were proof of what had occurred, and what the lesser vampire was capable of.

The ekimmara was mostly naked with veiny skin stretched over its slender bones, and its ginormous ears twitched at every breath the Witchers took. Its long claws were soaked in blood and dripped with flesh, as were its teeth, which were barely visible inside the monster's beak-shaped mouth. Its beady eyes glowed white as it continued to screech, its whole body heaving as it took fast, deep breaths. Its strange head resembled some sort of mushroom, like a disease. Lara felt uneasy staring at the beast, with it staring right back. It focused in on the girl, almost completely ignoring the man before it, who posed much more of a threat than the puny half-elf. It did not feel threatened by the Witcheress, no, it was fascinated with her. Lara clenched her jaw as she unsheathed her silver sword with a shing radiating in the air, Geralt following, both of their blades already coated in purple vampire oil. Almost as if it were taunting the Witchers, the beast clashed its claws together, which sounded like the sharpening of a butcher's knife on a metal pole.

"Ready to test out your skills?" Geralt said, looking to Lara. She nodded. The monster, growing impatient, lunged forward and ended up directly in front of Lara, who acted just as quick and knicked the monster with her sword. Geralt circled around the room, spinning gracefully as if he was walking on water, meeting the creature's backside. It continued to scratch at the half-elf, trying desperately to harm her. She was too fast, blocking its every attack with her blade, the violent clashing of silver against its claws was hissing through the atmosphere and overpowering Geralt and Lara's senses, as it was bothering the monster as well, evident by its wincing. It disliked it, shown especially when its large, triangular ears tried to shrink into themselves. Geralt timed the strike perfectly, performing an accurate slice on the back of the ekimmara, exposing its curved spine. Rendering it immobile, it once again screeched, but this time in agonising pain, standing completely still in front of Lara. She peeked around the vampire, her eyes meeting with Geralt's, who motioned with a nod for her to go ahead. He thought it was safe, he really did. How else was she going to practice if not on the real thing? He didn't know that the mistake he had made, the less-than-a-millimeter error, would cost Lara so much. Geralt had done it before, and with such careful precision too that he was sure it was fine. Lara, allowing the tip of her sword to drop to the floor to relieve some of the weight, began to manoeuvre her free hand, fiddling her fingers, attempting to warm-up. She had practiced the Signs with Geralt many times, but never in an actual combative situation. Well, besides having to use Axii on an angry Lambert to make him go to bed when he'd get too drunk. Lara extended her arm slightly, raised her hand and opened her palm to hold it flat towards the monster. All she had to do was think clearly of her intentions and move her hand in the correct way, and she'd be fine. Although, she had always struggled with signing Quen. She could never get her pinky down without the ring finger following. Even though she exerted all her might into manifesting the magic protective shield, it failed. Miserably.

The monster was not paralysed, in fact Geralt's actions had only angered the beast further, if that was even possible. No, the creature was not interested in the beautiful young woman before it, it was now consumed with animalistic rage as his instincts kicked in, doing anything to survive. Any cornered animal will bite, and they both knew how dangerous this ancient monster was. They never expected it to happen to them, though. No one ever does. It had waited to see what the Witcheress was doing with her fingers, watching in awe like a dog to its master, awaiting a reward. When nothing happened, the vampire snapped back to reality and realised it was in grave danger as blood poured from its wound, courtesy of Geralt, and noticed that her sword was pointing away from him. In that split-second before it happened, Lara was confused as to why the monster was such an intelligent being. It must've been extremely old and wise, taunting her, or extremely young and curious, simply observing her.

That split-second was over in a flash when the monster raised its own hand and scratched at her like a household cat would, a simple and fast movement that miraculously missed her eye, but the three out of four claws grazed her cheek. She screamed in agony as blood began to pour out of the three slashes, dropping her sword and herself to her knees, and Geralt quickly pounced on the vampire, thrusting his blade straight into its heart. Lara clutched her face, pressing as hard as she possibly could so as to stop the squirting blood from soaking her entire body and Geralt as he approached her, running over and falling to the ground before her.

"Shit." It was the only word to escape Geralt's mouth, unintentionally of course. He didn't want to scare the girl anymore than she already was, but he couldn't help but curse at the gory sight before him. He could see through Lara's fingers just how deep the cuts were, as he could see tiny bits of fatty yellow tissue poking through, which were also notably on top of a patch of white bone. Lara continued to scream and wail, sobbing uncontrollably as she closed her eyes as tightly as she could, not wanting to see the expression on Geralt's face. A sharp sting on Lara's cheek surprised her, yet it was the untouched side of her face that was affected.

"I think she's waking up, stop slapping her!"

"Wha-?" I mutter, being cut off by another sharp sting to my cheek.
"What the fuck?" I spring up from laying on the ground, sitting on the wooden floor, my face meeting Dandelion's who's peering over me. "A-Are you hitting me?" I clutch my cheek, feeling bandages covering my skin.

"You wouldn't wake up!" Dandelion pulls me into his arms, practically sobbing. I'm limp in his grasp, attempting to hug him back, a bit too weak to embrace him properly.

"Oh God," I mutter, quickly pushing him away and grabbing the wooden bucket beside me in an instinctually fast manner, throwing up tiny bits of bile with a retching sound. Most everything in my stomach had been expelled in the arena already, though Dandelion swiftly continues to gather my hair into a loose hold in his hands, protecting the freshly washed strands from being caught in the crossfire. Geralt's hand rests on my back as I continue to painfully dry heave, not being able to stop gagging as it feels like my entire innards are turning inside out. Finally I am able to stop, immediately curling into a ball and hiding my face in my knees, Geralt and Dandelion both comforting me as best they can with their gentle touch, Geralt's more firm than Julian's. Lambert sits in the corner of the room, watching with a sad look on his face as he's unsure of what to do, but I can feel his gaze set intently on me.

"You won." Geralt says, patting me on the shoulder as Dandelion tickles my arm. I realise that I'm not wearing a shirt or pants, only my skimpy undergarments as I shiver a bit from their touch, my spine sticking out, which is still sore from hitting the stone wall. I almost look like the ekimmara with its horrid scoliosis.

"You mean I'm alive?" I place my palm to my forehead, groaning.

"Barely." Lambert chimes in.

"Hey," Geralt scolds. "Not helping."

"Well, it's true." Lambert mumbles.

"He's right," I say, "I feel dead. I wish I were."

"Don't say that." Dandelion grabs my arm.

"Is my nose broken?"

"Only sprained. It should heal soon, so long as you don't get into anymore scraps." Dandelion raises his eyebrows and gently runs his finger over the bridge of my nose, which is bandaged with a horizontal tourniquet.

"Why stop now?" I sigh, "That was.. terrifying."

"I know how you feel. Fought in it two years ago." Geralt discloses.

"Really?" I ask, turning to him. Dandelion grabs the bucket beside me and begins to wash it in a larger basin. He orders Lambert to get me some water, who stands up with a pained groan like he doesn't want to do it. Lambert doing something unselfish without being told to do it would be a miracle.

"Yup. Wasn't quite as beat up as you, though." Geralt looks at me sympathetically, half of his face contorted into a sad smile.

"Says the guy with the pitchfork to the gut." Lambert bends over slightly, handing me a glass of water.

"Thanks." I whisper, taking a sip as Geralt scoffs, an amused expression on his face.

"Can you two cut it out for five minutes?" Dandelion admonishes, glaring harshly at the two Witchers as he drops to his knees in front of me, placing the moderately clean bucket closeby, just incase.
"Laurelle is.. traumatised, I can only imagine. Shock is still only initially setting in." They talk as if I'm not sitting right there, so I rest my chin on my knees again, holding myself as I rock slightly.

"I won. That's pretty awesome." I smile to Geralt, who half-smiles again, this time with a genuine glint in his eyes, conveying silently his feelings of pride.

"Yeah, that was a pretty epic finisher, Lara. Who knew you could handle two guys at the same time?" Lambert jokes, unable to resist the perfect opportunity to add a sexual innuendo into the mix.

"Ugh, gross!" I groan in disgust, but Lambert can see I enjoyed his comment by the large smile on my face, blood staining my tongue and bottom teeth.

"Really, Lambert?" Geralt lazily turns his head towards the Witcher, who's still grinning like a ten year old gawking at his first pair of tits.

"Hey, just trying to lighten the mood."

"Are you serious-" Dandelion begins.

"It's fine!" I blurt out, cutting off the bard and saving Lambert from a rather long and extensive lecture from a man who's half his age.
"I'd appreciate if you didn't treat me like some fragile maiden," my sentence is interrupted by a yawn succumbing me.

"Tired?" Geralt asks.

"Yes." I say through the oscitance, my widened mouth forcing me to inhale a deep involuntary breath. I cover my lips with my palm, which I notice is wrapped in tensor.

"Good thing we cleaned you up while you were still out cold." Geralt continues.

"For how long?"

"You were out for, I don't know, twelve hours? They've been trying to kick us out of here, but three Witchers and a bard outmatch any thug." The White Wolf grins, his demeanour relaxing a bit.

"I was asleep for that long?" My face scrunches in confusion and surprise.
"How am I still exhausted?" I contain yet another yawn.

"Well, the victor was busy sleeping." Lambert glares to me, and I simply respond with a smile. His misery is so hilarious sometimes.

"Why don't we get you on home, er, to my home?" Dandelion suggests, quickly correcting himself and interrupting Lambert's attempts to get on my nerves.

Ah, home. Home is nowhere, home is nothing. I have no home. If you consider Kaer Morhen a home, perhaps I do, perhaps we all do, yet the keep has been diminished to ruins. It's not the same without Vesemir, Lambert says. Yes. Home sweet home. Home is in Skellige, where Crach an Craite is buried, whom I never got the chance to say goodbye to, who's feasting and raiding with his ancestors now, who died a glorious death in battle at the hands of The Wild Hunt. Home is the castle in Tir ná Lia where my father and his admirals reside, where my favourite candies are hidden throughout, where my only real bedroom is. If it's even still there, that is. Perhaps my father has boarded up the doors and completely forgotten about me. It seems that way indeed.

"Before we go," I say, pushing myself off of the ground to stand, and Dandelion immediately jumps up to help, "let's eat some of this delicious food!" I rest my weight onto Dandelion's arm as my legs are wobbling and weak, and he glances to Geralt with a concerned expression on his face.

"You mean the food that's been sitting out for over a day?" Lambert raises his eyebrow.

"We're inside, it's fine." Geralt says. "When did you get so picky about filling that big gut of yours? Might as well not let it go to waste." His mouth practically oozes with saliva as he stands to his feet, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Lambert groans as he stands up as well, and Geralt chuckles at the sad sap. All four of us near the table, picking through the fruits and cheeses and meats that are warm and stale, yet they taste so good in my mouth, almost as if I was dying of starvation. It feels like the best thing in the world in my empty stomach, my torso— where I had been struck multiple times— still aching. I suddenly realise that I'm on display for the three men, still dressed in only skimpy, and dirty, undergarments. It's good to know they at least didn't strip me entirely naked while I was passed out.

"I think I should get dressed." I softly blurt out.

"Oh. Huh. Yeah." Geralt blows a stream of air out of nose, laughing a bit. Lambert, with his mouth shoved full, quickly gathers handfuls of food in his palms and puts some into his pockets before accompanying Geralt out of the room. Geralt shuts the door softly behind them, leaving Dandelion and I alone, who watches my face intently.

"You going to let me change out of these dirty undergarments, or would you rather watch?"

"I'd rather do something else to that body of yours, but we really should be going." He smirks cockily.

"Mhm, mhm." I roll my eyes, my attention moving to a pile of fresh clothes sat upon a wooden bench. I quickly peel off my remaining garments and begin dressing myself in the clean cotton.

"Lambert ran back to the Chameleon in the middle of the night and brought those for you." Dandelion stands with his arms folded against his chest.

"Huh. That's something you don't hear everyday." I chuckle, rather surprised, pulling on light brown deerskin pants.

"Hmm." Dandelion lets out a sound as he ponders, wondering what it could all mean. I finally finish suiting up, my typical armour polished and ready to go, fitting snug.
"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine." I smile to Julian as he opens the door, allowing me through and shutting it behind him. Geralt and Lambert wait at the end of the hall, chatting at the bottom of the stairs.
"Let's go!" I hold my hands in the air, in pride and victory, as I holler. Geralt chuckles, as does Lambert whose eyes are conveying a separate emotion of worry, and.. something I can't quite put my finger on. I begin to walk up the stairs, the three men following, as Geralt pats me firmly on the back with his large palm.

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks." I nod, looking over to him.

"Yeah, good job, kid." Lambert, who's walking on the right side of Geralt, glances to me. I return his words with a slight smile. Dandelion, on my left, grabs my hand as we emerge out into the busy city, the bright light of the sun shining down and reflecting off of the remainder of snow is blinding, my eyes too adjusted to darkness and dim candles. We begin to traverse the city streets, peering into shop windows as we pass. Dandelion becomes distracted by one and lets go of my hand, scurrying over to stare into the store.

"So, Lambert," I begin, speeding up to walk beside him. "Where have you been staying?"

"And don't say Crippled Kate's." Geralt adds, walking a bit behind us.

"Ah, well, you guessed it!"

"Pfft." Geralt scoffs.

"Of course." I laugh, at least the Witcher has found some solace in the beds of prositutes.

"Why, you gotta problem with prostitutes? Why'd you pick Lara up then?"

"Hey." Geralt says extremely seriously, and rather firmly as he stops dead in his tracks. "You know it's not like that and never has been."

"I'm just joking! Hold your horses!" Lambert holds his hands up in surrender, unable to conceal the grin spreading across his face.

"For the record," I continue slowly strolling the street, "I wasn't technically a prostitute. Just a lap dancer."

"And thank Gods for that." Geralt mumbles as Dandelion sprints to the White Wolf's side.

"Thank Gods for what?" He asks.

"For Laurelle not being a prostitute." Lambert snickers.

"W-Why? Was someone trying to get her to service them? I'll fight the bastard!"

"No, no, it's not like that, Julian." I turn around to face him, walking backwards as I giggle.
"We were just discussing the fine establishment in which Lambert has been staying." I pause, waiting for the men to walk beside me again.

"Aha!" Dandelion triumphantly comes to a realisation. "Crippled Kate's?" He says to Lambert.

"Yup."

"I knew it, I just knew it! Why not come to the Chameleon, my dear Witcher? I'm sure I can provide you with an overall more pleasant experience, and you can bring a lady of the night back to your room! So long as you keep moderately quiet, of course. I cannot deal with any more complaints!"

"Yes, of course." Lambert rolls his eyes, smirking, before glancing in my direction as discreetly as possible— which, for Lambert, is super fucking obvious.

"Do you need to go pick up your things?" I glance over to the Witcher as well.

"Nah. You know damn well I don't bring anything that can't be easily carried on my body."

"Right," I nod, "such wonderful, wise words of advice."

"Keep talkin' like a smartass, Laurelle." Lambert threatens, his usual miserable self showing through.

"Or you'll do what?"

"Quit it." Geralt butts in, cutting us off from opening our mouths and starting a fight. We both huff in frustration as we continue on down the street, making our way back to the Chameleon. Dandelion remains awfully quiet, sensing the awkward tension between Lambert and I. Well, I don't feel any tension, and especially not sexually, at that. Not quite sure what's up with Lambert this time, though he's been like this for as long as I can remember, since I haven't known him that long. Geralt and Eskel say he's always been this way— this way being a miserable bastard. Beaten as a child then given up due to the infamous Law of Surprise, Lambert has always been resentful towards the world and himself— greatly despising being a Witcher and yet carrying on, as it's the only life he's ever known, what he's been created for. Forced to be.

That which you find at home, yet did not expect.

The words echo through my mind as I sneak a look at the young Witcher, in the midst of pouting, who's only a few decades older than me. I can't imagine seeing my transformation into a Witcher as such a horrible thing, as it is what saved me from a life of hardships. Well, somewhat. I suppose I cannot blame Lambert for his feelings, as becoming this way wasn't exactly his choice, as it wasn't anyone's choice but mine. In a way. At least Geralt's become famous, whereas Lambert is a lowly freak in the eyes of many and most. Not that people don't think the same of Geralt and I, but at least we have some sort of a fighting chance. Lambert and Eskel have been totally and completely cast aside by society, whereas Geralt and I are rather popular around the Continent - it's something about a prophecy? Geralt refuses to tell me. I begin to wonder why Radovid would hire a Witcher to kill that bruxa, and how he even knew about it. It was Bedlam's men it was killing, which is of no concern to Radovid, if not helpful. And hiring Lambert, at that?

"What are we going to do today?" I break the long silence.

"I know what I'm doing tonight!" Lambert raises his eyebrows excitedly.

"And that is?" I question, already half-knowing the answer.

"Hitting up some of the taverns!"

"Yeah." I scoff, rolling my eyes.
"So long as I'm invited."

"Well, of course you are! The more the merrier."

"Laurelle, are you sure that's a good idea-" Dandelion begins, and I'm quick to cut him off.

"It'll be fine. I think I deserve some sort of a celebration for surviving last night!"

"Go ahead, kid." Geralt nods. When will they ever stop calling me kid? I'm eighteen for fuck's sake!

"I wasn't asking for your permission," I snidely remark, "but you can tag along if you want."

"Why would I pass up the opportunity for Lambert to buy me a round— or ten— of drinks?"

"Well, any smart man wouldn't!" Dandelion laughs.

"Yeah, and considering his debt, he owes you some!" I chortle, remembering the large sum that Lambert has to pay the White Wolf. Money is always flowing for Geralt one way or another, whereas Lambert and Eskel have to scrape the sewers to get by, so Geralt thought it'd be alright to lend them some funds. Turns out it wasn't the best idea, considering Lambert just blows all of his money at brothels the second he receives payment of any kind.

"Yeah, yeah, we get it!" Lambert dismisses our teasing with a condescending tone of voice, crossing his arms as we continue down the cobblestone street.

"Damn, why so grouchy today?" I lean over to Geralt and mumble in his ear, and he responds with a shrug.

"Let's just get 'im drunk." He whispers back.

"Hey, um," I speak at a normal volume, "shouldn't we go check out some of the noticeboards and see if there's any new contracts? While we still have daylight to burn?"

"Yeah, good idea." Geralt replies, and Lambert hums as a response.

"I suppose I really should get back to my business. I've had to kick out my customers how many times now since you two've arrived?!" Dandelion scolds.

"Julian, I'm sorry." I grab his hand, and he swiftly grabs my other.

"It is perfectly alright, my beautiful bluebird." He plants a soft kiss to my cheek, the side where the bandages are not.

"Ugh!" Lambert groans. "Get a room, you two!"

"We have one." I squint my eyes and curl my top lip before reverting my attention back to the bard.
"I'll come back tonight before we decide on any plans, alright?"

"Yes, of course, my dear." Julian kisses my lips ever so tenderly as if I'm the most delicate thing in the world, our touch lingering as we slowly pull away from each other, the bard immediately scurrying away to, presumably, his cabaret, that of which he's been absent from for days.

"Now that you're done macking on Dandelion, can we get going?" Lambert lightly punches my arm, and I retaliate with a rough shove, causing him to stumble to the side.

"Didn't you watch me in that ring? You should know by now that I could take your ass. And don't take that sexually."

"Or I'll shove my foot so far up your ass, you'll spit rocks." Geralt adds.

"Damn! Ganging up on me?"

"No. Let's just get a move on." Geralt says, monotonously as usual.

"Mhm." I agree, itching for a fight. With a monster, not with Lambert. Well, maybe Lambert too. It isn't long before we reach Hierarch Square, which is still crowded with Redanian soldiers, all of whom are guarding the bank from Dandelion and Geralt's little staged break-in. Peasants and merchants are flooding in the remaining space, trying to catch a glimpse of the damage done to the vault, or simply trying to carry on with their lives. After all, everyone has to make a living.

"Look!" I rip a piece of paper from the wooden noticeboard, which is at the bottom of the steps into the Kingfisher Inn, located in the northeast corner of the square. "Help wanted to slay a beast, it says."

"Good, good." Geralt leans above my shoulder to scan his eyes over the text.

"Come on, we have to go inside." Lambert whines. "This is the largest tavern in Novigrad! Live music every night!"

"Not yet, you idiot! Come read!" I scold, and Lambert reluctantly follows my instructions, but not before huffing loudly as he stomps over.

"Seeking help, immediate and desperate." I say outloud as I process the contents of the paper. Sounds like a job for a Witcher. Or three.

* * *

"Ma'am?" I call out, looking for the woman who issued the contract. She wasn't directly wanting a Witcher, but it'll have to do. Who better to solve issues like these? I loop around the old house, the wooden logs worn and damp from the harsh winter that's just beginning to set in again. The snow stopped for a while, but the freezing cold temperatures have remained, and dropped, steadily. We stand just outside the city and across one of the many bridges, where a small village separate to the Free City has emerged. Not everyone can fit within the walls, and those who cannot afford the protection of the thick stone slabs are forced to flock out here. It's quite nice actually, nicer than the slums in the city, as the ground is full of frostbitten grass and not covered in piss and shit from people's chamber pots— rather, they dump the contents of their communal buckets into the river, which, thankfully, runs downstream from the well. There are large basins of soapy water around the lawn, as well as lute strings hung from tree to tree, with various articles of cloth and linen hanging from them on clothespins. Dandelion would surely faint if he caught the sight of such expensive strings being used to hang clothes from. As much as I love music, I must understand their usage for it. After all, the strings had most likely broke or fallen out of tune and were ultimately tossed out, only to wind up being repurposed. If you ask me, I find that an efficient use of something such as that. Judging by all of this, the contract-giver is most certainly a washerwoman. What would a washerwoman need desperate help for, and to slay a beast at that? What sort of beast would be bothering a washerwoman's son?

"It's me boy!" She cries. "He won't stop screamin' and cryin', says the monster at night is hauntin' and torturin' 'im! He won't stop hurtin' 'imself 'cause this monster says so!"

"Miss, please calm down." Geralt flatly says without much sympathy.

"Geralt, she's upset. Let me handle this." I whisper as I firmly grab Geralt's shoulders, forcefully moving him aside, Lambert being shoved backwards as well.
"Ma'am, where is your son?"

"I-In the field! He.. He told me he must sacrifice himself for the Gods! That they're angry with him, and only his blood will satisfy their hunger!" The woman cries.

"It's okay. We're here to help." I quickly grab ahold of her hands, which are squeaky clean from her profession, helping her find temporary comfort before letting go.
"It's just like Udalryk," I turn towards the Witchers, "remember, Geralt?"

"Mhm, I do."

"Who-da-what?" Lambert says, his face scrunching.

"Udalryk." I glare to the Witcher. "He's a jarl of Clan Brokvar, in Spikeroog."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that? I've never even left the Continent."

"Well, I just explained it. So, now you know."

"What do we do?" Lambert asks.

"We need to find that boy."

* * *

Running through the village as fast as I can, the men trailing behind, I stay as quiet as possible so as to not startle the boy. I spy him fifty yards away, kneeling in an open field with a circular ring of fire scorching the grass, closing in on him. Most of the snow has melted away and birds are chirping, oblivious to the events unfolding. He stares up to the sky, ignoring my shouts and pleas.

"Please! Stop!" I continue to scream, yet the boy doesn't move a muscle. Not even a tiny bit.

"Lara! Stay back!" Geralt grabs ahold of my shirt collar, yanking me backwards, and my body goes flying limp underneath me.
"We have to put out the flames."

"And fast!" Lambert exclaims.

I stand still, almost paralysed with fear as I watch the boy, closer now, his body vibrating ever-so-softly, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, a dagger placed on the ground in front of him. Lambert rushes over, closer to the flames, and I watch in awe as he signs Aard perfectly, extending his arm and flattening his palm as a wave of blue energy shoots from his hand and forwards with a loud boom radiating to the depths of my stomach. The boy flies forward, his light body being pushed by the strong gust of air like a rag doll, the flames extinguished just in time as the boy falls to the scorched grass with a thud, the dagger flying off to who-knows-where. In all of the commotion, Geralt has disappeared, leaving Lambert and I to deal with the boy.

"Wh-What happened?" The boy, ranging from ten to twelve years old, clutches his head and squints his eyes as the harsh blinding sun shines down on him, his eyes no longer fully white but with a brown iris now. Lambert holds his hand out for the child, who hesitantly accepts the assistance to stand.

"I have no fucking clue, kid. We oughta take you to the ealdorman, or some shit. Possessed!"

"Language!" I shout, unimpressed as usual with the Witcher. "What's your name, boy?"

"Miss! Watch out!" The boy points frantically at something behind me, and I prepare for a good smack to the head as it takes me back to my fight in the arena, with the sweet little boy suddenly growing horrified at the sight before him, a man creeping up behind me as I wait unsuspectingly. I jump aside, spinning backwards as my swords and boots clink from the sudden movement, and I'm met with the sight of Geralt, who runs past me and shoves the boy's mother into Lambert's arm, and just as suddenly, tosses him a dagger. He catches it instinctively, holding the woman close to him with his arm looped roughly around her neck.

"Do it!" Geralt shouts, the boy now sobbing and screaming as he tries to tug at Lambert's arm, who isn't budging, but stares intensely at me with wide eyes as he debates what to do. God, Lambert, please. Please do it. I stare back with the same intensity, crossing my fingers beneath my gloves.

Do it, I mouth, nodding. His adam's apple moves up and down as he swallows, gulping down a deep breath as he swiftly drags the blade across the woman's neck, which spurts with blood as she lets out a high-pitched scream, which is quickly silenced as Lambert allows her convulsing body to drop to the ground. The boy, with tears streaming down his cheeks, falls to his knees and holds his mother. Lambert inadvertently drops the bloodied dagger with a dull, heavy sound, who I can see is clearly choking back tears as his eyes well with water.

"Seems the Witcher has a heart, after all." I raise my voice so the men can hear me over all of the commotion as I step closer to the group. The boy suddenly jerks away from his mother, crawling backwards as the figure begins to bend and twist in inhuman ways as features of her face begin to distort.

"A fucking doppler." Lambert curses, quickly wiping his nose with his sleeve.
"Fuck."

"We really got you there, huh?" Geralt laughs, and Lambert, allowing a single tear to escape, tries his best to chuckle, almost in a state of shock. The doppler's body begins to seep with a black smoke-like gas, that begins to twirl around Lambert's body, beginning from where his feet are planted to the ground, all the way to his head, where the silhouette of a slender and tall horned monster looms over him.

"Y-Yeah, you sure did." He looks down to the pointy-eared being laying lifeless on the forest floor, its head nearly separated from its body.
"I kind of can't believe you did that, Geralt old-boy."

"I almost let the task fall to Lara, but she knows  too much about hyms already." He grins, winking to me, and I revert my attention to the monster behind Lambert.

"You've been tricked! You must leave! Lambert killed no innocent woman, but an evil doppler that had committed numerous heinous crimes. You must go!" I firmly shout, and with the last and final word of my speech, the monster dissipates into the biting cold air.

"Damn." Lambert wipes his forehead which is drenched with sweat, the three long and thin scars on the right side of his face accented by the sun, the most prominent one stretching from just below his hairline, through his eyebrow and down his cheek to his jaw, covered partially by the scruffy beginnings of a beard.

"Hey, it's okay." I kneel to the ground, meeting face to face with the petrified boy.
"Your mother is okay, she's safe at home. Your mind was being taken over by a hym, which feeds on guilty consciences. What did you do to warrant that?"

"I-I.." The boy's voice shakes as he begins to sob again, and I glance up to Geralt, who nods in approval. On my left hand, I raise my pinky as I swipe my palm through the air and to the right as swiftly as possible, lowering my little finger as I raise the pointer, and a green flash of light emits from my palm and enters the boy's eyes. He immediately calms himself, wiping away his tears.

"Yes!" I quietly exclaim, seeing that the Axii was successful. Now if only the Quen had been successful, I wouldn't have these hideous scars on my face.
"Please, tell me what you've done to attract a hym."

"I-I killed me cat on accident."

"Accident?" I stand up, crossing my arms. The boy stands to his feet without delay, following my actions as though he's still under some form of control— which he technically is.

"I fell asleep without letting her back in, and she froze to death. It was an accident, honest! Mum doesn't know, please don't tell her." He whines, the Axii beginning to wear off.

"I have to, I'm sorry."

"Witchers are evil! Heartless! Tattletales!"

"Oh no, kid, I'm shaking in my boots." Lambert mocks, the child immediately dropping his gaze to his feet and fiddles his thumbs.

"Fine. Tell 'er. See if I care."

"Oh, I'm sure you will." The mother emerges into the field as if on cue, her arms crossed and her face painted with an extremely unamused expression. Tossing me a pouch of coins, she stomps over to her son and grabs him by the ear, who lets out a pained squeal as the woman drags him home, his arms flailing all through the crisp air.

"Shit, my heart's still pounding. I need a drink." Lambert sighs, out of breath.

"Damn, giving up already?" Geralt grins, raising his eyebrow.

"We still have another contract to get through!" I curl my bottom lip as a small child would, mimicking an expression of exaggerated sadness.

"You go on ahead. I need a nap."

Chapter Text

"Jeez!" Geralt chuckles slightly, slamming his mug on the table. "Finally rejoining the land of the living?"

"Ha-ha." Lambert joyfully jumps with a spring in his step from the second last platform of the wooden stairs, landing on the floor with a loud thud that no one else seems to hear. Must be my Witcher senses. My hearing had always been sensitive as a child, certain sounds annoyed me greatly, but the mutations heightened each and every one of my senses by a thousand percent, no, a million. Every tiny sound is audible to my eardrums, as is every small detail hidden among the detritus of the forest floor. Witchers also tread lightly, which is an instinctual, and magical, development we have come to attain. Most ordinary people can't hear us approaching, or detect even the smallest of our movements, especially not our shallow breathing. It's how we've become such masterful trackers, how we survive, how the trade has managed to continue on for so long. We are designed to live for a century, if not centuries, and to be the most enhanced version of a human. It's almost too bad that most of the secrets of the different Witcher schools have been lost. The Wolf remains quite intact, since there are four of us now making up the school, but the men seem hesitant to take in children. Whether they don't want to have to train unruly children or they genuinely don't want to inflict such suffering on someone else, I don't know. It surely wasn't the case for Geralt. It was his plan all along to turn me into a Witcher, despite my being an elf and a girl. It makes no sense.

"No, really," Geralt continues as Lambert struts over and takes a seat, "you slept for quite some time."

"And? I had to fight a bruxa, worry about Lara all night, and kill some lady! Well, what I thought was some lady! That takes an emotional toll on people, ya know." Lambert complains.

"Aww, you were worried about me?"

"Shut up."

"Didn't know you had emotions." Geralt grins, eyeing me as the young Witcher begins to glare at both of us. I burst out in laughter, unable to contain myself.

"Sorry," I say through uncontrollable giggling, "it's just so true." I slowly stop laughing, yet my face is still painted with a wide smile, and I take a quick sip of beer.
"Since when did you get a heart?"

"I've always had one, thank you very much." Lambert retorts. "Where's my drink?" He turns to the bar and asks rather loudly so that the innkeep will overhear— which he doesn't, or he simply isn't bothered to take such initiative, and Lambert groans.

"Yeah, it's been stone-cold for decades. I didn't know it had thawed out." Geralt jokes with a silly smirk. Lambert simply presses his lips together and stares down at the table.

"Well? Are we going to do something now, besides picking on me?" Lambert smacks his palms to the table, impatiently awaiting the cue to push his chair backwards and stand up again.

"Wow, we say that all the time about you!" I snidely remark with false enthusiasm, trying to get on his nerves, which is a rather easy task to achieve.
"About how you constantly pick on all of us, how you're a conniving jerk, a prick, an asswipe-"

"Enough! I'm well-rested and feelin' good. Let's go tavern-hopping!" Lambert swiftly uses his firm grip on the wooden platform to push his chair out from the table, before standing up with even more speed.

"Let me talk to Dandelion first, he's been too busy to stop and chat." I look around the cabaret, searching for the bard as Geralt continues to gulp the contents of his mug, which he finishes with a satisfied exhale.

"Ugh," Lambert groans again, "couldn't you have spared me from the sight of you and him swapping tongues?"

"Why? Jealous, Lambert?" I cock my eyebrow, a purposely sultry tone to my voice.

"Uh," he scoffs, "no! Makes no sense." He shifts his weight onto his left leg, crossing his arms.
"We going, or what?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Geralt stands, and I follow, the two Witchers sauntering over towards the door as I continue to scan the area for the poet.

"A Witcher? What's a Witcher doing here? Since when did they make girl Witchers?" Various comments whispered from all different sorts of people, who were untidily scattered across the courtyard in their cliques, were perfectly audible for Lara to hear with her extraordinary senses. Despite their negative reinforcements, she continued on through the yard and along the cobblestone path. The leaves had all turned to shades of red, yellow, and burnt auburn as they dried out, disconnected from their branches, and floated through the air and to the ground, forming crunchy piles on the neatly trimmed grass that was turning brown and muted yellow as the weather gradually changed and the nights became chillier, which eventually carried on through the days as well.

Lara had only turned eighteen a few months ago, ultimately spending it alone. Although, her birthday landed on May 1st, perfectly coinciding with the very popular holiday called Belleteyn, which meant she always had a group of joyous and drunk rag-tag peasants to join in on the celebration with. The catch was that none of them ever knew it was her birthday, and being the freak that she was, she almost always ended up sitting by herself, with the men too intimidated to strike up a conversation, the children too afraid to play, and the women too jealous of her beauty to chat and gossip— not that Lara would ever believe such nonsensical tales about those pretty young women envying her . It was true, most avoided her because of her piercing yellow eyes with slits for pupils, others because of her misleading white hair, and some because of the pointed ears sticking out from underneath. Her face, however, was perfect and untouched by the world. She had gorgeously soft skin as milky as cream and her shapely figure was to die for, and the freckles littered under her eyes and on her cheekbones were sweet and added to her playful and innocent youthfulness. She would have been the most prized woman there if she had not been a Witcher, nor an elf, and would've most likely been picked up by one of the older farmers there who were searching and scouting for young brides to bear their children. However, they thankfully stayed at least ten feet away from Lara at all times as if she had the Catriona Plague.

Stepping off of the beaten path and over to a bench, Lara sat down and made herself comfortable as she waited for class to commence. She was very excited to see the look on all of the students' faces when she entered the lecture hall and sat down in the front row. A part of her also dreaded the dirty glances and rude comments she would receive, but nonetheless, she was grateful to have been accepted into such a prestigious establishment and renowned facility of higher education. Oxenfurt Academy was situated in the southern part of Oxenfurt City, connected to the wealthy Redanian town by a long and extremely wide stone bridge, as it was its own elevated island of sorts. It was surrounded with a large stone wall decorated with almost peachy-salmon coloured roof tiles, so as to protect the students from falling to their doom and into the unforgiving ocean— if they happened to survive the fall, that is. Though, Lara would have preferred to attend the University's main academic rival, the Imperial Academy in Nilfgaard. She always had taken a liking to Nilfgaard and its extremely high society, especially its army and Kingdom, but the school was too far away. Lara didn't have nearly enough crowns to convert into florens, she never would've been able to afford the journey to migrate there, to pay for living expenses, as well as the inevitable fact that she would be forking out thousands for her education on top of it all. Besides, she was already a Witcher. Why let her skills go to waste? After all, Geralt had gone through quite a lot of trouble to transform her safely, and Nilfgaard didn't have much work for Witchers anymore. The army had become too brave by themselves.

"Why, hello!" A man popped out of nowhere and was suddenly in front of Lara, with his fists pressed against his hips in a proud stance. He was dressed in very expensive and high-quality clothes that were rather bright and colourful, which attracted even more attention over to Lara. His face was kind and his brown tousled hair was longer than how most men preferred theirs. He wore a silky beret-like hat atop his head that was a mixture of purple and maroon, which was decorated with a white egret feather.
"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," he said, inviting himself to sit next to Lara, "but you remind me both in appearance and demeanour of my dear old friend. A Witcher, like you."

"A Witcher?" Lara wished she had some glamour to conceal her eyes.

"Yes! You ought to know him. Geralt of Rivia?"

"Pfft. Do I know him? I've only been searching for him for, hmm, months now."

"R-Really? What's your name?" He perked up.

"Lara. Er, Laurelle."

"Forgive me, but he's never spoken of you. How old are you, being a Witcher and all?"

"I'm only eighteen," She smiled. "I met Geralt when I was fifteen, sixteen. Something of that sort." She was so nervous she couldn't even think straight.

"I see. Allow me to formally introduce myself. I'm Dandelion." He extended his hand out for her, which she reluctantly took ahold of.
"Well, that's what people call me. I'm somewhat of a legend myself, like our mutual friend. I'm a poet. My full title is Julian. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove."

"You're famous? Are you a student?" She released his hand.

"No, no," he chuckled heartily, his voice had a slight twinge of femininity to it, as did his body and its actions. "I was a student long ago. Now, I teach here on occasion."

"Teach? Wow! Consider me impressed."

"You think that's impressive? During my time here as a fellow student, I studied the seven liberal arts and graduated with summa cum laude honors. You know, even Geralt's attended before!"

"Now that's intelligence, Mr. Pankratz."

"Please, call me Julian. Or Dandelion."

"Okay, Julian. You say Geralt attended? Really?"

"Yes! Believe it or not. He took a liking to the lectures on astrology."

"I cannot believe he's never told me! I can't wait to tease him about that." She giggled shyly.

"Why tease a man who only wants to improve and broaden his education? There's nothing the matter with wanting to heighten and enhance a man's intellect."

"No, not at all, I agree. Which is why I'm here. I just.. Nevermind."

"No, please, go on." He motioned with his hand. He was a very expressive person with his hands and facial expressions, even with the twinkles in his eyes, and not to mention his voice. His words were almost magical. Perhaps that's why he had become such a famous bard. His charm and theatrical talents were overwhelming.

"I've just never considered Geralt the academic type, is all."

"Well, he was. Once. That was a long time ago. I wonder what he's up to now."

"I'm wondering the same. Wait, how long has it been since you've last seen him?"

"Ah, must be.." The professor calculated the lost time in his bustling mind, "at least three or four years now, if not more."

"Perhaps he came to visit just before his journey led him to Novigrad, which is where he found me."

"Hmm. That's interesting." He pondered, obviously and visibly in intensive thought.

"Dare I ask your age?"

"Hah! I'm only thirty-nine. I'd say that's rather young."

"I certainly agree, considering everything you've managed to accomplish."

"You mean, you've never heard of me or my poems before? Not even a single one of my ballads?" He frowned.

"Nope. Never." She shook her head. Dandelion looked extremely disappointed, so she quickly opened her mouth to speak again with a more positive and welcoming tone this time. "Well, maybe. Name some!"

"Alright.. Winter? Also known by some as The Eternal Fire? No?" He asked. Lara shook her head and he sighed. "The Elusive? It is my most famous ballad!"

"No, I'm sorry. I've never really... been exposed to the arts or any literature."

"Then how are you attending classes here at the Academy?"

"I gave the Chancellor all of the crowns on my person and in my bank vault. I'm completely broke at the moment." She laughed, as did Dandelion.

"That's terrible. But I'm glad you're here, Laurelle." He grew increasingly serious in an instant, making Lara uncomfortable.

"Yeah, me too. Uh, I mean, I'm glad you decided to come talk to me. I'm sure no one else would've."

"Why not? Ah, well, I suppose not everyone is quite accustomed to Witchers as I am. Wait! The Stars Above the Path. Surely you know it."

"I've actually heard that one!" Lara smiled, and Dandelion raised his eyebrows in joyful excitement.

"You have?"

"Geralt used to sing it to me whenever I'd have.. nightmares." Her voice lowered and he watched her with sadness.
"Like stars above are your eyes,
Like a cup of pleasure is your mouth,
I am longing tonight for my former love,
Straying alone on roads and crossroads,
Stars above are like the coolness in your eyes."

"Perhaps you could recite my poems in front of the class today. You sound.. absolutely amazing, just outstanding. It's almost as if you were made to speak them aloud."

"In front- of the class?" Lara paused, her eyes widening and her eyebrows furrowing.
"No, you flatter me." She frantically shook her head again.

"Then, maybe, just maybe , you'll allow me to sing it for you? Tonight, after the lecture? Perhaps I could buy you dinner, seeing as you're 'broke' and all."

"Um, yes, of course! I'd love to hear your ballad, first hand. The rest of them, too. And I'd appreciate a meal, greatly."

"You know, Laurelle, I already knew you were a student in my class, hence why I approached you. Well, it's not everyday a woman enrolls in the Academy and is actually accepted, and I couldn't help but overhear talk of a so-called Witcheress. Sounded like nothing more than a fairytale to me. I just never would've thought a Witcher would be so interested in music and art!"

"Huh, well.." She tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing the pointed tip. "I wasn't always a Witcher."

"You're an elf! So, that's why."

"Yeah." She smiled kindly, as did he. Why was he so accepting? Lara was questioning his motives, as well as his credibility and trustworthiness.

"I also noticed you're registered in various languages! You're quite the skilled woman, Laurelle. I didn't suspect you to be so well-versed."

"I can sing your ballad in Polish, you know."

"Now, that's impressive." He grinned. "But, you're going to have to sing it with me. Otherwise I just cannot believe your fantastical tales." He teased.

"Says the world-renowned bard who creates fantastical tales for a living. And apparently teaches at the Academy, too."

"Ah, but see, there is truth in all of my ballads and poems. But, do not tell anyone that." He winked, gestured with his pointer finger that had a golden ring wrapped around it, and she blushed and swore herself to secrecy. Lara hadn't even been paying attention to the crowd that had gathered, observing the famous professor with the freak sat alone on the bench, both of them engulfed and entranced by the conversation and one another.

"I suppose we should get to class." Lara muttered, finally noticing all of the prying eyes and ears eavesdropping on them. She wanted to shrink into a ball and disappear. She hated to admit how infatuated she was with him, with her new professor! She couldn't believe how small of a world it was, seeing as Dandelion was one of Geralt's closest friends. What's the chance of bumping into a friend of Geralt's? Seeing as he doesn't have many of those.

"Yes, class is now in session everyone! Let's go!" He leapt to his feet and shouted, motioning extravagantly with his arms, waving them in the air to gather the attention of the, already watching, intellectuals.

The two shared knowing glances and smiles all throughout the hours-long lecture, and Julian found himself accidentally paying attention to Lara in his entirety rather than any of the other students, who all noticed how distracted he was. They assumed it was because she was a freak, a freak of nature in more ways than one, what with her elf blood and Witcher mutations. Little did they, and Lara, know was that Julian had fallen in love with her the second he spotted the white-haired girl across the courtyard, sat alone on the bench in purposeful silence and careful thought. Little did he know, she had done the same.

"So, professor Julian," she said with a sultry tone to her words, "did you enjoy staring at me all class? I think everyone noticed. I could hear all of their whispers. I'm sure you know why."

"I sincerely apologise, Laurelle. Let me make it up to you." He swiftly slipped his hand in hers, and she smiled to him.

"No one ever calls me Laurelle."

"You don't like it?"

"No, it's not that, I do.." She blushed, hiding her face.
"I.. like when you say it." Looking back to him with strands of hair covering her face, she squeezed his hand reassuringly as they strolled down the street, and this time he smiled to her.

"No one ever calls me Julian either, yet I like it when you do."

"Seems we're a perfect match."

The following night had been one of the best times Lara had in years, yet they did not share a bed, they hadn't even kissed each other directly on the lips. They discussed all things music and art, life as a Witcher and bard, their friends and foes, their hopes and dreams— sometimes sneaking in slight touches and light pecks to each other's cheeks and necks. Julian would constantly grab Laurelle's hand, bowing his head and bending slightly at the knees to kiss her soft untouched skin. They shared drinks and a warm meal, that of which filled Lara up with nutrition and happiness, something she hadn't experienced in what felt like forever.

"Come on," he patted the bench beside him, holding his lute across his lap. "We'll sing."

"Are you sure?" She scrambled closer to him and sat where he directed as he hopped up onto the table, while she stayed on the lower bench. "In front of all these people?"

"Please, Master Dandelion!" Some woman in the crowd swooned.

"The crowd wants what the crowd wants." He placed his hand on the top of her head and pet her as if she were a lapdog. She looked up to him and smiled slightly, her plump lips curling upwards.

"They want you , not some freak." She dismissed, shaking her head.

"Any friend of mine and the arts is a friend of theirs." He messied her hair before returning his hand to the fretboard of the lute. She rolled her eyes, unable to contain a smile as she tidied her hair, strands floating in the air and parted on the wrong side. He quickly fiddled with the tuning pegs, plucking the strings ever so lightly, just so he could hear if they were in the correct key for this specific ballad.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen!" Dandelion stated proudly, immediately causing the entire group to quiet down and shush each other's children. "Tonight, a special guest joins me here in this fine establishment. May I present, Lara the Laconic."

"Hey, mean!"

"I'm sure no one knows what it means. I'm only jesting."

To her surprise, many people clapped, each and every patron joining in to create a loud wave of applause. For her! Well, for Dandelion of course, but no one was booing or shouting slurs or throwing tomatoes at her, so she was satisfied. She cleared her throat as Dandelion told a little story to the crowd, who was listening intently, and she snapped back to reality once he announced the title of the ballad.

God, she thought, I've never sang for anyone, let alone an entire audience.
Yet Dandelion wasn't going to wait for her to muster up the courage. They couldn't be there all century, so he started to appease the impatient and eager crowd, beginning to strum his lute with his long, slender fingers, decorated with gold and emerald-green rings.

Lara inhaled deeply, yet no one could hear the sound of her slightly whistling nose, and she felt comforted by the soft flickering of the candles scattered throughout the room, as well as by Dandelion's overpowering scent and pure presence alone, his warmth soothing and radiating around the tavern. She closed her eyes for what seemed like ten minutes as she cleared her mind entirely, then she reopened them with a new perspective, staring out into the group of people. She then opened her mouth and began to sing. Dandelion followed behind, singing the words softly and harmonising as he strummed his lute delicately. He was careful not to out-sing her.

Jak gwiazdy nad traktem twoje oczy,
Jak kielich rozkoszy usta twe,
Tak bardzo dziś chciałbym znów zobaczyć,
Mej dawnej miłości chociaż cień,

Bo serce jak żebrak się kołacze,
Samotnie się błąka na rozstajach dróg,
I zawsze gdy tylko w niebo patrzę,
Znów czuję twych oczu gwiezdny chłód.

As the accompanying chords and notes of the lute came to an end, the crowd remained silent in awe, before breaking out into roaring cheers and applause.

"I'm so embarrassed right now." Lara laughed, her cheeks flushed red.

"Wow."

She's the one, he thought. She's the one.

"Finally!" I exclaim, scurrying to Julian. "I've been searching for you forever! Took you long enough!"

"I sincerely apologise, my bluebird, it has been rather busy today. I simply cannot abandon my post tonight, which I apologise for as well."

"It's okay! Lambert needed a rest, Melitele knows why, and we were just about to go hit the town. If that's okay..?" I'm dressed in my usual armour, minus a few extra protective layers which allows for my bosom to be rather exposed, which is where Dandelion's eyes linger once he looks me up and down a few times. I applied some makeup earlier that Triss had sent me— which was just some mascara and lipgloss. My features seem to be glowingly enhanced in the evening light of candles and the blue hue of the moon seeping in through the windows, as I'm attracting so much attention from tonight's patrons despite the hideous scabs on my face, which are no longer concealed beneath a bandage.

"If I'm content with you kissing other people, and women at that, I doubt I'd mind if you went out and celebrated your victory, Laurelle. I'm sure you'll not do anything unreasonable."

"Hm. Not sure whether to thank you or be offended, but that's fine. Thank you, darling." I quickly press my lips to his and he kisses back, trying to wrap his arms around me yet I disappear from his grasp in an instant, leaving his arms awkwardly wrapped around air as I blow past the crowd and out the door, the two Witchers following.

"Where to first?" Geralt asks.

"The Kingfisher! Duh!" Lambert exclaims, excitedly yet sarcastically.

"I know I should be celebrating, but I feel so unproductive." I chime in, thinking aloud.

"Maybe if Lambert hadn't been so tired.." Geralt mocks, silently agreeing with me.

"Hey, me being asleep shouldn't stop you two from going out and completing some other contract. In fact, I was kind of counting on that."

"Well, we didn't want you to miss out on any of the fun." I briefly raise my eyebrow, winking to both Witchers as a sly grin exposing my teeth creeps onto my lips.

"Yeah, or you wanted me to deal with all of the dirty work." Lambert obtrusively claimed.

"He's not wrong." I shrug, causing Geralt to chuckle nearly uncontrollably.

"Hardy-har-har. Aren't you a Witcher? I didn't know you had gone to clown college. Perhaps I should turn you in to Radovid, and you can become his court jester."

"Damn, that hurt." My face forms an involuntary expression of displeasure, the corners of my mouth pointing downwards in an unimpressed and sullen scowl.

"Yeah, considering the things he said, I know it did. Sorry." Lambert suddenly admits, causing Geralt and I to exchange confused glances.

"You been drinking already, or what?" Geralt catechises the Witcher, who's acting strangely. Lambert has never said sorry, not once in his life.

"No, actually, I haven't. Radovid said some pretty nasty things, stuff I actually had nightmares about up in that room above you. So, I'm sorry, Lara." He turns his head to me as we continue walking through the bustling streets of Novigrad's nightlife. I meet his intense gaze with my own, a piercing feeling suddenly shooting through my chest.

"That's.. That's okay, Lambert. Thanks." Almost sadly, I form a closed-lipped smile and nod to the Witcher. I've never seen him act more maturely and genuine. Damn, have I been drinking? This surely must be a dream. I wish Eskel was here. He's never gonna believe me when I tell him about this, I smile to myself, blowing a light stream of air out of my nostrils.

* * *

"I'm so looking forward to a drink." Lambert licks his lips and rubs his palms together as we enter through the door of the Kingfisher Inn, slowly descending the small staircase to the main floor. Geralt and I follow him to a table, sitting on the opposite side of him. All eyes are on us as a band of Witchers, nevermind one Witcher, is a rare and dastardly sight. We ignore the stares and whispers as usual, yet I can sense Lambert's hotheaded rage radiating off of him as he bounces his leg at a speed faster than a racehorse. Geralt lightly bumps Lambert's foot with his own, which immediately dissipates his anger. Somewhat.

"Hey, innkeep! A round of your finest!" Lambert shouts, and this time, the innkeep actually hears him. Business seems to be slow tonight as the gathered crowd doesn't consist of more than twenty people, when the main floor alone can fit nearly one to two hundred. It would be rather squished, but it'd fit.
"Where the fuck is the music? There's supposed to be a band playing. Or a bard singing, or whatever."

"You idiot." I roll my eyes. "The music is every second night."

"Uh!" He scoffs. "You couldn't have told me that sooner?"

"I forgot! Sheesh. Just like you forgot."

"It's fine, quit complaining, Lambert. Drink your beer and cool off." Geralt interjects. Even though I contribute to the fights and complaining, Geralt never scolds me nor pays any attention to it. Not sure why. Well, perhaps it's because Lambert is decades old, meanwhile I'm barely at two. I think Geralt still expects Lambert to magically grow up somehow.

"Yeah, fine, I will." Lambert swiftly snatches a wooden mug from the innkeep's tray, who just so happens to approach our table with the perfect timing. He sets mine and Geralt's mugs down in front of us before holding the silver tray against his side, weaving through a small crowd to return to his post behind the counter.

"So, Geralt," I take a quick swish of the liquid from the mug, not even sure of what kind of beer it is, "are you going to join Lambert at one of the brothels later this fine evening?" I angle my torso so I face the White Wolf sitting beside me.

"Not sure." He says monotonously, setting his own mug down on the table, seeming almost hesitant to drink too much as he stares into the frothy alcoholic beverage that's swirling around slightly.

"Aw, come on! You've gotta come. Loosen up a little bit, and have some fun time away from all of your sorceress-girlfriend love triangle drama!" Lambert, acting like a child as always, begs and whines.

"I happen to like my sorceress girlfriend." Geralt looks up, locking eyes with Lambert.

"Tell that to all of the hot babes you've hooked up with during the past, hmm, ten years?" He leans back to pull his leg out from under the table right before Geralt stomps his ankle, and he crosses the leg over the other, taking a long chug of his beer.

"You're seriously not fun to be around." Geralt chews on his bottom lip, holding the mug planted firmly on the table with his gigantic palm wrapped around it.

"Hah, you just don't like hearing, or facing, the truth."

"Alright, enough you two. I thought we were supposed to be celebrating my, I don't know, being alive and generally unscathed status?"

"Tell that to your face! It looks terrible. Are you sure it's not infected?" Lambert asks.

"I already have Dandelion on my back about it, I don't need to give you a piggyback ride too." I roll my eyes, downing a quick sip of the beer that stings my throat and up my nose.

"You know, I used to love giving you piggyback rides." Geralt tilts his head towards me, a small closed-mouth smile playing on his bloodied lips. I nod.
"I only wish I had met you when you were younger."

"Yeah, me too." I shrug, smiling sadly with the corners of my mouth, Geralt mirroring my expression.

"Cerys, Cerys!" Lara yanked on the copper-haired girl's sleeve, tugging as she tried desperately to gain her attention. Lara's hair was stained red from berries and animal blood and other various natural ingredients and components that had been given to her secretly by the druids, the mixture which came to them each week in a glass jar. She was also now called 'Serafina' by her adoptive family, that of which were attempting to hide her away for reasons unknown to Lara and the other children. They were not told why "for their own safety," they'd say.

"Yes, Sera?" Cerys, who was only a year or two older than the ten-year-old, turned to the little munchkin, grasping her broom as she paused her actions.

"Can we go watch the ships again tonight? I miss the stars."

"Of course, girl, just let me finish up my chores." Cerys had a thick Islander accent, something most people around there sported. Not many people from the Continent lived in the Isles. Lara had picked up on the twang as well, but she felt silly talking as such when it was already too obvious that she didn't belong in Skellige, and especially not in the castle along with the royal family. While their hair was naturally a mix between ginger and copper, Lara's was dyed more of a bright and concentrated crimson.

"Agh, okay." Sera whined, walking away as Cerys continued on with her assigned duties, alternating between sweeping the floors and washing the dishes. Even though Crach an Craite had plenty of men to carry out these tasks for them, he wanted to teach his children humility, and most importantly, the necessary life skills they would need. They could not be cradled now that their mother had passed on, because when he would ultimately pass as well, they needed to be able to fend for themselves— incase any other family came to the throne and unrightfully took the crown of Skellige out from under them.

"Aye there, lass. Whatchya doin'?" Hjalmar spotted the young fire-haired girl wandering aimlessly through the grand halls of the castle, jumping over and around the patterned rugs. Hjalmar was Cerys' older brother, who already stood proud and tall at the age of seventeen with his thick ginger beard, chest full of hair, and burly muscles. Lara walked over to him with a bored expression on her face.

"Waitin' for Cerys to finish her chores." She crossed her arms, the eldest sibling towering over her. "Why, what are you doing?"

"Ah, nothin', just out and about."

"Would you like to braid my hair for me?"

"Aye, of course!" He excitedly said, grabbing her shoulder and steering her over to a table in the main room. He sat down on the wooden bench and she swiftly fell to her knees in front of him, facing away so he could properly do her hair. He was very gentle as his large furry hands began to gather her red hair and separate it into three different sections.
"You know, I've met two others with hair like yers. The white." He began, delicately intertwining the strands together, careful not to pull or yank.

"Oh, yeah? People usually look at me weird.."

"Oh, yeah!" He responded positively. "Me pa used to bring a Witcher 'round here, by the name of Geralt. He's the famous White Wolf, as we call him around the Isles."

"Wow, a Witcher? Aren't they scary?"

"Aye, I thought so, though I was but a wee lad. There was also a girl, 'round your age actually. Cirilla."

"Who's she?"

"We called 'er Ciri. She stayed here for a while when she was ten, too, like you! 'Cept her hair was more mousey and grey. But ya look like 'er!"

"How come she didn't have to dye her hair?" Sera pouted, and Hjalmar only scoffed.
"Was she pretty?"

"Aye, beautiful. Both of yas." 

"Thank you." Lara giggled and Hjalmar couldn't help but smirk.

"Can you tell me about Cirilla?"

"Aye, I'd be honored to speak of 'er. You know how everyone always calls me Crooked Gob?"

"Yeah!" She laughed as he slowly continued to braid her fiery locks.

"Well, that's all thanks to Ciri. She was the fastest in our ice-skatin' competition when we were kids, and when I tried to beat 'er, I landed face-first on the ice!"

"Oh no!" Sera continued to laugh and Hjalmar finished her braid, tying the end with a piece of string from the pocket of his warrior garb. Her hair nearly reached all the way down to her tailbone.

"Yeah, she was a silly one. We.. uh, we fell in love. We were 'engaged'," he motioned with his fingers, "when she was your age too."

"Well, where is she?"

"She.. She's dead."

"What?" Laurelle rose to her feet in a flash, her hands on her hips.

"She was in Cintra when the Slaughter happened. You know, the Slaughter of Cintra."

"Yes, I know. Cerys has been teaching me."

"Aye, you smart lassies. Yes, she was massacred along with the rest of 'em.. I arrived too late." His voice broke as he stood to his feet.

"I'm sorry." She flung herself into his arms, and he embraced the small girl tightly.

"Ah, it's nothin'. T'were long ago." He released Sera and she slowly backed away from his chest, grabbing her braid and swinging it to rest on her shoulder and down the front of her body.

"Nice braid." She smiled, her eyes gleaming. "Thanks."

"Of course." He nodded valiantly.

"Serafina? I'm done!" Cerys called out from the kitchen, and Sera bolted to the large wooden doors. Hjalmar laughed heartily, he enjoyed having such a lively spirit back in the castle, roaming and exploring the halls that felt rather empty as of late. Perhaps he could win over Sera's heart, he supposed. Not that he could ever forget Ciri. She had left— was forced to leave— not even two years ago and now her body had disintegrated into ash and dust, absorbed by the earth or burned into the air by the Nilfgaardians. The bastards.

"Come on, girl, let's go outside." Cerys grabbed Serafina's hand and led her to the usual window they used frequently to slip in and out of the keep.
"And don't let Hjalmar braid yer hair again. He did a horrid job." Cerys said with a jealous tone in her voice. Her brother had always been her biggest rival, even in regards to her best friend who had become like a sister to her— even more than Cirilla had been.

"What? I thought he did great!" Serafina carefully balanced herself with her arms spread out like an eagle as she stepped along the edge of the walkway. They were so high above the ground, one wrong move and they'd fall to their deaths.

"Agh, don't tell me you fancy him?!"

"Huh?! Where'd that come from?" Sera whipped around, nearly losing her footing. Cerys grabbed her, holding her firmly.

"Be careful. Come on, keep goin'. I don't need to tell da you fell off and died. I'd rather you didn't leave me alone with Hjalmar."

"Okay, okay." Serafina turned around and began walking forward until they reached a grassy stone platform sticking out of the side of the mountain on which the keep was built upon.
"Now, answer my question! Why would you think I liked Hjalmar?" She scrunched her nose in disgust.

"I don't know. Because ye talk so highly of 'im, spend lots o' time with 'im."

"I want to spend more time with you, but you're always busy with chores!"

"I know, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to blame ye."  Cerys held Serafina's hands as they stood facing each other.

"Well, why don't we talk to your dad? It's not fair. I should at least be allowed to help you."

"Okay. For now, let's watch the sky and the stars, the ocean too. It's a beautiful night." Cerys released Serafina's hands and they plopped down to the ground, their legs dangling off of the edge of the cliff. They sat close together so that their heads were nearly touching.

"How do you always braid your hair so nicely?" Sera asked, examining Cerys' copper hair that was neatly weaved in a complicated pattern.

"Practice, girl. I got nothin' better to do 'sides chores. At night, I braid ma hair."

"Can you braid mine?"

"Sure. Not on this ledge, though."

"Okay. Good idea." Serafina exhaled, looking down to the water below them which appeared black in the night sky, the waves reflecting the blue and white light of the moon and the stars. Sera could see the faint glow of golden lights scattered around the village along the shore, which provided her with a warm feeling and sense of comfort. It reminded her of her room in Tir nà Lia, where she could see the distant, magnificent elven city for miles. Her and Cerys were so high up, she felt like a bird. And in that moment, she could've sworn she could fly. Cerys wasn't going to let her try, though. Maybe that was for the better.
"What's that one?" She leaned back on one of her palms to look up to the sky, pointing with her free hand. Cerys scooched closer and rested her cheek on Sera's arm, squinting her one eye in order to properly view which glowing speck she was referring to.

"That star there is apart of the bear constellation, Barney the Beserker. D'ya see 'im?"

"Yeah! There's the bear's head!" Sera laughed, glancing to Cerys, who giggled as well.

"Yer so smart, Sera. I'm really glad you came here."

"Me too. I'm glad you're here. I'd be lonely without you."

"I'm sure Hjalmar would take good care of ye. Ya know, if anything bad ever 'appened to me."

"I wouldn't want that," she smiled, "I prefer having you. You're my bestest friend."

"As yer mine." Cerys scooched closer to Sera, wrapping her arm around the petite girl. Sera snaked her hand under Cerys' arm so that she could rest hers around her body as well. The two sat embracing each other for what they wished was eternity as they chattered briefly about the different stars, but they mostly sat in silence as always, listening to the waves crashing against the rocky shore.

The wind had began to howl and whistle as it picked up intensely and the starry night sky had flooded in with dark wispy clouds. The ocean was calm. Almost too calm.

"Do you think it's gonna rain?" Sera asked, shivering as the cold wind blew against her face, a chill running down her spine. She sniffled.

"Maybe. Not for a while, though. I'm more worried about da and Hjalmar lookin' fer us."

"Yeah, I don't want to get in trouble."

"Nonsense. Da could never get angry wit' ya. Like the daughter he always wanted.."

"Don't say that. He loves you."

"Aye, never said he didn't. Yet I'm the one stuck doin' chores all day, picked on by him and Hjalmar constantly."

"I just think that- WOAH!" Serafina exclaimed, scrambling backwards from the edge of the cliff as she let go of Cerys and slipped out of her grasp in turn. Cerys, leaping to her feet, finally noticed the sight before them.

"Oh no, by the Gods.." Cerys mumbled, frozen in fear and shock.

Down below, on the surface of the water just outside the harbour, were two ships. They had burst into flames when they collided, and the spark was growing brighter and more furious by the second. The ships began to sink, the very distant shouts and screams of the men stuck on such vessels were barely audible— yet, Serafina would never forget their faint yells of horror. They weren't able to swim to safety, as the waves had picked up immensely and were already sweeping parts of the wreckage away to sea.

"We have to get out of here!" Sera sobbed, afraid and overwhelmed. Cerys yanked her by the wrist to her feet, staring straight into her eyes.

"Never speak of this. Promise?"

"I promise. Let's never come back here again."

The girls quickly scurried away, Sera frantically wiping tears from her cheek as they walked along the platform and slipped back into the kitchen.

No one survived the accident.

"Yeah, yeah, so sad." Lambert butts in satirically. "Are you guys done?"

"Yeah." I swallow with a rather loud gulp, glaring to the Witcher. Under the table, Geralt gently taps my shin with his foot, comforting me. It's so nice to have.. a father. A real one.

"Well, this got real boring real fast. Let's go somewhere else with hot chicks and good music!" Lambert stands up and begins walking to the door, not even paying any attention to us. I roll my eyes.

"Let's go." I shrug to Geralt, who digs through his pocket and tosses three crowns to the table with an unceremonious sequence of clinks.
"Passiflora?" I ask, following the men as we step outside into the chilly air of the night, the glow of braziers along the main road illuminating the bustling street.

"Hell yeah!" Lambert throws his arms into the air, who's already twenty paces ahead of us.

"This'll be weird." Geralt mutters.

"Hah. Kind of ironic, huh?" I blow a stream of air out of my nose, an awkward grin spreading across my face.

"Yeah, reeks of irony."

"And booze."

"And.." Geralt sniffs. "Burnt flesh."

"Yeah, that's the Free City for ya. Wasn't like this before." I can't stop myself from sneaking a glance at the small painting of Triss still tucked away in my pocket, not even paying attention to her spilling bosom, but to her eyes which manage to convey so many emotions all at once. I can almost feel her electric touch on my skin, the soft tickle of her lips on mine..