Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What is destiny?

Those of the fatalistic mind might see it as the unchangeable direction of every man’s life and the world. The path that was set before anything existed. The path that one is on no matter if they want to be or not.

Those of the religious mind might see it as the undeniable and perfect will of the gods. Their vision for humanity, that exists is a part of. The many pieces in their game of chess.

Those of the skeptical mind might think destiny is nothing more than superstition. An excuse for people to not be responsible for their actions. The weak willed man’s crutch; determinism and piousness.

These ways of thinking fundamentally misunderstand destiny. Destiny is not set in any time. It is before and after, malleable in the past and present. It’s reactive. Cause and effect, action and reaction. Destiny and life, and life is destiny.

Geralt of Rivia was a man who didn’t think much of destiny, but destiny though much of Geralt.

He moved through his life, thinking not about the greater picture. He wanted to just Be. Maybe that is why he always found himself at the intersection of history and change. Because he was one of the few who understood that to think of destiny is antithetical to one’s experience within it.

Geralt might not have thought much about destiny.

But Destiny thought of Geralt of Rivia
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“Are you going to be in a pissy mood all morning?”

Geralt looked over at his aging companion. Vesemir was one of the few who could put his acerbic wit to task. Hell, he was the one who taught him it.

“I am NOT in a pissy mood” Geralt replied, turning back to look at the road ahead of them as they trotted toward the edge of town. Vesemir just let out a bark of laughter and shook his head.

They had been on Yennefer’s trail for close to 2 months now, and one thing after another seemed to get in their way. First, the town that she told Geralt to meet her in had been razed to the ground. He wasn’t sure by which side of the war, not that it mattered. Second, White Orchard, the lovely hamlet they seemed to find themselves in, had a Griffin problem. Geralt of course has put down many Griffins in his time, but this was an unneeded distraction. But as fate never seemed to be on his side, said Griffin was tied to his current goal of finding his long lost lover.

The commander of the local Nilfgaardian forces, one Peter Saar Gwynleve, tasked him with dispatching the Griffin in trade for information on Yennefer’s whereabouts. Geralt had been a Witcher long enough to be accustomed to the ‘favor for a favor’ game, but that didn’t mean he liked it. To him, this Griffin was a waste of time and resources. You’d think a garrison of Nilfgaardian forces would be able to handle ONE Griffin, but alas, here he was, on the road to the some local herbalist about buckthorn

“Wolf, I’ve known you your whole life. I know the tell tale signs of you sulking. Didn't even need to use my Withcer senses.`` Vesemir teased.

“Maybe all your senses are going in your old age.” Geralt shot back, not turning from the road ahead. Vesemir smiled, knowing there was much bite in Geralt’s words.

“I know you’re tired of the run around,” Vesemir said sincerely. “But we do this, we might be put on the right path. Better than scouring every field for strands of black hair.”

Geralt gave a non-committal sound. Vesemir had a point though; this was the first hard lead they had on the sorceress in a while. Like it or not, it was the best they had to go on. The herbalist's shack came into view. It was small and a bit dilapidated. One might think it was abandoned, if it wasn’t for the tended garden outside and if Geralt didn’t hear and smell signs of life inside. They rode up, and dismounted. Vesemir opted to stay outside and keep watch for any trouble.

Geralt pushed open the shack’s door and was met with a VERY pleasant image.

The herbalist, a woman, was bent over, rummaging around on her work desk, giving Geralt a clear view of her very lovely, large, leather clad backside. Geralt was a man who had laid with many women in his 90 or so years of life, and he had to say that this herbalist’s ass was among the best he’s encountered (even giving Yennefer a run for her money). Shapely and full, but not saggy or unpleasant. Her tight leather pants did nothing but accentuate her individual globes, and hug her curves. Geralt would rather stand around and enjoy this all day, but they were on a tight schedule.

“Bad time?” He asked, getting her attention. She jumped a little at the sound of his voice and turned quickly to look at him. Her eyes went wide as she took him in. That seemed to be happening a lot around these parts. Geralt clears his throat, and asks again. “Is this a bad time.”

Geralt took in the herbalist’s face. She was beautiful, but not in a traditional regal sense. Her face was round, with pronounced cheeks. Her black hair ran down well past her shoulders, and she had striking blue eyes. If someone told him that she was some relative of Yennefer, he might have believed them.

Seemingly snapping the herbalist out of her shock of seeing the Witcher, she moves back towards her work station.

“Not at all. Could you hand me the beggartick. It’s-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Geralt hands her the plant.

“The red bloom.” She said, a bit surprised. “Well, well. One versed in herbs.”

“I know a bit. For instance, beggartick is poisonous.”

“In large doses. Small ones soothe pain and bring forth pleasant dreams.” She explained. She looked over to a woman splayed on a small cot, injured. “Which is all I can hope to do for her.”

Geralt could tell by her injuries that the Griffin must’ve done that to her. He could also tell that it was unlikely she’d wake.

“Buckthorn? Know where any grows around here?” Geralt asked. The herbalist thought for a moment.

“Bottom of river, where the channel’s the widest. But you do know that once it’s out the water-”

“...it’ll stink worse than a weak old carcass? Counting on it.”

“Ah yes, the Griffin. Might’ve guessed. Though I must say, White Orchard is hardly swimming in the most bountiful resources. Who now could afford a price on the Griffin’s head?”

“Captain Peter Saar...something something.”

“Ah. Good to know the Black Ones are looking out for our welfare.” She said, voice laced with sarcasm.

Gerarlt snorted at her response. Her pessimism was after his own heart. The way she spoke, the way she held herself, it was unique to the rural surroundings,

“Not from here, are you?” He questioned. “Lot of bitterness in you. Too much for someone who's spent her life in a hut in the middle of nowhere.”

She gave him a rueful smile

“True. And you're in a hurry. Elsewise you'd not use bait, just wait for the griffin to attack again.” She responded.

‘This one’s observant’, Geralt thought

“Believe we could have an interesting conversation.” He said with a slight smile.

“Maybe next time.” She said, before turning back to her work station.
____________________________________________________________________________

“What was the name of that herbalist again?” Asked Vesemir. He and Geralt were crouched behind a bush, having set up their trap for the Griffin terrorizing the area. The local hunter Mislav helped them find the Griffin’s destroyed nest -courtesy of the Nilfgaardian forces-, Vesemir found the perfect spot to bait the beast using the buckthorn they obtained. Geralt always hated the smell of it.

“Tomira.” Geralt answered, eyes focused on the trap they set.

“Hmh” Vesemir grunted. “She seems nice. Definitely not of these parts.”

“Yeah, I gathered.”

“I’m sure you did, all that flirting you did in there.”

Geralt turned and scowled at his partner.

“I was NOT flirting. I was making conversation.” Geralt said defensively. Vesemir just smirked at him.

“Wonder how Yennefer would take it, knowing you were looking at another raven haired beauty.” Vesemir said with a shit eating grin.

“Vesemir, we really need to focus on the task at hand,” Geralt said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, alright……….. Supposedly she has a great ass though.”

“VES-”

“Shhhhhhh! You hear that? It’s close.”

Geralt tilted his head upwards, and just on time, the Griffin swooped in, taking interest in the decoy sheep they set up.

“Let’s give it a warm welcome.” Geralt said, standing and preparing himself. Vesemir did the same.

“Here, take this.” Vesemir said, handing Geralt a small one handed crossbow. This would prove useful, given the hardest part about killing Griffin’s is getting them grounded long enough to deliver a killing blow.

The Griffin was agitated, finding the bait to be inedible. It twisted it’s head, noticing the Withcers, and let out a screech. It wasn’t trying to run, which made their job easier. God knew it would be a hassle chasing a Griffin all over the countryside. Vesemir took point, stepping toward the beast directly, as Geralt tried to flank left. Vesemir lunged forward, silver sword in a high guard. He swung down, catching the beast on its shoulder. Griffin skin is tough, and their bones hard; usually steel swords would have little effect, but silver slices through like butter. The Griffin screeched and jumped back. It swiped at Vesemir with it’s large front talon, but he managed to roll out of the way in time.

With the Griffin distracted, Geralt advanced from his flank, striking the Griffin on it’s side. It bled, but didn’t hit anything vital enough to bring it down. Suddenly The Griffin kicked out with it’s left leg, hitting Greralt square in the chest. He was lucky that he only was hit by the pad and heel of it’s foot - those talons would’ve cut him to shreds - but he still took the full brunt of it’s powerful kick, throwing him back several yards, flat onto his back.

“Geralt!” Vesemir yelled.

It hurt. Knocked the wind out of him, caused his head to bang hard off of the ground. Probably cracked a rib or two, he’d have to check later.

The Griffin began to flap it’s large wings, making to escape. It lept, hovering off the ground.

“Igni!” Signed Vesemir, shooting a blast of fire from his hand. Griffin’s weren’t particularly weak to fire, but nothing LIKES being set on fire. The Griffin screeched and turned it’s full attention back to Vesemir.

“Oh shit-” He cursed, as the Griffin flew toward him. He tried to move, but wasn’t fast enough. The Griffin latched its talons into Vesemir’s side. While his armor kept the Talons from fully digging into him, they still penetrated deep enough to break skin, and dig into his flesh.

“Argh!” He yelled, as the Griffin flapped his wings, and began to gain altitude, with the struggling Vesemir in tow. Geralt managed to roll to his feet, head still stirring.

He saw the Griffin begin to ascend. He couldn’t let it get too much height or distance, or he’d never be able to catch it before it tore Vesemir to shreds, or dropped him from a deadly height.

Geralt pulled out the crossbow. He never did like ranged weapons, but right now, it was his best shot. He loaded a bolt, and took aim. He had to pick his shot wisely. He didn’t want to risk hitting Vesemir, and needed to hit somewhere that would force the Griffin to land. The beast was gaining distance; it was now or never.

Geralt pulled the trigger, and the bolt let loose. It flew through the air, catching the Griffin right under it’s right wing. The Griffin screeched in pain, dropping Vesemir. The Griffin tried to fly away, but every time its wing flapped downward, it dug the bolt into itself more and more. It landed ungracefully, sliding in the grass and dirt. Geralt ran forward, closing the distance between them, and cast Aard. A powerful force of kinetic energy shot from his hand, hitting the distracted Griffin, toppling it over on it’s side, leaving its soft underbelly exposed. Seeing his opening, Geralt lunged forward, and drove his silver sword into its torso, piercing it’s heart. The Griffin let out a final screech, and spasmed, before dropping dead. Geralt pulled his sword from the Griffin’s heart, and shook his sword of blood.

He looked back and saw Vesemir rolling around on the ground. He ran over to check on him.

“Ves! Are you alright?” Geralt asked, kneeling down next to him. He looked at his side. The Griffin’s talon dug into him about an inch, leaving long, but relatively shallow gashes on his side. The armor did it’s job, but only could do so much.

“Nothing hurt besides my pride” Vesemir croaked. He coughed up a bit of blood. “...and maybe a collapsed lung.”

Geralt helped him sit up.

“Come on, let’s get some Swallow into you.” Geralt reached into his satchel and pulled out a small vial of the red potion. He brought it up to Vesemir’s lips and helped him drink it.

“Blegh-” Vesemir complained. “All our knowledge, and we still can’t make potions that don’t taste like it was brewed in a boot.”

Geralt just smiled at him and helped the elder Witcher to his feet. Swallow can only do so much to boost one’s vitality and healing. A wound of that nature still needed time and attention to heal properly.

“Let’s get into town. We can rent a room at the inn so you won’t have to rest on the ground.” Geralt said. They had been making camp outside of the town. Easier to not draw attention to themselves, but now he supposed it couldn’t be helped. Vesemir just grunted in consent, holding his side as they made their way to the horses.
____________________________________________________________________________

“You should head on without me.”

Geralt looked over at his partner from his chair and raised a silver eyebrow. Vesemir was on his back shirtless, side wrapped in bandages. The Inn’s room was small, and the bed was lumpy, but sufficient for their needs of a place to safely heal up and certainly better than what they were used to while on the saddle. Though he’d never admit it, Vesemir hated being like this. Injuries came with being a Witcher, like splinters came with being a woodsman, but being laid up on his back...well it just reminded Vesemir of his age.

“I heard you the first time Ves, and the answer is still no.” Replied Geralt. Vesemir frowned at him and sat up, groaning in pain as he did.

“I’ll be fine wolf.” He started. The Swallow was doing its job, speeding up Vesemir’s healing, but it would still be about 2 or 3 days before he was back to fighting form. “You could be halfway to Vizima already.”

The Niflgaardian captain stayed true to his word. He revealed that Yennefer rode for Vizima, which was only about a day's ride away. It was a large place, and the witcher had friends there. He hoped Yennefer would still be there, and even if she wasn’t, there’d be people who could tell him where she went, and he wouldn’t have to ask random patrons in a tavern. But Geralt could not in good conscience leave Vesemir to go after her, even if he wanted to. He was possibly Geralt’s closest idea of what a father might’ve been like. Though he longed to see Yennefer again, she could wait. It had already been 2 years since he'd seen her last. What was another few days?

“I wouldn’t be a very good wolf if I abandoned my pack so easily, now would I?” said Geralt, standing to and moving to push Vesemir back onto his back.

Vesemir snorted derisively, but laid back down, accepting that Geralt wasn’t going anywhere, for now.

“Well what will you do here? Doubt you want to spend these next three days with a bleeding old man.”

“I’ll find something to do.”

Vesemir quirked an eyebrow and smiled.

“Or someone to do-”

“Vesemir-”

“Tell the pretty young herbalist that I said hello.”

“I’m beginning to regret not letting that Griffin turn you into lunch.”
____________________________________________________________________________

He hated when Vesemir was right.

Geralt stood outside Tomira’s shack, just as Vesemir said he would.

While White Orchard was not the worst little countryside Geralt had ever been in, in fact it was pleasant in a lot of ways if one forgets the presence of dozens of black clad soldiers with superiority complexes, but it was clear that the people wanted very little to do with the witcher. Wasn’t really a surprise, humanity had a habit of judging and paranoia. Geralt had no interest in hanging around a tavern where everyone stared at him like he carried the plague, and there were no more old ladies to help, so Geralt found himself standing at the door of the one person here who didn’t seem to be afraid, or mistrust him.

Geralt walked to knock on the door, but before he could, Tomira’s rang out-

“Come in!”

‘Hmph. She heard me coming. Hope I’m not losing my touch’

Geralt enters the shack, and sees Tomira sitting at a small table, drinking a cup of tea.

“Well, well if it isn’t the intrepid Griffin slayer.” She said through a slight smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Came for that interesting conversation. Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all.”

Geralt took a seat and looked around the room. He noticed the injured woman was no longer there.

“What happened to your patient?” Geralt inquired. Tomira smiled sadly, and looked at the empty spot where she had been.

“Yes, Lena. Her condition worsened significantly over the night. Her family came and got her. Decided they wanted her to spend her last moments at home with them. Can’t blame them really. Wasn’t much more I could do.” She said solemnly.

“Well that Griffin won’t be causing anyone anymore harm” Geralt said trying to comfort her.

“Yes, just the soldiers then.” She retorted. Geralt couldn’t argue with that. Tomira stood, letting Geralt appreciate her large, thick thighs and hips and she moved towards her stove. She grabbed a cup, and poured Geralt some tea.

“You know, your cynicism even gives mine a run for its money.” He said, taking the tea graciously.

“Is it really cynicism if it rings true?” She questioned, taking her seat again, and crossing one leg over the other. Those pants REALLY did her curves wonders, Geralt thought.

“Hm, I suppose it’s not.”
____________________________________________________________________________

The pair ended up talking for several hours. Geralt felt it was nice to talk to someone as worldy as he was. Tomira made for good company; she was charming and funny. Another trait she shared with Yennefer. They talked a bit about Yennefer. He noticed the slight facial tick that came to Tomira’s face when he mentioned her; a normal man might’ve missed but the witcher knew it was a sign of displeasure. She was too polite to voice it though, and asked about her, listening intently as Geralt spoke of her, and his intentions.

Tomira also told Geralt a bit about her life too. How she trained under Mother Nemeke, a priestess Geralt was all too familiar with; He probably owed Nemeke his life many times over. She told him how she fell in love, had her heart broken, and only just recently moved to White Orchard. Bad timing coming to the small village on the precipice of a war, but Geralt knew all about being in the wrong place at the wrong time, so he couldn’t very much judge, now could he.

Geralt realized that hours had past, and the sun was beginning to set. He figured it probably was a good time to go back and check on Vesemir.

“Bout’ time I head back to the inn.” He said standing. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Think nothing of it. Your is the most interesting thing to happen in ages that didn’t include someone dying horribly.” She said, standing as well. She stepped closer to Geralt, so she was only an inch or two away from him. “Come see me again maybe?”

She looked up at him a bit hopefully, and Geralt smiled at her

“I’m sure I can make the time."
____________________________________________________________________________

“Well, look who decided to come and check in on an old wolf.” Said Vesemir. He was feeling better, able to sit up without much pain, but still a day or two from being ready for the saddle. “Come to make sure I didn’t die in my sleep.”

“Lost track of time” Geralt answered plainly. Vesemir just shot him a smirk.

“I’m sure. You after all had good company.” Vesemir gibed.

“Just had some friendly conversation, that’s all.”

“Yes, we all know you have a tendency to conversate all night lon-”

“Vesemir, do I have to use Axii on you?”
____________________________________________________________________________

“What are you brewing there?”

Tomira jumped, startled, and nearly knocked over the concoction.

“Witcher! You scared me. These are much too tumultuous of times for you to be sneaking up on poor young women living alone.” She chided, readjusting her alchemy station.

Geralt sensed a hint of teasing in her voice and smirked at her.

“My apologies. Figured you wouldn’t mind me coming in without knocking. Though you didn’t answer my question.”

Geralt peaked over Tomira’s shoulder at the potion in her cauldron. It was light blue, almost reminding him of Petri’s Philter, but it was slightly luminous, emitting a small glow. He could smell it, and could recognize some of the ingredients in it: some alchemist powder and paste, allspice, and a hint of cave troll liver, but there were many unfamiliar scents in there, which was a rarity.

“Just a small experiment I’m working on.” She stated. “Something I’ve been working on for a while

“Having any luck?”

Tomira gave him a sad smile.

“No, not really,” She admitted. “But I have nothing but time on my hands to perfect it.”

“What is it supposed to do?”

“Is there something you need Geralt?” She asked, a bit defensively. Geralt raised an eyebrow, but decided not to push the issue.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrogate you.” He reassured her. “Just that me and my companion are likely leaving tomorrow.”

“And you felt the need to come see me, the humble little herbalist. I’m honored.” She said, stepping toward Geralt. She places a light hand on his chest. “Though I doubt you just want to bid me farewell.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Come now Witcher. Coy doesn’t suit you well.” She drawled, as she ran her hand in circles over his chest. “You think I didn’t notice, you looking at me? You basically were staring holes in my ass.

‘This one is REAL observant’

Tomira pressed herself into Geralt further, allowing their chests to meet. Geralt let his hands come to Tomira’s waist, ever so lightly gripping them.

“You have me dead to rights. Now what?” He questioned, already knowing the answer.

“Now, I send you off right.” And with that she pressed her lips to Geralt’s.

He kissed her back fiercely, using his greater height as leverage to press against her mouth harder. His tongue shot out his lips, pushing against hers for entry, which she seemed all too happy to oblige. He let his hands on her hips, wander down to her glorious bubble-ass. He pressed his palms flat against each cheek, before sinking his fingers into them. Even through her leather pants, he could feel how incredibly soft and supple her ass was. He kneaded and played with it, feeling it move and form in his hand. This was likely the singular best ass he’d ever seen or felt. Yennerfer was a close - but not too close - second.

Yennefer.

One might think that what the Witcher was doing with Geralt was tantamount to cheating, given his history with the sorceress. To put it plainly, their relationship is….complicated. It had been years since he saw her last. He didn’t know how’d she greet him when he’d finally meet her again. Not to mention that their relationship wasn’t without turmoil: Many lies and deceptions, some unavoidable, some by choice. He without a doubt had love for her, but he’d be lying if he said it never strained his heart.

Besides, they had an...understanding of sorts.

As long as they were together, they’d be faithful to each other. When they were together. There were long stretches in their relationship where he wouldn’t see her for ages, 0 contact of any sort, and Geralt after all was just a man. During these stretches, Geralt was free to partake in the stream of women that came his way.

Yennefer was close, but she wasn’t there quite yet.

Geralt was pulled from his mind by Tomira taking his bottom lip between her lips and pulling. She let his lip go and looked up at him with half lidded eyes.

“You seem distracted.” She remarked.

“Sorry, just-” He started before she pressed a finger to his lips.

“You obviously need something to focus on.”

She pushed him lightly on the chest and he took a step back. She moved over to her work station, bending over and placing her hands on the wood surface, and sticking out her ass. She gave a slight shake, enticing the witcher. She looked over her shoulder and smirked at him.

“Well? Waiting for an invitation?” She asked in a sultry whisper. He didn’t need to be told twice, walking up behind her, and placing one hand on the small of her back. Using the other he grabbed the waist of her pants, and began to drag them down her hips, exposing her fat heart shaped ass to him. He pulled them down her legs and she stepped out of them.

“No underwear?” He asked with a smirk

“They chafe something awful in these pants” She replied, matching his smirk. “But I doubt you’re complaining.

He certainly was not.

Geralt took in the sight of her pale ass and thick thighs. It was love at first sight. He crouched down behind her, eye level with her backside and brought his hands. He quickly removed his customary gloves, so that there would be no barrier between him and her ass. He brought his hands up, cupping the underside of her cheeks. He bounced them in his hands a few times, enjoying how they jiggled, feeling the weight in his hand. He kneaded her cheeks in his hands, eliciting small gasps and moans from the herbalist. He pulled her ass cheeks apart, revealing her puckered asshole to him. Letting go, he brought both his hands up over his shoulders, and slapped down and her ass cheeks with a loud *WHAP*

“Dammit Geralt” She said breathlessly. “Quit teasing and get up here and FUCK me already!”

Once again, he did not need to be told twice.

Geralt stood, and undid his belt. He slid down his pants and knickers past his hips, just enough to fish his cock out. He slotted himself between her legs, letting his cock flop down between the valley and her ass and lower back. Tomira gasped, and grained her neck to look over her shoulder at his manhood.

Witcher by nature have superior bodies, muscled and hardened, peak specimens of man, or the men they used to be.

Geralt however was gifted in other ways as well.

Though he may be a wolf, stallion would be a better descriptor of his lower half. Geralt’s cock was well over 12 inches in length, and thick as Tomira’s wrist. It was no secret to those who knew Geralt or heard stories of him, that his cock was magnificent, one of the many legends that the Witcher built for himself over the years. While some legends were embellishments, this one rang completely true.

Tomira grinded back against Geralt’s dick, feeling it grow and slide between her generous ass cheeks. Geralt grabbed her by the hips and held her there.

“Stay still” He growled out, and immediately Tomira ceased moving. Satisfied, Geralt lined his cock up with her now dripping cunt.

“You ready?” He asked her.

“Yes, yes! Get on with it!” She demanded needily. With that, Geralt began to drive his hips forward, sinking into her wet folds. Geralt hissed and Tomira gasped as she was penetrated. Geralt continued pushing forward being swallowed by her cunt.

Eventually he managed to cram his massive cock all the way into her, resting his hips against her bubble butt. She felt like a velvet vice around him, wet and warm. He drew back his hips, nearly pulling all the way out of her, before driving forward and resheathing himself. Geralt set a slow deliberate pace, with long full strokes. He wasn’t in any hurry. He wanted to enjoy how it felt when Tomira’s cunt dragged along his cock, milking and grasping around him. Tomira moaned and whimpered at his slow fucking, being driven mad by his manhood slowly sawing in and out of her, and stretching her tight snatch.

They fucked liked that for a while, slow and sensual, before Tomira groaned in lusty frustration. “Dammit Geralt. Faster. HARDER.”

“I don’t want to hurt-”

“I’m not a fucking porcerlian doll! Now come on wolf! Fuck me already!”

Grunting affirmative, Geralt pulled his hips back and slammed back into her as hard as he could, knocking the air out of her and nearly knocking her on her face; luckily she was able to catch herself on her forearms. He began to thrust his hips quickly, pulling out of her about halfway before thrusting back in.

“Yessssss” Tomira hissed letting her hands rest on her forearms, and obediently staying still allowing Geralt to drill into her. The added roughness and force of Geralt’s thrusts caused Tomira’s workstation to shake, knocking over ingredients and vials.

“Uhgn….Uhgn….Uhhhgn….UHHGN….” Tomira grunted as Geralt slammed his cock in her. “F-fuck! You’re so big...so good-” she moaned lewdly.

Geralt knew he was a great fuck, but it was always good to hear as an ego booster. He palmed her ass as he fucked her, spreading her cheeks apart so he could see his cock slide in and out of her. He lifted one hand, and reigned a smack down to her right ass cheek.

“NYUUH!” Tomira yelped. “Again!”

Geralt was happy to oblige. He slapped her ass once again, rewarding him with another moan and he felt her legs begin to shake under him. He had fucked enough women to know what that meant. He began to really rail her, sliding a hand in her glossy black her and using it as a reign as he fucked her.

“OhGodsOhGodsohyesohyes…..UNGHHH!!”

Tomira spasmed and her legs went pole-straight. Her cunt tightened and quivered as she came, and she squirted her juices all over his hips and the floor. Geralt closed his eyes and tilted his head back, enjoying the feeling of her pussy tightening around him. She was so tight. Tight…

Wait.

She was too tight.

Something was wrong.

Geralt’s hand on her ass felt around. Her body, it had changed. Her backside felt less pronounced and smaller. The hand in her hair felt different too. The style was different. Instead of holding one chunk of long flowing hair, it felt like he was holding…..pigtails.

“Oh fuck me….I needed that.”

Tomira’s voice. It wasn’t Tomira’s

It was…..

No. It couldn’t be.

Geralt’s eyes shot open, and much to his surprise, he wasn’t staring at the ass of Tomira, the local herbalist of White Orchard.

He was staring at the ass of none other than Philippa Eilhart.

Wanted Sorceress.

“What in the fuck-”

Chapter Text

Philippa Eilhart.

One of the most powerful sorceresses of an age. Advisor of kings. Shadow ruler of Redania for years. Leader of the Lodge of Sorceresses That’s who she was.

Was.

She had everything planned out so well. Saskia, the charismatic young leader, on the surface, was the perfect face for the Lodge and their agenda. An independent state, one truly ruled by sorceresses and magic. One truly ruled by her. It would’ve all been so perfect. With Saskia under her spell as the head of state, Phillipa would’ve ruled better than any of those northern kings, and kept the Nilfgaardians at bay. She would’ve been the protector, and overseer, of the entire North, but that was not to be. Forces that she could not foresee. Cynthia. Her leashed sorceress. Her lover. The woman she thought was keeping her comfort as she planned the most important moment of her life, was none other than a spy for the Nilfgaardians. Philippa was always a slave to her own lust. A flaw that turned out to be catastrophic.

Then there was Triss. She was captured by the Nilfgaardians, in no small part to Cynthia, and had apparently told them everything she knew: The Lodge. Their involvement in the deaths of kings Vizimir and Demavend. Phillipa didn’t blame her however. She knew the Nilfgaardians could be cruel, and knew they spared her no mercy getting the information out of her.

Then there was Radovid.

Her roles, her achievements, her title, all gone in an instant. Dashed and taken away from her. 380 years alive, decades of influence of kings and countries, all unraveled and undone in the span of one event. Loc Muinne. What an absolute disaster. Pure and simple. Radovid, a boy not of 18 years, had captured her. Imprisoned her and tortured her. A boy she’s known his whole life. She didn’t foresee the animosity he had for her. The hatred. In that sense, she was truly blind.

Her eyes.

In a fit of rage that would soon show to be his normality, the king of Redania gouged out her eyes. The pain was indescribable. The darkness was worse. For the first time ever, she felt truly, TRULY helpless. Left to rot in a crumbling cell, wounds festering in the dust and dirt.

That cell in that dead city would’ve likely been her grave, if it weren’t for The Witcher who seemed to never been able to keep his white head out of other’s affairs. Though she supposed she should’ve been thankful for it this time. Geralt led her out of the dungeons of Loc Muinne and saved her life. She knew it was not out of the sheer kindness of her heart; he NEEDED her alive to free Saskia, but the result was all the same. She was freed from her confines, and was able to make her escape from Loc Muinne and Radovid’s purge. So many mages and sorceress, her peers died that day.
Her skill as a polymorph also saved her. She transformed into her owl form and flew as far and fast as she could. She likely flew for 5 hours before finally passing out. When she awoke, she was in a field somewhere. She didn’t know where, or how long she was out, but for the moment she was seemingly safe, or at least not at the threat of the wrath of Radovid. It took several more hours before Philippa could will a spell that could simulate her eyesight. It was tricky magic, but possible. Phillipa had read about a magical cult that removed their eyes in ceremony, but still functioned as if all was normal . When she finally succeeded, she was able to get her bearings. She took note of her dire state. Her skin was pale, even paler than her usual complexion; blood loss and exhaustion. She needed to get somewhere safe and secure, quickly.

She summoned a portal using the last of her energy. She ran the risk of cutting herself in half if she didn’t maintain the energy to keep the portal active. She shuffled through the portal, coming out the other end in a small house. Philippa was no fool. While she had not expected things to go wrong so quickly, she did always know that it was a possibility that her ambitions would lead to her safety being compromised. A safe house; a small house in southern Redania. She never thought she’d have to use it, but she was glad she had it. She felt a wave of relief wash over as the portal closed behind her; and then a wave of darkness as she collapsed on the cold stone floor, blacking out once again.
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Phillipa awoke sometime later in blistering pain. She managed to get to her feet, and stumble to the lab she had in her safe house. She moved toward a cabinet and threw open its doors. It had a large variety of potions in stock. She rifled around until she found a dark orange potion in a slim glass bottle. She brought it to her lips and threw her head back, downing it’s contents in one swallow. It didn’t taste very good; it was bitter and thick, but the intended effects were felt immediately. The pain dulled, and the bleeding around her eyes slowed to a stop. She then drank a blood replenishing potion, to get her strength back, and to avoid blacking out again. She ate, cleaned herself, and made sure her surroundings were still secure. Nobody knew about the house; shenhad even wiped the minds of the men who built it for her. When she decided all was clear, she sat down, and placed her head in her hands.

‘So what now?’ She thought.

What now indeed?

She couldn’t stay at this safehouse. Despite it’s security, it was too close to Novigrad, and no doubt Radovid would have soldiers and mercenaries swarming the area looking for her. She could only imagine what he was doing to the magic users who currently resided there.
Once she regained her strength, she’d have to move quickly.

Then of course, there was the issue of her eyes.

She had been maimed, made unwhole. Though she found a temporary solution for her sight, she could feel her magical core diminished. A mage’s eyes were as integral to magic as their hands. Philippa summoned a piece of fabric, and wrapped it around her head, covering her wounds. She enchanted it to stay in place unless she was the one to touch it. Regenerating one’s body parts was almost completely unheard of. Curing blindness, and reattaching limbs after a short period of time, sure, those were possible at high levels of magic. But to regrow body parts, well it was nearly impossible.

Nearly.

Though she loathed to admit it, the only mage to ever successfully do it was the dark mage, Viglefortz. She had hoped to never have to think of that horrible man again after his death; he had caused havoc all throughout the continent for years, but she couldn’t deny that he was likely the most powerful mage in hundreds of years, despite his young age. The madman had successfully regrown his lost eye, and while it wasn’t perfect, it showed that the magic was in fact theoretically possible. The process was extremely complicated: it required the user to cultivate the tissue on precious, rare stones. It was a long, difficult, and EXPENSIVE process, but it was the only known way. It would take time, which was something Philippa didn’t have much of.
____________________________________________________________________________

“Is this the place?”

“This is where we were told to go, so it must be.”

Philippa shot up from her bed. Someone was in her house.

Philippa managed to actually get some sleep after hours of aching and contemplating her next move. It wasn’t very restful sleep, but it was needed. But seeing as her life had turned to shit in the recent days, she couldn’t even enjoy that. Cautiously, She got out of bed, and moved toward the wall she heard the voices coming from.

“There’s a lab here. Some magic user was here, recently.” Said one voice.

“Do you know what this means” She heard the other voice say excitedly. “If we’re the ones who catch Philippa bitch-hart, we’ll be legends. The King would give us anything we wanted!”

Shit. Witch Hunters. How had they found her so fast. No one knew of this place. Only she-

Wait.

Cynthia.

It had been such a small comment, afterall Philippa had various homes all over the continent, she told Cynthia about a small villa she had in the south, she didn’t even give any specifics, just someplace they could go for holiday once the peace talks were over. She supposed Cynthia’s quick mind was what attracted Philippa to her in the first place.

Her safehouse was compromised, and she needed to get out of there. She had to summon a portal, quickly. Problem was, summoning portals was not a quiet process, especially when one had to concentrate to transport to a specific location.

“Quick, let’s search all the rooms and see if anyone’s still here.”

She had to hurry. Silently, Philippa said the spell and stretched her hands out. Slowly, a bright orange portal began to open in front of her. She was still quite weak, so it was taking her longer than usual.

“Did you hear that?”

“I think it came from that room. Look, there’s a glow!”

Time was up. Philippa concentrated and grew the portal. Just as the portal grew large enough to fit a person, her bedroom door was kicked open.

“She’s in here! We got her!” Yelled the witch hunter, as he lunged for Philippa. She dove through the portal, but not before the witch hunter grabbed onto one of her signature pigtails.

“Let go!” She screamed, closing the portal behind her. The portal snapped out of existence, dropping Philippa in a grassy field, taking the witch hunter’s arm with her. She landed on her back, and the arm landed on her chest. She screamed, and pushed the severed arm away from her. She stood quickly and looked around. She had no idea where she was. She cast a quick location spell. As it turned out, she was somewhere in Temaria. That was good. Farther from Redania, the safer she was. She transformed into her owl form so she could get some altitude and get some perspective on the area she was in. She saw a small village to the south, and decided that’s where she was headed next. She flew right to the edge of town, before descending. She landed in a tree and watched the goings on in the village. Nothing spectacular. Just people going about their country business. It was perfect.

She needed a place to lay low properly, and it was apparent that any of her known properties were likely not an option. This small, unspectacular village was the perfect place to go unseen while she attempted to heal herself. However, Philippa’s face wasn’t exactly unknown, she was known throughout the Northern Kingdoms, Luckily, she had something up her sleeve that no one knew of. As a polymorph, Philippa was known for her owl form; Polymorphy was so rare and difficult in mages, that it was assumed that those who could achieve it, only had one form, and for most of history, that assumption would be correct, but Philippa was ever ambitious. It may have taken a few decades, but she had managed to achieve a second polymorphic form, one that was human no less.

Tomira, she called her.

Philippa had managed to transform into this form sometime in the late 12th century. She had wanted something to be antithetical to her appearance, so she rounded her face, disappeared her freckles, and shifted the mass of her naturally large breasts to her ass and hips. No one would suspect that this woman could possibly be Philippa Eilhart, and that was the point. She used the form for….clandestine activities. It was extremely useful when Philippa got an urge, and found herself slipping to the local whorehouses to see a lady of the night. It was especially useful to use during her “relationship” with the spymaster Dijsktra, where she could sneak off and lay with someone she could actually stomach. Beyond that, she used it sparingly, but now, she didn’t have much choice. She took the form of Tomira and made her way to the village center. She entered the inn, and walked to the inkeep. All eyes were on her. She was easily the most attractive woman that they had seen in a long time.

The innkeeper, and older woman, looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“H-”

“Not from round’ here, are you?” The inkeep interrupted.

‘God, am I that obvious?’

“How can you tell?” Philppa asked, putting on a smile. The inkeep just shrugged.

“Well you just don’t seem the type to be from the countryside.”

“You’re right. I just moved to the area. Looking for a new lease on life.”

“Oh! Well if that’s the case, welcome to White Orchard.”

Philippa talked to the inkeep for a bit, gathering what information she could about the area. After that, she went out and explored, getting the lay of the land. She needed a place to stay, and she didn’t have any money for the in; she walked around until she found an abandoned looking hut right outside the village. Looked as if no one had been there in years. It was hardly a villa, but beggars couldn’t be choosers at the moment.

This would only be temporary she thought. She’d begin her work cultivating her eyes, and contact members of the Lodge who got away. They’d help her. This was all just temporary.

That was 6 months ago.

Philippa had been in White Orchard for 6 months. She had attempted to make contact with the remaining Lodge members with no success. First she attempted Margarita Laux-Antille, who she considered her closest confidant in the group. When she got no response, she tried Sile, who was one Philippa considered to be second only to her when it came to having a political mind. No response. Philippa was getting desperate now, desperate enough to try for Kiera Metz. She knew that Kiera barely cared about the agenda of the Lodge, she saw it as a side project, one that she didn’t take too seriously, but Philippa was running out of options. Nothing. Philippa nearly reached out to Triss, but even in her desperate state, she had some dignity left; as far as she was concerned, Triss had lost the faith of the Lodge. Honestly, Philippa wasn’t even sure if she made it out of Loc Muinne alive.

There was also the process of cultivating her eyes. Suffice it to say, White Orchard didn’t have an abundance of precious stones to use for the ritual, and she couldn’t risk leaving her safe haven, so she’d have to rely on adventures and prospector to find them for her, and that was something that required money. The innkeeper had offered her a job to help at the inn, but Philippa would be damned if she did manual labor for a bunch of drunkards who’d like nothing more than to bend her over one of the tables. She noticed that the village didn’t have a proper herbalist, and figured she could fill that market. She wasn't a particularly skilled herbalist, the prospect of rooting around in the dirt for ingredients didn’t entice her, but what she did know was more advanced than any of the locals were used to. She saved and scraped what she could.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. 6 months had passed, and finally, she felt as if she could move forward with her plans. Finally.

And then the Nilfgaardians attacked.

Ever the expansionists, Nilfgaard had been making moves through the north since the winter of 1271 and 1272. They were decimating the North, but Philippa never thought they’d be interested in such a small village like White Orchard, but like many other things recently, she miscalculated.

The Battle of White Orchard came out of nowhere. One day everything was fine and monotonous, the other, hundreds of soldiers of Nilfgaard and Temaria descended upon the small village. The battle was a flash of fire, quick and violent. Philippa thought about running again, but she had nowhere to go. She transformed into her owl form and waited out the fighting. She heard screams and cries all through the night. By morning, the cries had turned to groans of the mortally wounded. She flew above the village to see what had happened. The Nilfgaardians had won, razing much of the area surrounding the village to the ground. In a way, the Nilfgaard victory was a small blessing for Philippa. While she held no love for the invaders, their presence there added another layer of security. No northern soldiers or witch hunters would try and make it past them to look for her. But it was a double edged sword; movement in the area was heavily restricted. Very few outsiders were coming in, and it was hard to get out without being stopped and questioned. Once again, Philippa was stuck with no plan forward.
_________________________________________________________________________

Finally, a breakthrough.

With no way of getting the precious gems she needed, Philippa began to think of any possible alternatives to bring back her eyes. She wracked her mind for days, thinking of how to circumvent the lack of the gems. Suddenly, she remembered an essay by an alchemist she read 40 or so years ago.

As it turned out, the gems physically weren't what was needed, but the genetic and chemical makeup of them. If one was a skilled enough alchemist, could create a solution that mirrored the properties of the gems on a molecular level. Meaning she could in time, independently regrow her eyes.

Finally a step forward.
_________________________________________________________________________

‘Really?! A Griffin?’

It was always something, wasn’t it. Not only was her solution not coming along as quickly as she hopped, now she had to deal with a fucking Griffin flying around the area. The beast already attacked a poor girl, Lena. Philippa did what she could for her, but the girl was not long for this world.

Philippa wanted to get out of White Orchard soon. She needed to, she felt like she was losing her mind. Lena suddenly let out a croak of pain.

‘Girl must be in pain. Let me get her something to shut her up.’

Philippa rifles through her work station when she hears the door open.

‘Ugh. Must be another villager roughed up by the Nilfgaardians. Don’t they know how to kno-’

“Bad time?”

Wait. That voice. She knew that voice.

Philippa stood up straight and turned around quickly, and she was looking at none other than Geralt of Rivia. He stood there looking at her, face slightly confused.
‘Oh God, he’s here to kill me isn’t her? To turn me into Radovid? How did he track me down? I was so careful, I was so-’

“Ahem, I said is this a bad time?” Geralt asked again, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t attacking her. He didn’t even look upset at her.

It suddenly dawned on Philippa that she was still in her Tomira form, and that by some wild coincidence of the universe, Geralt wasn’t there to see Philippa Eilhart, he was there to see Tomira. Philippa sometimes forgot what form she was in. She found herself switching back and forth so often these days.

“Not at all.” She said, recovering her composure. “Could you hand me the beggartick. It’s-”

Geralt cut her off by handing her the red plant.

Geralt explained that he was hunting the Griffin, and he needed buckthorn.

‘Of course. The Witcher is witchering. Let me get him what he needs so he’ll get out of here.’ She thought. But the Witcher didn’t seem to be in any big rush to leave. Philippa took note, at how the Witcher’s eyes roamed over her form, ever so subtly. Other men wouldn’t be as subtle with their stares, but the Witcher had the good grace to at least try to be covert. A small smile graced the sorceresses’ disguised face.

‘Well now, that’s interesting.’
_________________________________________________________________________

Unsurprisingly, the Witcher slayed the Griffin. Good, Philippa thought. One less thing she would have to worry about trying to kill her. Lena’s family had come and taken the girl. Wasn’t much Philippa could do for her, so no point in having her there taking up what little space she had. It was a dreadful affair, lots of crying and sobbing, nothing Philippa wanted to deal with.

For the first time in a while Philippa had some time to herself, where she wasn’t called upon by the villagers and their petty needs. She made herself a nice cup of tea, and tried to relax, transforming to her natural appearance.

Ping

Her proximity ward.

Philippa felt it was necessary to create one, since she didn’t want any silent footed Witcher’s catching her by surprise. Begrudgingly, Philippa took the form of Tomira again.

“Come in!” she yelled, as she knew the Witcher was approaching. Geralt walked into her hut, smiling slightly as he saw her. Philippa felt his eyes on her body once again, and in all honesty, she didn’t mind them being there.
“Well, well if it isn’t the intrepid Griffin slayer.” She said through a slight smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Came for that interesting conversation. Mind if I sit?”
“Not at all.”
_________________________________________________________________________
Phillipa found herself playing host to the white haired Witcher for several hours. Surprisingly, she found herself not minding it. Believe it or not, Philippa did not dislike Geralt, not really. Sure, she found him to be painfully small minded, and he has worked against her efforts at times, but he also was central to ridding the world of Vilgefortz, and did help aid her efforts to install Saskia as monarch, even if those efforts ultimately failed. Plus, Geralt, roughness aside, was a worldly man. He traveled all over the continent, and lived many years. Philippa barely spoke to the villagers of White Orchard. What could they possibly talk about, the weather? How well the fruit harvest came in? Geralt reminded her of what her life was just a few months ago. It was…..pleasant.

But more importantly, speaking to Geralt allowed for her to gather some information. Philippa had been blind (no pun intended) and deaf in White Orchard. Geralt was an opportunity to figure out what was happening behind the scenes of everything. For starters, Yennefer was allegedly in Vizima. It had been years since Philippa saw Yennefer last. In fact, it had been years since anyone had seen her, outside of scattered and vague reports. There were rumors that she was dead. What was the raven Sorceress suddenly doing back, and so close no less. She would have to investigate somehow.

Philippa was pulled from her thought by Geralt standing. “Bout’ time I head back to the inn. Thank you for your hospitality.” He said politely.

“Think nothing of it. Your is the most interesting thing to happen in ages that didn’t include someone dying horribly.” She said honestly. “Come see me again maybe?”

Philippa wanted to see if she could squeeze any more useful information out of the witcher before he left for Vizima. Heaven knew when she’d come across something like this again. But also, on a baser level, she just wanted to see him again. Philippa was not what anyone would describe as sentimental, but 6 months of near isolation would make anyone lonely.
“I’m sure I can make the time." He said.

‘Got ya’ She thought
_________________________________________________________________________

Well, this was an interesting development. Philippa had been working on her concoction for 12 hours straight, she didn’t even sleep. The formula was meant to mirror the makeup of precious gemstones, but something strange was happening. Based on what she remembered from the text she read, the mixture should be a dull blue.

But her mixture was light blue...and glowing. Philippa had an excellent memory, but this process was much more difficult without the actual tome in hand. She’d have to run some more tests later. This wasn’t something she could mess up, it could prove harmful to her.

“What are you brewing there?” Came Geralt’s voice from behind her. He startled her, nearly making her knock over her solution. She had thought she heard the proximity ward go off, but she was so invested in her work, that she didn’t notice. All the same, she was glad he was there.

“Witcher! You scared me. These are much too tumultuous of times for you to be sneaking up on poor young women living alone.” She chided.

“My apologies. Figured you wouldn’t mind me coming in without knocking. Though you didn’t answer my question.” He responded, trying to get a better look at her cauldron.

“Just a small experiment I’m working on.” She stated. “Something I’ve been working on for a while

“Having any luck?”

‘I haven't had LUCK in months’ She thought woefully.

“No, not really,” She admitted. “But I have nothing but time on my hands to perfect it.”

“What is it supposed to do?” He asked. Philippa frowned slightly. Geralt always did have a problem with sticking his nose in other people’s business.

“Is there something you need Geralt?”

Sorry, didn’t mean to interrogate you.” He reassured her. “Just that me and my companion are likely leaving tomorrow.”

“And you felt the need to come see me, the humble little herbalist. I’m honored.” She said, stepping toward Geralt. She placed a light hand on his chest. “Though I doubt you just want to bid me farewell.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Come now Witcher. Coy doesn’t suit you well.” She drawled, as she ran her hand in circles over his chest. “You think I didn’t notice, you looking at me? You basically were staring holes in my ass.”

Normally, Philippa wouldn’t give the Witcher a second glance. She was a very sought after woman who had free reign to any person would have wanted. But these weren’t normal circumstances. She wasn’t in her castle in Montecalvo, she was in a small hut in the middle of nowhere. Her options in partners weren’t exactly vast. Sure there were some beautiful girls, but she doubted this rural area was enlightened enough not to frown on same sex relationships, too much risk for trouble. And she would be damned if her first return to men in years, would be with some dirty footed yokel. Geralt was not an ugly man, in fact he was strikingly handsome, aside from the scar on his face, but even that had its own grizzled charm to it. Maybe she was just horny and desperate. Regardless, he’d have to do. Afterall he somehow managed to get in the beds of Yennefer, Trisss, AND the late Lytta Neyd, so he had to be doing something right.

Before she knew it, their lips crashed together, tongues diving into each other’s mouths. His hands naturally slid down to grab at her plump ass.

‘Hm, simple, just like all men.’ She thought wickedly ‘I’ll have him eating out the palm of my hand.’

(Several minutes later…..)

“Uhgn….Uhgn….Uhhhgn….UHHGN….” Philippa moaned as Geralt haad her bent over at the waist, and rammed into her savagely.

This was not how she expected this to go.

For starters, she did not expect him to pull a 12 inch bitchbreaker out of his pants, though the more she thought about it, it would explain his popularity with women. He was reaching places in her that haven't been touched in so long. Philippa couldn’t remember the last time a man brought her this much pleasure? Perhaps in the 10th century when she slutted around the coastline for a few years, fucking any man she saw fit.; she was still young and reckless back then.

Geralt gave Philippa’s ass a hard *SMACK* causing the sorceress to moan wantonly.

“NYUUH! Again!” She practically begged.

‘Look at me, begging to have my ass slapped by a vagrant. It’s so low. So dirty’ She thought, mind in a haze as he rained down slaps to her fat ass. Her cunt dripped and gushed at the treatment. It certainly had been a long time, because Philippa already felt the familiar build up of her peak.

She felt Geralt snake his hand in her long hair, and give it a hard tug, and that was all she needed to send her over the edge.

“OhGodsOhGodsohyesohyes…..UNGHHH!!” She babbled as she came hard, legs shaking, cunt spasming. She was in heaven, after an extended period of being in hell.

She came down from her orgasm, breathing heavily. “Oh fuck me….I needed that.” She panted.

“What in the fuck?” Geralt suddenly exclaimed.

“Geralt? Is something the ma-” She began, before he suddenly yanked her head back by her hair, and brought his other hand to wrap around her throat.

“Geralt?! What are you-”

“Philippa-” He said, voice dripping with venom.

Phillpa’s mouth dropped open, at a loss for word. Her hands went to her face and felt around, and that’s when she realized she had inadvertently switched back to her true form during her orgasm. Geralt was staring down at her in silent fury, and tightening around her throat, finger gripping her hair like a vice, and cock still buried in her. Philippa swallowed, trying to think of a way out of this.

“Geralt….would you believe me if I said I had a good explanation for this.” She tried carefully. All that did was elicit a growl from him, and cause his hand to squeeze ever so harder around her neck, causing her to choke a little.

“Believe you? Don’t make me laugh.” He said bitterly “What is this, is this some sort of game? Are you after Yennefer?”

Philippa weighed her options. She was in a precarious position. She couldn’t very well go anywhere with his grip on her hand and throat, and cock still hilted in her. And something told her that he wouldn’t believe the, admittedly unbelievable, truth that her being there was a complete coincidence. When your back is against the wall, magic is sometimes the only way out.

“jesteś mój” She yells suddenly. Before The Witcher can react, a yellow mist envelopes him, and he goes still. His typically bright yellow eyes go dull, and his face slackens.

jesteś mój - ‘you’re mine’: an enchantment of the mind. Short term hypnotism spell. Lasts only a few hours, and useful to get out a spot of trouble in a hurry. Geralt was under her control. Or so she thought.

“Unhand me.” She commanded. Geralt didn’t move. “I said UNHAND-”

“I heard you the first time.” He said.

If Philippa had eyes, they would be as big as saucers. jesteś mój was a powerful spell. How could he have resisted it so easily?

Unbeknownst to her, Geralt had built up an immunity to mind altering spells over the years. Triss and Yennefer had been very liberal casting them upon him, to the point where he began to train his body and mind to resist the effects of them. Philippa’s little spell did nothing beyond annoying him further.

“W-wait” She tried. “We can talk about this. It’s not what you think. I’m”

“-fucked” He finished for her, before pulling his hips back, and driving them forward as hard as he could.

The sheer force of his thrust knocked the air out of her, causing her to gasp loudly. He began thrusting his hips, setting a hard, angry rhythm. Philippa’s hands went up to his forearm slapping and clawing at him.

“Stop….UNGH…..STOP….UNGH..UNGH...I COMMAND YOU TO STOP” She yelled as he rammed into her. Her haughty cries did nothing beside spur him to fuck her even harder out of spite.

He fucked her like that for a while, using her hair and the hand under her chin as levers to pull her back into him as he fucked forward. Philippa stopped struggling after a while, resigning to holding onto his forearm for dear life as her body betrayed her, and gushed around his member.

‘Goddman Witcher stamina. Doesn’t he ever get tired?’

Feeling her getting a little too complacent, Geralt decided to taunt her a bit.

“You know, I see why you gave yourself a nice ass as Tomira. Your real one isn’t anything to write home about.”

Almost as to defy his words, Philippa found herself thrusting back against him, meeting his thrusts.

‘My ass is perfect the way it is!’ She thought in indignation.

Geralt released the hold on her throat and hair without as much as slowing his fucking, and slid his hands down to cup her massive tits in his hands.

“These however….well they’re certainly better than your personality.”

Geralt pinched and teased her nipples over her bodice, causing Philippa to moan out. Her tits had always been sensitive. He gave them a sudden hard tug, causing her to gasp out in pain, and a bit of pleasure.

“Not so hard you brute!” She shot at him. Geralt just grunted in response.

“In fact-”

Geralt suddenly pulled out of Philippa, causing her to fall to her knees. Gripping the top of her hair, Geralt dragged her to the center of the room, and threw her on her back. He grabbed the collar of her bodice, and pulled, tearing it clear off of her, leaving her naked as the day she was born.

“Let's put those tits to some good use.” He growled, as he moved to straddle her chest. He let his cock fall between the cleavage of her breast. “Press them together.” he demanded.

Philippa looked at him with a defiant sneer, but obeyed nonetheless. She pressed her hands against the side of her breasts, wrapping them around his cock like two fleshy pillows. The Witcher began to rock his hips, fucking her tits, using them to essentially masturbate with. His cock slid through the top of her bust, hitting her nose every time he thrust his hips forwards, smearing his precum all over her pretty features.

“Is this what gets you off, you big cocked basterd?” Philippa panted as he continued to fuck her tits.

“I’m certainly trying to.” He responded. “You talking certainly doesn’t help.”

Philippa gritted her teeth at him as he continued to use her breasts for his own pleasure. She began to work her tits up and down along with his thrusts, and stuck out her tongue, allowing his cockhead to slip into her mouth, as she lavished his glands.

Fucked up as it was, Philippa found her body was responding to his rough, degrading treatment. She hated herself for it. She was used to being incontrol. She was MEANT to be incontrol, and here she was, tonguing his cock as he fucked her tits on the dirty floor of her hut.

With a sudden surge of strength, Philippa grabbed Geralt by his hips and rolled. Geralt was caught off guard, and thrown onto his back. Quickly, Philippa mounted him, placing her hands on his shoulders, and using her magic to keep him pinned to the ground.

“Looks like the tables have turned, Withcer.” She said, a smile creeping on her face. Before he could respond, Philippa lined her cunt up with her cock, and sat, impaling herself onto him.

“Oh fuuuuuck…” She moaned as she shuddered around him. She began to bounce herself on his cock. “This is more like it, you in your proper place.” She said as she rode him like a horse. Geralt said nothing as he scowled at her, and watched her tits bounce in front of him. Philippa leaned forward, enough that her breasts dangled right in front of his face. Getting the meaning of the move, Geralt craned his neck upwards, and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking on them hard.

“Good boy” She cooed. Geralt growled, and bit down on her nipple. Philippa yelped, and reeled back taking her hands off of his shoulders briefly . Geralt took the opportunity to grab her hands, and fold them behind her back. He then began to thrust upward rapidly, fucking her from below. She screamed and moaned as he fucked her hard. The sheer intensity and velocity of their fucking was causing the furniture to shake. Ingredients rolled off of shelves and fell off racks, but neither of them could care at this point; their unadulterated hate fuck was the only thing on either of their minds.

“Geralt….Geralt..Geralt-” Philippa moaned as he continued to bounce on his cock. She threw her head back in pleasure. When she did, she caught a glimpse of her cauldron sliding off of the table, right above Geralt.

“Geralt!” She yelled, but it was too late. The cauldron tipped over, dumping it’s contents directly onto his face. He spluttered, releasing his hold on Philippa, who immediately dismounted him. He sat up quickly in a coughing fit. Concerned more about her potion than Geralt’s well being, she pushed him out the way to assess the damage.

It was ruined. All ruined. Months of work, gone in an instant.

“Geralt!” She said angrily. “What have you done? Do you realize what you’ve done?!”

She got no response. How dare he ignore her.

She turned around to face him, ready to hex his balls off. She was shocked to see Geralt standing, now completely naked.

‘When the devil did he get undressed?’

Geralt was….glowing. Dull, but there. His yellow cat-like eyes were dilated, and his nostrils were flaring.

And his cock….Philippa could hardly believe it, but it looked as if his cock got even bigger, engorged and pulsating.

“Geralt..”She said nervously.

Suddenly, he lunged at her, grabbing her. This was different from before. She tried to struggle, but he was too strong and too fast. He maneuvered and manhandled her, until he slipped his arms under her knees, and locked them behind her head in a full nelson. He stood, pulling her clear off the ground.

“W-what are you doing?! Put me down this instant!” She tried feebly, face turning red from the degrading position he folded her into. Without a word, Geralt sank her onto his cock, and began to savagely fuck her.

Philippa let out a scream as she immediately came from being penetrated. This wasn’t normal. Her solution did something to him. He fucked her like a wild animal, using his hold on her in place as he ravaged her cunt.

“OhGodOhGodGeraltPLEASE...FUCK!!!!!” She moaned as she squirted around him. It was all too much for her, the intensity, the feeling shooting through her whole body. She went limp in his arms; if Geralt noticed, he didn’t care, continuing to thrust harshly into her dripping cunt.

His balls tightened, and with a roar, he came into her, flooding her cunt, filling her womb completely in just one massive shot. His other shots flooded out of her, dripping to the ground. Philippa’s mouth hung open in an ‘O’ shape, as a third and final orgams ripped through her. Her whole body shook and spasmed in his strong arms. Her mind went blank, as she passed out. Geralt released his hands, allowing Philippa to tumble to the ground. He stood there for a minute, breathing heavily, before following suit, and collapsing to the floor, unconscious.
____________________________________________________________________________

Geralt awoke a while later, head killing him.

“Hmm you’re awake.”

Geralt turned his head and saw Philippa sitting in front of him, staring at him with her cloth covered eyes.

He looked around, confused, before the memories came flooding back to him. All of them. The room smelled like sex and was in complete disaray. His dick was still wet from her juices, and she didn’t have a super happy look on her face either.

“Erm, how long have you been awake?” He asked suddenly sheepish. She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Oh not long. Long enough to contemplate turning you into a frog, but not long enough to go through with it.” She said tightly. He stood up, covering his privates. “Oh I think we’re well past the point of shyness, wouldn’t you say?”

Geralt frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, “Look, sorry about...that. It’s not like...I didn’t mean to lose control like that.” He said awkwardly. “But what the hell are you doing here?”

“Do you want the long or the short version?” She asked.

“Short” He answered.

“I needed a safe place away from Radovid’s wrath, and this wholly unspectacular village was the perfect place to hide. There? Are you happy?”

“Do you expect me to believe you being here has nothing to do with Yennefer?”

“I don’t very much care what you think. Believe it or not, I was here minding my business until you came and ruined all my work! Do you even know what you did? Do you-”

Suddenly Philippa fell silent, face going pale. She wrapped her hands around her stomach. And groaned in pain, her face creased in confusion, and worry. It reminded Geralt of when he last saw her, in Loc Muinne.

“The hell did you do to me Witcher?” She said in a pained voice.

“I didn’t do-”

Before he could finish his sentence, Philippa lurched over, and was sick all over his legs.

Geralt jumped back in confusion and worry.

“What did you do to me?!”

Chapter Text

(Art by Psychotey_art)

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME WITCHER?”

The Witcher carried Philippa on his back, running toward town. He could run faster, but given Philippa’s groans of pains and fits of vomiting, he didn’t want to jostle her too much.

Philippa felt sick.

She hadn’t felt sick in hundreds of years. Sans having her eyes forcibly removed of course.

No, this was different. In this moment, her body felt foreign to herself. Like it was rejecting itself. It felt as if her guts were shifting around in her stomach. Her torso was aflame, she was sweating, nauseous, and her legs felt like jelly. She was once again, truly caught off guard. If she survived whatever this was, she would need to make sure it didn’t become a habit.

“What did you dooo?” She repeated again in a whine.

“I don’t know.” Geralt said honestly as he continued running.

“Y-you gave me some disgusting Witcher disease!”

“Witcher’s can’t catch diseases.”

“You-”

“Eilhart, focus. I need to know where I’m taking you. Is there another herbalist in this village? Or a common doctor of some sort?”

Philppa just groaned, and was sick over his shoulder again.

“Philippa, please-” Geralt tried. He wasn’t sure why he was being so delicate with her. By all accounts, he should be livid at her, but Geralt was never one to leave a woman helpless, even one as grating as Philippa Eilhart. “You need to point me in the right direction.”

Philippa groaned, but responded “On the south edge of the village...there’s a man...used to be a doctor.”

Geralt nodded and picked up the pace slightly.

Philippa tried not to vomit.
___________________________

Geralt and Philippa arrived at the “doctor’s” residence. It was a small decrepit farm, and smelled of it too. Geralt was skeptical that a doctor could live here.

“Have it in you to turn back to your disguise?” Geralt asked over his shoulder. Philippa groaned, but morphed back in Tomira.

“Is anyone here?” Geralt yelled out.

“If you’re a Nilfgaardian, piss off! You’ve already done took all my animals except my goat!” Came a voice from inside the shack.

“We’re not Nilfgaardians.” Replied Geralt.

“If I owe you money, also fuck off!” Yelled the voice again.

“We’re not here for that either. Look I have a sick woman out here, and I’m told you’re the only one with any medical experience.”

The doctor didn’t reply immediately. After a minute, Geralt heard shuffling around in the shack, before the door swung open. Out walked a short, rather portly man, with a greying beard, and a balding head. He looked Geralt up and down, obviously never seeing someone like him before. His eyes then shifted to Philippa on his back, or as he knew her, Tomira.

“That Tomira on your back?” The doctor asked, taking a step closer.

“Yes. Can you help?” Geralt asked, feeling Philippa stir on his back.

The doctor went silent for another minute, before stepping to the side, allowing the two into his home. Geralt placed Philippa down on the doctor’s bed.

“I don’t know who told you to come here, but I ain’t done no doctorin’ in years.” The doctor remarked.
“She did.” Geralt replied, looking at Philippa.

“Hmh. Must be desperate, if the healer needs a healer. Alright, let’s have a look at you.”

He goes over to Philippa, and carefully sits her up. She groans in pain as she does. He pressed the back of his hand to her head.

“No fever. That’s good I suppose.” He said simply. “Alright lass, tell me what’s wrong.”

Philippa answered by being sick all over his pillow.

“Well, I guess that answers my question in a way” He said with a sigh.

“It feels….like my stomach is on fire. Like something isn’t supposed to be there.” Philippa answered weakly.

“Eat anything strange lately? Maybe spoiled?” he asked.

“No...never.” She answered. Philippa was very meticulous about her diet. The food at the tavern was…..questionable at best, so she cooked for herself most of the time. While not to the qualitative standards that she was used to for most of her life, it was serviceable, and she made sure that nothing she bought or found was low quality.

“Done any strenuous work lately?” He followed up.

“No.” Phillipa answered. Well now, that wasn’t completely true was it? One might find being thoroughly fucked by a Witcher to be strenuous.

“Wouldn’t have happened to go and get yourself cursed now? Because that’d be outside my area of expertise.”

“No.” Philippa replied, getting annoyed with his relaxed attitude to all this. Couldn’t he see she was obviously very sick?

The doctor grunted and walked over to a chest in the corner of the room. He rummaged through it, and pulled out a small sack, containing an orange powder.

“What’s that?” Geralt asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“This is freshly ground fielder root.”

“The ingredient for a sedative? How’s that going to help?” Geralt asked.

“My, looks like you know your stuff as well. Maybe you should be the one looking at her.” The doctor said curtly. Geralt raised his hands up relenting, and allowed him to continue. “While yes, fielder root is used in some sedatives, it has some properties that most city folk don’t know about. Here, smell this.” He said to Geralt. Geralt did, giving him a confused look.

“What does it smell like?” the doctor asked.

“Nothing.” Geralt answered.

“Right.” He said. He crossed the room, and presented the powder to Philippa.

“And you, what does this smell like to you.” He asked.

Philippa leaned forward and smelled the root, and gagged loudly. She recoiled back and covered her nose.
“Gods! That smells foul!” Philippa yelled. Geralt looked at her strangely.

“What are you talking about? It doesn’t smell of anything” He stated.

“Aye.” Said the doctor, “That’s because we’re not pregnant.”

Philippa’s eyebrows shot to her hairline, and her mouth dropped open like a gasping fish. Philippa must have misheard him. Whatever was wrong with her was affecting her inner ear, or causing her brain to malfunction. Because she could’ve sworn he heard him say-

Pregnant

“I beg your pardon?” Philippa scoffed.

“Pardon.” the doctor said.

“You said I was pregnant. That’s impossible.”

“Not what the root says. See fielder root is used for a lot of concoctions due to it being mostly harmless in its natural state. It can be consumed and even cooked with. Couldn’t imagine why though, it tastes like you’re chewing on a bit of tree bark. Goats love em-. ”

“I know what fielder root is.” Philippa said tightly.

“I’m sure you do, little miss herbalist.” The doctor started again. “But what most people don’t know is that there’s one side effect to it. It’s harmful to pregnancies. Can cause miscarriages. Nasty bit of work. Luckily when something is pregnant, the root smells like a boot that’s been worn all day. Don’t know why exactly, but it’s true. Breeders would use it to check which of their livestock and horses were pregnant. Has the exact same effects on people.”

“Well I’m not a goddamn mare, and I don’t care what your backwoods science says. It’s impossible for me to be pregnant.” She scowled.

“Why? You a maiden or something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No I’m-.”

Philippa stopped herself before she gave away too much information about who she truly was. But this ‘doctor’ had to be mistaken. She couldn’t be pregnant, in the most literal way. She was infertile. Magic did quite the number on the bodies of sorceress’ and mages. Most could not have children even if they wanted to. Like all things, there were exceptions to this, and a very select few maintained their fertility while practicing magic. But even in those cases, most magical schools mandated that all wizards go through a sterilization process regardless; the most prestigious school, Aretuza, especially. Proctor Tissaia de Vries was adamant about the choice: Being a wizard, or having a family. No one is born a wizard, she always said.

“I just can’t be pregnant.” She finished. “Your little folk medicine is faulty.”

Philippa attempted to stand, but her legs were still weak. The doctor attempted to help her by grabbing her arm, but she snatched it away from him. She had initially been too weak and distracted to properly cast a diagnostic spell, but now she had a little more energy. With her back turned to him as so she wouldn’t see, she cast a small diagnostic spell, attuned to look for pregnancy. She had done the spell a few times before, using it on court noble women while in Redania. It was a simple spell, one which even in her state, was impossible to mess up, like knowing one’s own name.. She would lay this ridiculous claim to rest. She might not have known what was wrong with her, but what she did know is that she was not…

She was not…

She was…

Pregnant.

Philippa was pregnant.

Philippa let her hand drop to her side limp, and she just stood there, face slack. She stood there silent, as her mind began to question everything she knew about magic. She was the most powerful sorceress of an age, intelligence boundless, but now, in this moment, her mind could not complete a coherent thought. It was all a cloud, all a haze. Her chest felt tight, as if her ribcage was squeezing in on itself. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. It was all she could hear.

How could this have happened? It was a statistical anomaly, near astronomical odds. What had happened. What-

Wait.

Her potion.

She knew something was wrong with it. It wasn’t the color it was supposed the be. The lighter shade, the glow. She didn’t make a potion to regrow her eyes. Somehow she made an EXTREMELY powerful fertility potion. One that fell right onto Geralt. And Geralt passed it onto her. The thing she worked so hard on over the last few months, completely screwed.

“I’m pregnant.” She found herself whispering.

“What?” Geralt asked behind her, but she didn’t hear him, not really.

“I’m pregnant.” She repeated louder this time. Angrier this time. Geralt stepped forward, reaching his hand out. Philippa spun around, face contorted into an angry grimace.

“You.” She said, voice low and deadly. Geralt felt the hair on his neck stand at her voice. He knew Philippa was a dangerous woman to anyone her wrath was pointed at. He just didn’t understand why it was pointed at him. He looked around the room and noticed various items were now floating in the air. The wooden boards on the walls were creaking and splitting, and magic was crackling along Philippa’s form. The doctor looked around, confused and scared.

This wasn’t going to be good.

“You need to calm down.” He said to Philippa, taking another step toward her.

“Do NOT TELL ME TO CALM DOWN.” She yelled, voice booming with magic. Geralt was pushed back by it, knocking him off his feet and crashing through the shack’s door. The contents of the room swirled around in the air like a tornado. The doctor cowered in the corner covering his head.

Geralt stood, dusting the dirt off of him as the livid sorceress stepped out of the shack breathing heavily. In her rage, she dropped her Tomira form, and was standing before him as Philippa.

“You need to control yourself. Now.” He demanded. “I know this is a shock, but you can’t take it out on this man’s farm, and you sure as hell can’t take it out on me.”

“This….this is all your fault.” She seethed.

“Don’t see how.” Geralt replied.

Philippa gave a humorless laugh.

“You really are a stupid, STUPID bastard, aren’t you Geralt.” She said. “Do you think I was going around, fucking every villager I saw?”

“I mean-”

Geralt narrowly avoided a plank of wood that was thrown telekinetically at him. Obviously that was the wrong thing to say.

“You’re the only person I’ve slept with in the last 6 months. Hell, you’re the only man I’ve slept with in YEARS.”

Geralt just stared at her, mind wrapping itself around her words and what she was implying.

“What are you saying Philippa?” He asked, voice suddenly hoarse.

“YOU impregnated me, you fucking idiot.” She ground out.

Geralt was a pale man already, but his complexion nearly went as white as his hair at her words.

“That’s impossible. Witchers are sterile.” He said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than her.

“So are wizards, but I guess we’re both learning much we didn’t fucking know today, now aren’t we?” She replied, voice scathing.

His brain was moving a mile a minute. The first thing to come to his mind, the first inclination he had, was to turn heel, and just RUN. To just remove himself from the raging sorceress and this fucked up scenario he found himself in. He wasn’t sure where that voice came from in his mind. It was against his nature, and he felt a bit of shame the moment it passed through his mind. But what else could he feel. This was not a scenario he ever envisioned himself in, even in the wild tale that was his life. Children were not an option for Witchers by design. It was hammered into his head that he would never sire children, and here he was, in front of a sorceress claiming to be carrying his.

Yennefer

Oh Yennefer. What would she think of all of this? What could he even say? That he somehow defied nature and managed to knock up a fellow sorceress, one that she hated no less. This was all fucked up. He was a man who had been through alot in his life, many stressful and dangerous situations, but this was just completely foreign to him. A child

His child.

The thought scared him. It really did.

Philippa was still seething in front of him, magic whirling out of control, causing damage all around. Even in his admittedly panicked state, he needed to get a handle on this situation before it drew any unneeded attention.

“Philippa, please-” He tried, trying to placate her. “You need to calm down. We can...talk about this.”

“Talk? TALK?! What makes you think I want to talk to you? Do you know what you did to me? You...you...Dammit!” She screamed in frustration. Geralt showed his hands, and took a small step toward Philippa, as if he was dealing with a cornered animal.

“Calm down. Just breathe. I know this is a lot to take in. I can hardly believe it myself. But please, relax. You can’t draw attention to yourself.” He tried soothingly. Philippa’s breathing started to slow.

“Calm.” She said strangely.

“Calm” He mirrored.

“I’m calm. I’m calm.” She started to say. “I’m...pregnant.”

And with that, she fainted. Geralt was able to catch her before she hit the ground, cradling her head in one hand as the other wrapped around her back, gently lowering her to the ground.

The doctor slowly emerged from his now ruined shack, looking around nervously.

“Uhm sir.” The doctor asked. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Nothing.” Geralt said simply. He grabbed his gold pouch from the Griffin bounty, and tossed it at the doctor, who clumsily caught it. “For the damages.”

Geralt then scooped Philippa into his arms, not entirely sure what to do next.
_______________________________________________________________________________

Vesemir was having a lovely day.

With Geralt out doing whatever (or whomever), Vesemir took the day to just relax before they hit the path again. His body was fully healed, and he enjoyed the nature of White Orchard. It really was a lovely village, despite the Nilfgaardians. Places like it reminded him why he went back on the path time after time, even as he got into his old age.

Vesemir entered the inn, waving hello to the innkeeper. Lovely lady he thought. He went up to the room, planning on taking a nice nap, waiting for Geralt to return from his “visit”. When he opened the door, he was met with the sight of Geralt already being there, sitting in a chair with his head buried in his hands. He was also met with the site, of an unconscious woman in his bed.

Well the lovely day was nice while it lasted.

Vesemir quickly closed the door behind him, getting Geralt’s attention.

“Ves..” Geralt said quietly, with vulnerability Vesemir hadn’t heard from him in a long time.

“What is it wolf? What’s going on?” Vesemir asked in concern. “Who is this?”

“Philippa….Philippa Eilhart.”

“The sorceress? The wanted Sorceress?”

“The very same.”

“Well what is she doing HERE? I thought you went to visit that herbalist, Tomira?” Asked Vesmir. Geralt frowned deeply.

“This IS Tomira.” Geralt answered, voice bitter.

“Ok, so you slept with a Polymorph. Happened to the best of us. But what is she doing HERE?” Vesemir pushed. Geralt was not one to do things without reason, or foolheartedly.

“She’s….pregnant Vesemir.” He answered slowly, looking at the floorboards.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Vesemir stated. Geralt looked up at him, eyes almost pleading.

“I got her pregnant.” Geralt said simply. Vesemir just stared back at the younger wolf...and then laughed. A full belly laugh, as if he just heard the funniest yarn in the world. His laugh echoed slightly in the room, and he was sure they could hear him downstairs.

“What? Did you hit your head while out?” Vesemir chortled. Geralt did not look amused.

“I know how it sounds-” He began.

“It sounds impossible.” Vesemir interrupted.

“-but it’s true. It’s goddamned true.” Geralt said gloomily.

Vesemir gauged Geralt's reaction, and did not find a hint of humor in it. His smile dropped as it dawned on him-

“Wait, you’re serious aren’t you?” Vesemir questioned. Geralt just nodded his head. “How do you even know she’s pregnant? You wouldn’t sense any signs for weeks.”

“Smell her.” Geralt said simply.

“What?” Vesemir asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Smell her.” Geralt repeated.

“Wolf, I’m not going to-”

“Just do it.”

Sighing, Vesemir moved toward Philippa and inhaled her scent. A Witcher’s nose was one of their most powerful tools. A well trained one could smell disease in a person. They could even smell…

Pregnancy.

Vesemir smelled her again, just to be sure. And there it was. She was pregnant.

“Huh, well I’ll be damned.” Vesemir admitted. He looked back at Geralt, whose head was back in his hands.
“That still doesn’t explain the obvious question. How?”

Geralt eyes closed tightly in concentration.

“There was this potion there. It wasn’t like anything I’d seen before. It spilled on me while...you know. It made me lose sense of myself. It made me feel different. I think It might've changed me?” Geralt explained.

“Somehow made you fertile?”

Geralt just nodded.

Vesemir stared at him for a moment. And then he began to laugh again. This time, it wasn’t at Geralt though, rather with him, although once again, Geralt didn’t seem amused.

“Gods Geralt, only you could somehow inadvertently solve the age-old issue of Witcher sterility.” Vesemir said, shaking his head and chuckling slightly.

“You believe me?” Geralt asked, unsure.

“Eh, why wouldn’t I? You’re not a liar or an idiot, and destiny seems to have a propensity to screwing with you.” Vesemir stated a matter of factly. “So, what are you going to do?”

Geralt looked at the floorboards again, face pulled back in discomfort “I-I don’t know? I just don’t know Vesemir. This is not something I ever expected to happen. This isn’t something I ever wanted to happen. This life, my history...I’m not made to be a father.” Geralt finished miserably. Surprisingly, for a third time, Vesemir laughed at him.

“Not meant to be a father? You have to be taking the piss.”

Geralt looked at him with a mixture of confusion and anger.

“Wolf, I’ve seen you go to the ends of the globe, to death's door and back for a girl that’s not even your blood.” Vesemir explained. Geralt looked contrite.

“Ciri is different.” Geralt tried. “She was older.”

“Nevertheless, She’s your daughter.”

Geralt’s mouth went into a firm line. ‘Daughter.’ He never used that word to describe Ciri, at least not outloud, but Vesemir was right. Geralt took care of her and loved her like one, blood be damned.

“Well look how well that turned out. I haven’t seen her in years, and she’s gods know where.” Geralt retorted. Vesemir just shrugged at him.

“So you didn’t get it completely right the first time. Who does? Maybe this is destiny giving you a second chance.” Vesemir replied. He then looked over to Philippa’s still unconscious form and frowned a bit. “Though, I wish you had more restraint in your partners. Seriously, what is it with you and dark haired witches?”

“Oh gods, what am I going to tell Yennefer?” Geralt mumbled into his hands

“Why tell her anything? You don’t owe anything to that sorceress.” Vesemir said hotly.

“Ves, don’t you start.” Geralt said, cutting off an impending rant. Vesemir harrumphed, but stepped forward, lightly placing a supportive hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“You’ll figure it out Wolf.”
________________________________________________________________________________

Philippa’s eyes slowly opened, her head killing her.

“Hm, you’re awake. How bout’ that.” Came a voice to her side. Groggily. Philippa sat up, and got her bearings. She looked around then looked at Vesemir, who was sitting, elbows rested on his knees, staring intently at her.

“Where am I?” She asked.

“The inn.” Vesemir replied, still staring at her. “Geralt brought you here, after you apparently destroyed some poor man’s farm.”

Right. The farm. It was all coming back to her. Everything. The rage, the confusion that she felt. She was still angry, and pregnant.

Philippa stood from the bed, intending to leave without as much as speaking another word to Vesemir.

“Is it true?” He suddenly asked, voice flat.

“Is what tr-”

“Do not play dumb with me sorceress. I got enough of that from Yennefer.” Vesemir said, suddenly standing. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. IS. IT. TRUE?”

In the past, Philippa had struck down men for taking this tone with her, and for much less, but something told her that that wouldn’t go well with Vesemir.

“Yes.” She answered simply.

“Hm” Vesemir grunted, slowly returning to his seat. “So, what now for you two?”

Philippa looked absolutely affronted.

“Us two? There is no ‘us two’.” She barked out.

“The baby growing in your belly says otherwise. Like it or not, you two are irrevocably tied together.” He scolded, as if talking to a child. In reality Philippa was likely slightly older than he was.

“You know nothing of the matter.” She snapped. “You know nothing about me.”

“You’re a sorceress who happens to complicate Geralt’s life. Believe me, you’re less special than you think.” Vesemir shot back.

“You WILL watch your tone with me, Witcher. I’ve turned men inside out for less.” Philippa seethed.

“Hm, I’m sure you have.” Vesemir said, not at all impressed with her threat. She just frowned at him. Who was this man to talk to her like this? To judge her like this.

“I don’t have time for this. Any other asanie questions before I wash my hands of all of this?” She asked sarcastically.

Vesemir just smiled slightly. “No, no. Think I stalled you long enough for Geralt to get back up here”

“What are you-”

Before Philippa could finish her sentence, the room’s door swung open. Philippa turned, and was met with a face full of Geralt’s chest. Geralt looked down at her, eyes unsure.

Vesemir stood from his chair. “Well, you two obviously have alot to discuss, so I’ll leave you to it.”

With that, he slipped past the pair out the door.

The pair stood in silence for a while.

“Can we talk.” Geralt asked suddenly. Philippa just folds her arms and frowns slightly, but nonetheless walks back and sits on the bed. Geralt enters the room and sits in a chair across from her.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

The two fell silent again.

“So, what next?” Geralt questioned.

“Your lovely partner just asked me the same dull question.” Philippa scoffed. “There IS no next. You continue on your little adventure after Yennefer, and I go somewhere, pretending you never came and ruined everything I had going for myself up until now.”

“You KNOW it’s not that simple.” Geralt said through a frown.

“And why can’t it be? You don’t like me, and I don’t have any particular fondness for you. Why complicate things.”

“You’re my responsibility now.”

Philippa let a bark of humorless laughter.

“I’m NOBODY’S responsibility.” She replied tightly, anger rising.

“You’re with my child.” He snapped back.

“I’m with your burden.”

Geralt opened his mouth, then closed it again, not sure how to respond to that.

“You don’t have to play noble. The….child you put in me. It wasn’t a part of either of our plans’. You and I both know that. You want to reunite with your Yennefer, and I want to live my life free, preferably not ending up on a stake. There’s no reason those thing’s can’t still happen.” She explained.

Geralt stood there silently, letting her words sink in. Logically, she was right. He could just go on about his merry way, to Vizima, into the arms of the love he hadn’t seen in years. Philippa was always clinically logical like that.

“What does that mean for our child?” He found himself asking.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” She replied.

No, he didn’t. He knew what she was implying, what she meant, but he didn’t know if he actually wanted her to say it.

“I can’t let you do that. This is not a decision you can make on your own dammit” He said, standing. He couldn’t. Despite everything, despite who she was, his child was in her.

His.

Philippa almost gave him a sad smile.

“That’s your first mistake. Thinking a man has ever LET me do anything.”

Suddenly, a portal opened behind Philippa, in the wall of the room. Geralt tried to reach out for her, but it was too late. One moment she was there, one moment she wasn’t. She was gone.
________________________________________________________________________________

Philippa teleported to her hut outside of the village. She had to act quickly. She already suspected that Geralt was on his way there to stop her from what she planned to do. What she needed to do. She rooted around her workstation and cabinets, looking for what she needed.

Fielder Root.

It smelled like death to her, but she supposed that was the point. She placed it in her mortar, and ground it into a fine powder. She mixed it in some water, making an orange, foul smelling beverage. The mixture should suit her needs. To get rid of the baby inside of her.

She didn’t ask for any of this. It was all a mistake, one big mistake in a long line of mistakes she’s made over the past few months. All the control she had her whole life was slipping. She was slipping, but this, this she could control. She could take control of her body, do things by her own will, by her own wants.
Least that’s what she told herself.

It dawned on Philippa that this was no small act she was taking. The baby growing inside of her….it was something unique. Something special. The child of a Wizard and a Witcher; who’d have ever guessed it to be something possible. But she didn’t ask for it. It was a burden among many others. She had to focus on getting her eyes back, her station in life back, reform the Lodge of Sorceresses. To her, the child was nothing but a distraction.

Philippa’s life was goal oriented. It always has been, ever since her days at Aretuza. Her teachers always told her it was a great characteristic of her’s, to always look forward, to always look at the bigger picture, the foreseeable and unforeseeable future. So for her, a child was just an anchor. An anchor pinning her to a moment in time. Just like stagnant water, it was hazardous to her. Something she just couldn’t abide by. Did she want to do this? No. She needed to.

Well….at least that’s what she told herself.

She brought the mixture up to her lips, ready to drink it down, when suddenly, a vision came upon her.
She found herself in a field of high grass, grass coming up to her hips. A field that seemed endless. She looked up, and the sky was gray. Not gray as if rain was to come, but gray, no, silver. Silver like a newly minted coin.. She couldn’t see the sun, but she knew it was there looking down on her. She looked around the endless field and spotted a solitary tree in the distance. Out of place. Out of time. She walked toward the tree, and although it seemed far away, she got to it in only a few steps.

The tree was small, young. It had small, weak looking branches, and the trunk was narrow. A sapling, freshly grown from a seed. But it was a tree with so much potential. The kind that could grow to be the tallest anyone had ever seen. The kind that could be great.

As long as no one cut it down before it’s time.

Philippa was brought back to the present, and her hut. She shuddered, and found herself gasping for air. She drew down the mixture, and sank down to her knees.

A vision.

She hadn’t had a vision that detailed, that vivid since her time with Ciri.

And like Ciri, the vision was telling her something.

Telling her to do something that was against her nature, her perceived better judgement.

It was telling her to keep the child.

She didn’t know what to make of it. What to make of what destiny, the energy of the universe was telling her to do. The direction her magic was pulling her in. She didn’t like not knowing. This was all so wrong. She was in control. She was. Why now, in the most tumultuous time in her life, did everything seem to work against her, to work against what she knew, or thought she knew. Work against the ideals she built for herself all these centuries. Why?

Philippa sat there on her knees for a while in silence, just thinking. Trying to come to terms with the universe, and what it was trying to tell her. She inhaled deeply, and looked up, at nothing in particular and said-

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

She didn’t know if she was speaking to herself or destiny itself. Didn’t matter either way. The message was clear.

Ping

Her proximity ward. That must be Geralt.

Ping

He must’ve brought Vesemir.

Ping Ping Ping

Philippa frowned. No, that wasn’t right. That’s five. Five people.

Shit.

Philippa’s door was kicked in, shards of wood splintering all over the place. Before she knew what was happening, several men stormed into her hut, grabbing her. She fought and struggled, but they caught her off guard, not allowing her to properly perform a spell.

“Get your hand off of me!” She screamed as she struggled.

“Have you got her?!” She heard one man say.

“I got her! Quick, slap those special shackles on her.” Another said.

Philippa felt the all too familiar sting of Dimeritium shackles being placed around her wrists. Her magic was cut off.

“Alright” She heard a voice say.” Drag her outside.”

Philippa was pulled out of her hut, and thrown to her knees on the dirt.

She recognized the men from the village, five of them, all armed with pitchforks and small weapons.

“This her?” One of the men asked.

“Gotta be. She’s just like that old coot of a doctor described. Pigtails, bandaged eyes.” The man next to him confirmed. Philippa swallowed, not daring to speak.

“First the Nilfgaardians, now it turns out we have a fucking witch in our village!”

“We should burn her! Tie her to a stake and burn her!”

“That’ll take too much time. Let’s just lob her head off, so we can go looking for any other witches. I suspect the butcher’s daughter might be one too!”

Philippa’s heart was racing. This wasn’t. This couldn’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening. She can’t die like this. Not here, not now.

“Gentleman please, if you let me explain, you’ll see this is all one big-”

Philippa was cut off by a hard strike to the face.

“Shut up cunt! You won’t be talking your way out of this one. We took you into our village, treated you like one of our own, but you turned out to be a sorceress in disguise!”

“She probably also spies for the Nilfgaardians!”
“Yeah!”

“We should also pay those Witcher’s a visit too. I never trusted those freaks.”

“You don’t have to trust me-” Came Geralt’s voice suddenly. All the men looked, and saw The Witcher walking towards them, seemingly out of nowhere His face was contorted in a deep scowl. “But you damn sure need to fear me.”

The villagers all looked around nervously, fidgeting and gripping their weapons tightly. One man, whom Philippa presumed was the leader, stepped forward.

“Begone Witcher. This doesn’t concern you. Leave now and you leave with your life.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. This concerns me more than you could ever know. So how about this? Let the woman go, now, and I won’t run you all through.” Geralt threatened menacingly. He drew his sword, taking a defensive stance.

No one was backing down.

So be it.

Two villagers lunged forward, one armed with an axe the other with a pitchfork. Geralt hated pitchforks, so he dispatched him first, side stepping the man, and slashing him across the back, cutting to the spine. The man with the axe swung at Geralt’s head, but he ducked effortlessly. He stood quickly, using the momentum to slash upward, from the man's groin to his shoulder. He fell in two parts.

The remaining three men stood there, shaking, watching two of their friends killed in a matter of seconds. Geralt stood there, hands still as stone.

“Last chance. Run. Now.” Geralt said, voice as cold as ice. Two of the would be witch hunters, wised up, and ran like they saw a demon. The leader however dragged Philippa to her feet, and pressed a dagger to her throat.

“S-step back! Don’t come any closer or I swear I’ll end her.” The man rambled. Geralt just stared a killer glare, gripping his sword.

“Do you hear me?! Another step and this bitch dies!” The man yelled desperately

“Geralt, just kill this bastard already” Philippa said.

“Shut up bitch! And I’m warning you! I’ll cut her, I swear I wi-”

The word never escaped the villagers mouth, as Vesemir’s sword impaled him from behind.

The man dropped to the ground dead. Geralt walked forward to Philippa.

“Are you alright?” He asked while unshackling her. Philippa actually smiled at him.

“Yes...Yes I’m alright, thank you….The baby is too.” She said. Geralt’s eyebrows shot to his hairline in surprise. A small smile spread across his face.

“While this is a sweet moment I’m sure, you two need to get the hell out of town. Those men are likely going to come back in force.” Vesemir stated. He was right. Nothing good would come from them staying there.

Geralt looked at Philippa with pleading eyes.

“Will you come?” He asked, extending his hand to her. Philippa looked down at it.

Philippa could teleport anywhere she wanted, but to what? She had no allies, no home, no plan. She would be alone, with gods knowing how many people after her. Right now, Geralt was her saving grace. Her knight. She didn’t like relying on others, men especially, but for now, Geralt would do.

“Yes.” She said, taking his hand.

They went to the horses. Geralt helped Philippa up on Roach, before climbing on himself.

“I’ll misdirect the locals. You two head toward Vizima.” Vesmir said.

“Thank you Vesemir.” Geralt said earnestly.

“Take care of each other, you two.”

With that, Philippa wrapped her arms around Geralt’s midsection, as they raced out of White Orchard.

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you, we could’ve been in Vizima in minutes if you just let me-”

“No portals, Philippa”

“I mean, Really? Such a silly phobia. Portals are perfectly safe when cast by an experienced-”

“NO, portals.”

Philippa and Geralt had been riding for several hours, putting distance between themselves and the mess that was made in White Orchard. Deciding to give old Roach a break from carrying two people, he let Philippa ride saddle, while he led Roach by the reins. Geralt was trying to make up for the delay by riding hard towards Vizima, but it was still a distance and decided to slow their pace. They likely wouldn’t be there until the next day, perhaps even the day after, given the nature of the....baggage they were transporting.

The landscape had changed from the flat fields and prairies surrounding White Orchard, to the lush forestation that Temaria was known for. Tall green trees of spring, and rolling hills, only bisected by the road cutting through the middle. The Temerian River zig-zagged through the land, and the pair crossed several small bridges on their trek. Geralt knew the area well, having taken many Witcher contracts along this path, both before and after he lost his memories. It was an area Geralt felt comfortable in, one where he could easily spend many a day taking in the scenery and killing monsters.

Philippa however was not as amenable to the landscape as The Witcher. Philippa had been to Temaria many times of course in her political career. Generally though, she’d only teleport right into Vizima, or the various castles in the area. And when she did need to physically travel for whatever reason, it would typically be in a carriage with people to attend to her requests, and a beautiful woman to attend to her needs. Never did she think she’d be riding through the countryside like some yokel, and she especially didn’t think it would be because of a Witcher with a phobia of portals.

“Well can we at least stop soon?” Philippa requested haughtily

“We’ve only been on the road a few hours. There’s still a bit of sunlight left.” Geralt explained. “I’ve already lost too much time in White Orchard.”

Philippa frowned at Geralt’s rebuttal.

“Plus we need to put distance between us and any would be witch hunters who decide to do something stupid like come after us.”

She frowned even more at that.

“You shouldn’t have let any of them alive. Witch Hunters deserve no quarter.” She reprimanded. Geralt just looked up at her arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well some would say the same about you.” He retorted, garnering an even deeper scowl from Philippa. “I’m not going to cut down men running and cowering away. Don’t need to prove what they think of Witchers true.”

Philippa didn’t need a lecture from the Witcher, she needed to stop before she hexed the back of Geralt’s grey head. That wouldn’t be very productive in her goal to find somewhere safe. She thought for a minute, and then smiled slyly to herself. Holding her stomach, she began to groan quietly, not too loud, but loud enough that she saw his ears perk up, and his neck tense. He stopped and looked up at her, with concern in his eyes.

“Something wrong?” He asked

“Just some stomach pains.” She answered, laying the discomfort in her voice, on thick. She heard Geralt make a voice low in his throat, and his face scrunch in minor annoyance, before sighing.

“I’ll see if I can find us a place to lay for the night. He grumbled. Philippa smiled to herself.

‘Well that’s one thing this child is useful for’

They rode for a few more minutes before coming upon a clearing slightly off the main road; accessible enough by horse, but still mostly hidden by trees.

“Perfect.” Geralt said. Philippa was confused.

“I thought you were finding us a place to rest?” She questioned.

“You’re looking at it.” He responded as he began to unpack Roach.

“What? You can’t be serious. You’d have me sleep outside? Why can’t we find an inn?” She whined. Geralt just continued setting up camp.

“Can’t very well do that without money. Had to give my gold from the Griffin contract to that doctor whose farm you nearly leveled.” He explained. Philippa had enough humility to look slightly contrite. “And I doubt in the hurry of everything, you happened to bring any money.”

Philippa didn’t answer, but folded her arms and pouted.

“That’s what I thought. I know it might not be to your usual standards, but it’s not a bad spot to make camp for the night.” He began. She didn’t look too convinced. “Soft grass, not too many rocks, coverage from prying eyes, honestly I’d kill to sleep somewhere like this often while on the path.”

“Maybe you and your Witcher friends are accustomed to sleeping in the dirt and filth, but I’m not. Even at my most desperate, I still have a semblance of class” Philippa said nastily. Geralt just gave her a hard look. She clearly wasn’t going to make this easy.

“Look either, we ride for the next 18 or so hours to get straight to Vizima - which I could do no problem, but I don’t think you or Roach would enjoy that very much -or we rest here for the night. Your choice.” He said in ultimatum.

Philippa’s eyebrows knitted downwards and she pursed her lips together.

“I don’t suppose you have anything to eat then.” She sighed, relenting to his point.

“I have some salt cured pork and dried tomatoes. I can also catch some squirrels once I am finished making camp.” He said.

This time her stomach actually cramped in pain.
____________________

‘Is this what Witchers do in their free time?’ Philippa thought.

It was well into the evening now, with the sun fully set. Geralt quickly built the camp and fire, and true to his word, caught some rabbits for them to eat. Well, he ate his. Philippa took a bite or two before she set it down on principle. After that however, the pair just sat there in silence for hours. Geralt had a journal that he would periodically write and scribble in, but other than that, he just sat there in complete silence, neutral expression on his face.

‘Seriously? He’s just been sitting there scribbling in that little book of his.’

Philippa was nearly crawling out of her skin. Stuck in a dark forest, with nothing to do, listening to the sounds of bugs and creatures of the night. She was so used to spending her knights reading some literature, theory, partying with the nobility, not sitting in the dirt with a moody Witcher.

“Not sure what to do with yourself?” Geralt suddenly asks.

“Hmph. I just figured there’d be something a bit more productive to do.” Philippa responded.

“You’re the one who wanted to stop.” Geralt responded. “Speaking of, how’s the...how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Philippa responded, a bit harsher than intended. Geralt breathed through his nose, almost as a sigh of relief.

“Good...good.” He said simply.

The pair fell back into an awkward silence.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Geralt asked.

“Not much I could do to stop you.” Philippa retorted. Geralt ignored her attitude and pressed on.

“That potion. The one that likely caused all this….what was it?”

Philippa had expected he’d eventually ask about the potion that tied them together like this. She thought over whether she would tell him the truth of her goal or not, she didn’t owe him any explanation; as far as she was concerned, it was his fault that the solution spilled on him in the first place. However, she had no reason to lie at this point. It was gone; all her work, even in error, was gone. It didn’t matter either way at the moment.

“It was an experimental potion, meant to simulate the properties of rare gemstones in the process of experimental regenerative magic.” Philippa explained academically.

“Regenerative magic. Hard. Nearly impossible.” Geralt interjected.

“Yes. Nearly impossible. But I wouldn’t be the sorceress that I am if I didn't try.” She retorted.

“Only one wizard as far as I know found any success in it-” Geralt began.

“Geralt, let me stop you right there. If your next words were to compare me to that madman Vilgefortz, just know that you’re very next moment would be me turning you inside out. Magic has no owner or master.” She said, voice cold as ice. She was nothing like that man who nearly destroyed the Northern Kingdoms. Nothing. If Geralt had any objections, he didn’t voice them, and allowed her to continue. “Manuscripts on the theory of regenerative magic go back as far as the 7th century. I read one back a few decades ago,”

“And you tried to recall it from memory?” Geralt asked skeptically.

“I have a very good memory.” She answered, a bit annoyed at Geralt questioning.

“So….where did you go wrong?” Geralt queried. Philippa frowned deeply. It was a fair question, but all it served to do was remind Philippa that she didn’t actually know herself where she went wrong. Magic is so delicate, so precise, that even the most miniscule error, the slightest miscalculation or mismeasure can cause catastrophe. As indicated by the child growing in her belly. If she attempted the experiment again, who’s to say the outcome wouldn’t be the same, or worse even.

“It….doesn’t matter.” She attested. “All that matters is it didn’t work as intended.”

Geralt let out a bark of laughter.

“I’ll fucking say.” He chortled. “You inadvertently made the most powerful fertility potion known to man.”

Philippa scowled at his accurate assessment.

“Regardless, it is not a mistake I will repeat again.” She added.

“Mistake….hm” Geralt repeated strangely. Philippa arched an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t elaborate. Geralt stood and stretched.

“Now’s a good time to call it a night.” He said. “You can take the bed roll.”

Geralt went to a pouch on Roach’s saddle, and pulled out a small pouch. He then went to the edge of their encampment, and started sprinkling what looked like ash, around the the perimeter of their camp.

“What are you doing?” Philippa questioned.

“This is Witcher powder. Basic repellent for most low tier monsters. Make sleeping easier and safer.” Geralt explained as he continued to spread the powder.

“And for higher tiered monsters?”

“Hope that I’m a light sleeper.”
_______________________________________________________________________

Philippa was eventually able to get to sleep, though she would hardly call it restful. The sounds of the forest woke her constantly, and the bedroll did little to hide the fact that she was in fact sleeping in the dirt. Meanwhile, Geralt was leaning against a tree, sleeping as if he was laid in the finest bed, although occasionally he would snarl, and mumble in his sleep and a pained expression would cross his face, before relaxing again.

When Philippa awoke in the morning, the sun was already high in the sky. She hadn’t realized how truly exhausted she was. Her body was changing, accommodating itself for the child, and it was zapping her energy. She groggily stood and stretched, looking around. She noticed that Geralt was nowhere to be seen. She wondered where he would’ve gone off to, as Roach was still tied to a tree, enjoying some grass. She walked down to the river bank that was close by, to see if she could find Geralt. She walked through the trees, and sure enough, at the bottom of the hill, by the shore of the riverbank, there was Geralt.

He was shirtless, practicing with his steel sword. He swung it over his head with controlled movements, and grace that Philippa honestly found surprising. His footwork made it look as if he was doing a fine dance, a deadly one.

She took notice of his hard, muscled body. Geralt was a lanky in a way: He had a long torso, and his muscles didn’t jutt out obscenely, though there was no mistake that they were there. His arms flexed and relaxed as he swung his sword in various ways, and Philippa, despite not wanting to admit it, appreciated how his back muscles looked as he moved. He was truly a specimen of a man, but if it weren’t for his glowing yellow eyes and gray hair being mismatched with his rather young looking face, he might be considered an unassuming figure. He didn’t carry himself like a soldier, because he wasn’t one. He carried himself like….well Geralt.

While she was appreciating his body, she also couldn’t help but look at his many scars. Decades of Witchering, decades of getting himself entangled in conflicts of kings and magic. His scars were a road map and a history book.

“Awake I see.” His voice suddenly calls out. Philippa jumps a little. She’d been caught staring (in a manner of speaking).

“Just wondering where you went off to.” She said, hoping he didn’t see the slight blush on her cheeks from a distance.

He did, but decided no to comment

“Figured I’d let you sleep after all the events yesterday. Did you know you snore?” He asked, sheathing his sword, and bending over to pick up his shirt.

“I-I do not!” Philippa screeched, insulted by his accusation. She stepped forward, intending to give him a piece of her mind, but her dress caught itself on a small rock, causing her to fall forward.

“Shit!” She yelled as she fell, tumbling over herself down the small hill. She landed in a heap, her legs splayed over her head. Geralt ran to her and knelt down to check on her.

“Are you ok?” He asked in a worried tone. Instinctually, his hand went to her belly, as if he was checking on the child, that was no more than a day into its growth. Philippa scowled and pushed his hand off of her, and stood, trying to save some face and grace.

“I’m fine.” She insisted, brushing herself off, and pulling bits of twig from her hair. “Bloody dress.”

“You know, you should probably lose the dress.” Said Geralt.
“I beg your pardon?” She said, abashed

“Oh, not like that. Your dress is very impractical for traveling. Not to mention it’s easily identifiable. Unless you plan to be disguised as Tomira all the time, you probably need something less….gaudy.” He explained.

“Gaudy?!” Shrilled Philippa. “I’ll have you know, that my fashion sense was the envy of all of Redania.”

“And now most of Redania want’s you on a stake. So what now?” Geralt raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response. Philippa opened her mouth to thoroughly chew the Witcher out, but he had an undeniable point. Her style was a bit flamboyant, but that was by design. When she entered a room, she wanted to be the center of attention, and for those there to know she was a force to be reckoned with. Now though, she did need to be able to move with a little more discretion.

Sighing, she transfigured her clothing. She shrank the peacock like lace neckline of her dress, so that it was something more sensible. She also added a darkly colored hood so she could quickly hide her face if needed. She kept the bodice of her dress mostly the same, though she muted the burgundy color so that it was less recognizable Redanian, to the point where it looked woodish colored. She completely removed the skirt of her dress, instead settling on a pair of form fitting dark brown leather pants. Satisfied with her outfit, she stepped back and gave a spin so Geralt could take it in fully.

“Well, is this ‘gaudy’” She pressed. She took notice of his eyes roaming over her body and new attire, with particular attention to her bust, and new pants as they hugged her curves. She smiled internally, taking it as a silent complement of her beauty. Geralt was just a man after all, so naturally he wouldn’t be able to resist her objectively great looks, she thought to herself.

“Well...People won’t be staring at you to kill you, that’s for sure.” Geralt finally said, causing Philippa to smirk slightly.

‘You’re damn right.’ She thought proudly.

“What about the feathers?” Geralt pointed to the feathers embedded into the top of Philippa’s hair.

“What about them?” She asked defensively.

“Shouldn’t they go too? They stand out a bit.”

“The feathers are non-negotiable.”

“Seriously, they stand out, A LOT.”
Geralt reached forward to pluck the feathers out of her hair. She quickly brought her hand up and extended her index finger. A quick bolt of lightning shot from it, hitting him in the wrist.

“Ow!” He said, pulling his wrist back and rubbing it.

“The feathers are NON-NEGOTIABLE.” She repeated sternly.

“Alright, alright, fine.” He relented.

“Well, now that that’s handled, make me some breakfast. I’m famished.” She said, as she turned and walked back up the hill, leaving Geralt to stare at her ass and contemplate the conflicting emotions going on in his head.
____________________________________________________________________________

The pair packed up camp and hit the road about an hour later. Geralt caught some fish for breakfast. Philippa’s usually small appetite seemed to expand overnight, so Geralt allowed her to have most of the fish, while he finished off the rabbit and salt cured meats he had stored. They rode in tandem, as Roach was well rested and fed from the night. They continued on the road headed west to Vizima. They came to a clearing, a man made one. Hundreds of trees were chopped down, leaving a cemetery of stumps.

“Hm” Geralt grunted.

“What? What is it?” Philippa asked from behind him.”

“We’re probably going to stumble upon a Nilfgaardian encampment soon. This amount of trees tells me they made themselves a makeshift fort of some kind.” He answered, looking around.

“Can’t we go around it?” She asked. Philippa had no interest in dealing with Nilfgaardians at the moment.

“Don’t want to stray too far from the road.” He answered simply.

Philippa didn’t like the answer, but she accepted it. They rode for a while longer before, just as he said, they reached a makeshift fort and gate cutting through the road. The wall was manned by several guards, who saw them coming and called out.

“Halt! State your business.” A guard called down from his post.

“We’re just looking to pass through. On our way to Vizima” Geralt called back.

“Well find another way. This area has had rebel activity. We are not allowing anyone not pre-sanctioned by the captain through.” The soldier said. Geralt frowned. This was the most direct, and safest road to Vizima. He already wasted enough time in White Orchard, and this was an additional delay that he did not need. He was too far to use the Axii sign, and even if he wasn’t, there were too many soldiers who would notice their comrade suddenly hypnotized. Though a Northerner, Geralt had to personal quarrel with the Nilfgaardians, so he wanted to avoid a fight of possible.

“We hardly look like bandits.” Geralt tried.

“We never know what you Northerners can get up to.” The soldier scoffed. “Besides, a man in armor with two swords, and a woman covering her face brings suspicion enough. Now begone with you!”

“If you’d just listened, we could-“

“My comrade has already given you your options.” Interjected another soldier. “Leave before you're fired upon.” He finished, flashing his crossbow.

Well this wasn’t going particularly well.

Philippa felt it was time for her to step in, before he caused an incident.

“Follow my lead.” She whispered to him quickly. Geralt couldn’t respond before Philippa started to groan and moan loudly, holding her stomach. This caught the attention of the soldier holding the crossbow.

“What’s wrong with that woman?” He asked suspiciously.

“She’s….pregnant.” Geralt said, catching on to Philippa’s intentions.

“Pregnant?” Repeated the other soldiers

“Yes. A few weeks now.” Geralt lied. “I need to get her to Vizima to see a proper doctor. No one in these local villages has the skills to properly look at her. Also why we don’t want to take any side roads. Might be dangerous terrain.”

To their credit, the soldiers at least looked sympathetic, though they were still conflicted with their orders. The pair began speaking to each other in their native tongue, and although his Nilfgaardian was a bit rusty, he could make out they were weighing the pros and cons of just letting them through.

“What are you two doing?” Came an unseen voice.

“Captain! We were just-”

“Silence. I’ll see for myself.”
The Nilfgaardian captain came into view at the top of the gate. He looked down at Geralt and Philippa suspiciously.

“Soldier, who are these two?” The captain asked, addressing the soldier with the crossbow

“Erhm- just a man and his pregnant wife. They want to get through. We told them we were ordered not to allow anyone through, and they refuse to leave.”

Geralt’s eye twitched a tad at Philippa being called his wife, but now was not the time to give away the ruse.

“A single man and a woman with child has you armed and at the ready?” The captain admonished. “Stand down soldier.”

The guard sheepishly lowered his crossbow.

“And you.” He said addressing the other soldier “Open the gate and let them pass. My order was to look out for bandits, and these two hardly look like bandits, now do they?”

“Yes sir. Open the gates!”

The gate slowly opened inward, allowing them to pass through. Geralt took notice at how militarized they were, even out in the middle of nowhere. It was no wonder the Nilfgaard troops decimated the Temarian forces.

They passed through the otherside of the fort, and were back on their way to Vizima. They rode for a while, passing a few villages and some more soldiers. They came upon a relatively empty stretch of road, with it being almost a half hour since the last saw another person.

“That was some quick thinking you did back there.” Geralt said suddenly. Philippa smiled a bit at his praise.

“Yes, well, one has to be able to think quickly in these types of scenarios.” She said nonchalantly.

“You had those guards convinced.”

“Yes. Nothing to it really.”

“....So does that mean you were faking pains last night to get us to stop?” Geralt asked, voice hard.

Shit.

She’d been caught.

Philippa went to her default move, and lied. “No. I was really in pain that time.”

Geralt wasn’t having it.

“You can not lie to me about those kinds of things. It’s too important. I have a right to know.” He said, voice rough.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic-”

“I am not being dramatic.” He growled, cutting her off. Philippa felt his muscles tense with her arms wrapped around his torso. “You have my child growing in you, and it is my responsibility to keep you and it safe. And for that to happen, I need you to be honest with me. I know that’s completely against your nature, but you have to change, NOW.”

Philippa grew angry. Who was he to talk to her like this?”

“Oh fuck you Witcher!” She shrieked. “You think I asked for this? Any of this?! I’m stuck on a filthy horse, with an even filthier man, with your spawn growing in my body, making it do things that are out of my control!”

“Gods, I’ve ridden with the literal Wild Hunt, and they were better travel companions than you’re turning out to be.” Geralt grumbled.

“And this is all your fault!” She added.

Geralt actually had to stop Roach, and look over his shoulder at Philippa, with a look of pure incredulity.

“This is MY fault?” He repeated.

“Yes, your fault!” She said again.

“Oh well do tell, how do you figure that. Was I the one who seduced you under false pretenses?” He scoffed.

“ No, but once you found out it was me, you could’ve just left-.”

“You didn’t seem to be complaining at the time.”

“-And you’re the one who knocked over my potion!”

“No I wasn’t. You were on top of me at the time! And you’re the one who placed it on the edge of your table.”

“Well you’re the one who went feral!”

Geralt opened his mouth and then closed it again quickly. She wasn’t….wrong. He had lost his sense. Geralt hated not being in control of himself, having his mind and judgement clouded. He almost hated it as much as portals.

“I- that wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t in control of myself because of your potion and your dark magic.” Geralt responded viciously.

“It was not dark magic.” Philippa said, defending herself.

“If Vilgefortz did it, it’s dark magic.” Geralt said.

“You take that back, NOW.” Philippa said through gritted teeth.

“Why? Don’t like being compared to your peers.” Geralt pushed. He knew he was being cruel, but he was tired of her at this point. The commanding attitude, the half truths and lies. He was tired.

If Philippa still had eyes, they’d no doubt look sad. She considered making good on her promise and eviscerating him, but instead, she just threw her leg over one side of Roach, and hopped off.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked.

“Getting as far away from you as I can.” She said angrily as she began to walk up the road.

“What? Don’t be stupid.” He said, following slowly behind her.

“Oh fuck you Geralt.” She seethed, looking over her shoulder. “We’ll end up killing each other, so why not make things easier and leave.”

“You CAN’T leave.”

“I dare you to try and stop me.”

Geralt felt the air around him begin to swirl, and saw magic crackle in Philippa’s hands. She was being impossible. But fine, he thought. If she wanted to act like a child, he’d allow her.

Child

The word rang in his head like a bell on the hour. His child.

He shook the thought away. No, she was right. If they stayed together, they’d end up doing more harm than good to each other.

“Fine,” He said. “If you want to go out into the world with no allies, nowhere to go. See how far you get.”

Philippa opened a portal. To where? I didn’t matter. It just wasn’t there, and it just wasn’t with him. Geralt tightened his grip on Roach’s reins, ready to ride off to his destination.

But neither of them moved. They just stood there in the rode, sun shining down on them.

Truth is, they didn’t want to part ways. They couldn’t

Philippa had nowhere to go. She had no allies, no plan, no money or materials, and the last remaining power of the Northern Kingdoms wanted her burned at the stake. If she left now, she wouldn’t make it through a week. She lucked out finding White Orchard, but her string of bad decisions burned that for her. Geralt at the moment was her only friend, the closest thing to a friendly face that she had, and he didn’t even like her that much. Though she hated to rely on him, he would protect her.

And Geralt didn’t want her to leave. She needed help. Despite his rough exterior and generally foul temperament, Geralt was a romantic, the dashing knights that bards sang and wrote about in epic poems. He would not abandon a woman who needed his help. Much less the woman who was carrying his child. He may not have asked for this, but he didn’t ask for many things in life. She was his responsibility, and he would protect her.

Both of them.

Geralt rode up beside Philippa and waited, not saying a word. After a minute, Philippa vanished her portal. Geralt helped her back up on Roach, and they rode away, in silence.
__________________________________________________________________________

They rode for a few more hours without saying a word to each other. They were close to Vizima now, with Geralt being able to see the Castle in the distance. He figured he could push Roach through the night to arrive, but by then it would be midnight. Vizima wasn’t going anywhere, and he decided to make camp once again.

He found a small clearing and laid down camp. He caught some squirrels for them to eat, all without speaking a word to each other. They sat there in uncomfortable silence, looking anywhere but each other.

Geralt eventually tired of the passive aggressiveness, and decided to do something about it.
“Alright,” He said, walking over to her. “Say your piece.”

Philippa looked up at him from her seated position and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you on about.” She said tiredly. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally.

“Say your piece.” He repeated. “We can’t pussyfoot around each other like this. So. Speak. Let me have it. Say all your gripes you have with me so we can move on.”

Philippa wrinkled her nose at him. What was this? Some sort of bonding exercise? She didn’t particularly feel like speaking to the man at the moment.

“I have nothing to say to you.” She said, looking away.

Geralt had a small, strange smile on his face.

“That’s okay. I’ll start then.”

‘What did he mean he’ll start-’

“Philippa.” He began “You might be the most aggravating woman I ever met. You are conniving, dishonest, power hungry, and not to mention you’ve literally had people assassinated. You’ve lied to my face numerous times over the years we’ve interacted, and in my infinite idiocy, I keep giving you the benefit of the doubt. One might think all your machination blowing up in your face would humble you, but it somehow made you as haughty and domineering as ever.”

Geralt finished his rant, and gauged Philippa’s reaction. Her mouth actually hung upon in surprise and indignation, and her cheeks were pink. She couldn’t believe he just spoke to her in that fashion.

“You-you pig headed bastard!” She shrieked. Geralt just smirked.

“Bit uncreative, but you’re getting in the spirit.”

Philippa scowled deeply. Fine. If he wanted her honest opinion, he’d get it.

“Geralt, you’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since I first met you. You’re always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and destroying years of work that your plebeian brain could barely comprehend. And for what? Chasing that harlot Vengerberg and so you could have one of this land’s most gifted and special children live a life of glorified pest control?! Do you know how far I’d be in life without your meddling? How far the North would be?!”

“You’re a right cunt, Philippa.” Geralt said, taking a step forward.

“And you’re a son of a whore, Geralt.” Philippa responded, now standing.

“Feel better?!”

“Yes!”

The two of them pressed their mouths together in a hard kiss after that.

They fell to the ground, tearing and pulling at each other’s clothes.
_________________________________________________________________________

Geralt and Philippa worked out a bit of aggression and pent up energy.

They fucked for several hours, from the dark of night, to the crack dawn.

Geralt started off gentle, slowly pumping into Philippa, still worried about hurting her.

It took Philippa smacking him on the ass and assuring him that he wouldn’t hurt her, or the day old baby growing in her for him to let loose and fuck her with force. Philippa found herself liking being absolutely manhandled by Geralt, allowing him to work out his frustrations with everything on her: being bent over and taken hard from behind, having her legs spread eagle as he fucked deeply into her, being bounced like a ragdoll on his cock. It was just what she needed to forget about, well everything. And she didn’t let him off lightly either. Her nails digging into his back as he railed her, would blend in nicely with his pre-existing scars.

The sound of their fucking echoed throughout the forrest, the grunt, the moans and the screams. Philippa was certainly a vocal one, calling out to the gods and Geralt’s name during her many, many orgasms. Geralt settled on grunting and growling like an animal as he fucked her. Every time he came, he would almost howl, like a wolf would. He also seemed to be trying his best to knock Philippa up again, cumming deeply in her 4 times, making sure he was as deep as he could get, and that every drop of his cum was pumped in her.

After hours of fucking, the two finally settled in each others arms, naked, sweety, smelling of sex.

They laid in each other's arms, naked to the world, in comfortable silence.

“Mind if I ask you a question?” Geralt suddenly asked.

“Mh. Not much I could do to stop you.” She said with a smile.

“What changed your mind?”

“Changed my mind about what?”
“About getting rid of...it.”

Oh. That.

Philippa didn’t really know how to articulate it herself. She could explain her vision, but visions are personal and meaningless without context.

“You wouldn’t understand, but magic gave me a direction, and I’m following it.” She answered.

“Hm, not much of an answer.” He complained.

“Well it’s the one I have for you.” She said. Really, Geralt accepted what she said. He didn’t understand it, but the result was the same. The child, HIS child, was safe.

“Mind I ask another?”

“Geralt, we just spent the last 5 hours fucking, and I’m ready to passout, so will this be the last one?”

Geralt nodded his head.

“Well alright then.”

“After you regrew your eyes, what was the next step for you?” He asked sincerely.

Truthfully, Philippa had no clue. She just wanted to feel whole again, and beyond that, she didn’t have much of a plan. But she wouldn’t let him know that.

“Geralt.”

“Yes?”

“Go to bed.”

Chapter Text

Philippa and Geralt decided to wake early, so that they could make it to Vizima before evening. After a quick breakfast of birds to Geralt caught, they saddled Roach, and got back on the road headed toward the city. Barring any other encounters, and Philippa’s health, it was only another 4 hours or so until they reached the city gates. One could tell that they were getting close to the city because the river actually slowed slightly due to damming around the various gates. Well, Geralt noticed at least.

Their cathartic shouting and subsequent sex romp surprisingly did wonders on their bizarre relationship. While they rode in mostly silence, it was comfortable silence. Neither of them were particularly skilled in the art of small talk, so they rode, enjoying the sound of nature. At some point, Geralt looks over his shoulder at Philippa. He takes a moment to take in her features. Even with a bandana covering her damaged eyes, she was truly a remarkable looking woman. Philippa looks up at him, and smiles back. Not her typical conniving smile, or lustful smile, but a smile of actual affection, even if minor. The wolf was growing on her

After about 2 hours of riding, the pair came across a blockade; not like the impromptu fort they encountered earlier, but rather a few guards and wood barricades. Philippa quickly transformed back into Tomira.

“Halt there.” Ordered a soldier as they rode up. “State your business.

“Just trying to make it to the city.” Geralt answered.

“And what is your business there?” The soldier questioned further.

“Meeting an old friend there.”

“Hm...you don’t say.”

The soldier stepped back and started conversing with another soldier in their native tongue. Geralt wasn’t sure why they were being held up like this. They hadn’t done anything to draw attention to themselves since they’d been on the road.

“What’s going on?” Philippa questioned from behind him.

“I’m not sure.” Geralt answered. The soldier he had been speaking to stepped forward again.

“You have very interesting hair. It stands out.” Said the soldier. Geralt raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Thanks…” He said awkwardly. “Listen, unless you have any more comments on my appearance, we’d like to be on our way.”

“Hold there.” Ordered the soldier, stepping a bit closer. “Would you happen to be one Geralt of Rivia?

Well, Geralt hadn’t been expecting that.

“I am.” Geralt answered truthfully.

“Ha!” The other soldier in the back suddenly shouted. “I told you! Just like the black haired sorceress described. White hair, scar, dour demeanor.”

Geralt perked up at the mention of a ‘dark haired sorceress.’ That could only be one person. “Dark haired sorceress? Yennefer?” Geralt asked hopefully.

“I suppose that confirms it. Though she never mentioned anything about a woman being with him” Said the soldier taking note of Philippa “Hm, no matter. He reached to his side and pulled a small coin purse from his hip, and threw it to the other soldier behind him. “You just cost me my coin, you know that?”

“What do you know of Yennefer? Where is she?” Geralt questioned. So close.

“I presume at Vizima with the Emperor.” the soldier said.

‘The Emperor?’ Geralt thought.

‘The fucking Emperor?’ Philippa panicked internally

“We were sent here to escort you to the castle when you showed up. If you showed up.” The soldier continued.

“We don’t need an escort.”

“I’m sure, but orders are orders. Please, don’t make this difficult.”

Geralt grumbled slightly. He didn’t want to have to deal with the Nilfgaardians, and he didn’t fully understand what was happening. Yennefer was working with Nilfgaard? Why? To what end? Yennefer was hardly one who got involved in matters of war unless she absolutely had to, and she certainly had no love for Nilfgaard. She hated war, yet she was in the company of warmongers.

Philippa’s mind was also racing. Yennefer defecting? Philippa did not like the woman, but she’d always seen her as a supporter of Northern Kingdom causes to a degree. And why would Nilfgaard take an interest in her? Emperor Emhyr likely had no love for the strong Northern Sorceress. Philippa was sure that Yennefer had mutual feelings for the Emperor.

Geralt didn’t want to go with them, but he also didn’t want to start a fight, especially now that he knew Yennefer was in the company of the black ones. He could swallow his discomfort and ride with them, if only for Yennefer. Geralt nodded his head, and the soldiers went to mount their horses.

“Alright. Let us be on our way. Do try and keep up you two.” The soldier said. Geralt thought of an unkind thing to call the soldier, but held his tongue.

They all rode off, headed to Vizima. There were 4 soldiers who accompanied them; two rode in front of Geralt and Philippa, while the other 2 rode behind them. Geralt had been in enough caravans to know what this was. Though they were being “escorted”, they were in a typical prisoner transport formation. Seems they would be guests of Nilfgaard whether they wanted to or not.

“So, what do you suppose awaits us in Vizima?” Philippa asked in a low voice.

“Honestly, I have no idea.” Geralt answered.

“We’re riding into a city where you have no idea what may fall upon us?” Philippa questioned.

“Don’t have much of a choice. Yennefer is there.” Geralt responded. Philippa frowned, not satisfied with that response..

“Yes, Yennefer. I must say, I’m quite shocked she would align herself with Nilfgaard. So much so where she has soldiers doing her bidding.” Philippa commented

“You don’t approve?” Geralt said looking over his shoulder.

“Hm, the exact opposite really.” Philippa admitted. “I’m actually rather impressed. Wish she showed half as much initiative with the Lodge.”

Geralt just snorted.

“Though I must say, I don’t particularly gain a whole lot putting myself right at the feet of the Black ones.” Philippa continued.

“You’re worried.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I’d be a fool not to be.” She scoffed. “The Empire is directly responsible for my current situation….well, part of it at least.”

Geralt made a low noise in his throat, understanding her meaning.

“They pinned the assassintation of Foltest on the Lodge, along with various others. They supported Vilgefortz in his mad plans. I am no friend of theirs.” Philippa explained.

“You don’t have to worry.” Geralt replied simply. “They don’t know your true identity.”

“Yes, I might be walking into the fire pits with a cloak, but it’s still a fire pit.” She replied snarkily.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Either of you.” Geralt said sincerely. Despite herself, a small smile creeped onto Philippa’s face.

“As comforting as your droll bravado might be, not sure what you can do against the hundreds of Black ones.”

“Only bravado if I can’t back it up.”

Despite herself, Philippa laughed.
____________________________________________________________________________

They arrived at Vizima’s gates after a few hours of travel. They passed through the main gate into the Trade Quarters of the city. Vizima was a large city, upwards of 10,000 inhabitants, and a constant flow of traders due to the city's location on Lake Vizima. Been a year and some change since Geralt had been in Vizima during his battles with the Salamandra and the Order of the Flaming Rose, and his subsequent time as a vassal under Foltest, he spent much time in the city. He even briefly had a house gifted to him by Foltest, but he never furnished it and imagined it had since been occupied by someone who could make some use of it.

Gods, how he hated this city.

It was dirty, cramped, and he found most of the people to be ill mannered and selfish, and that meant something coming from Geralt. Things hadn’t changed much under the occupation of the Nilfgaardian forces. In fact, besides the heightened military presence - and the city always had a large military presence as it was - nothing had changed at all. Still loud, obnoxious, and smelled of shit.

Philippa also had a history in the city. Hell, she was there a hundred or so years ago when most of it had to be rebuilt following a devastating fire. She was there during the 7 years war, working with a network of spies for Redanian interests. She made regular trips while advisor to Vizimir II and Radovid. In fact she was also in the city during the ordeal with the Order, and non-human riots that took place. Nasty bit of business that was. She was there corresponding with Triss and Kiera, to see if the Order made any bold moves outwardly hostile to magic. She was glad that Geralt ended up resolving the issue for her. He didn’t know it, but he had saved likely months, if not years of work. Plus anything that blew up in her former lover, Dijkstra’s, face was it’s own reward.

Philippa and Geralt were taken to the stables to house Roach, and then led to the Royal Quarters of the city. It was filled with plainly non-Temerian nobility. Seems the upper echelon of Nilfgaard made themselves right at home. Suppose they had to go somewhere; better than wandering around, making the lives of the simple folk harder.

The pair were brought to the main entrance of the Royal Palace. They entered the main foyer. Waiting for them was a man in expensive looking clothes, and several servants waiting for them.

“Mererid.” One of the soldiers said, addressing the man.” This is Geralt of Rivia, and his companion.”

Mererid looked Geralt up and down, and then over at Philippa.

“I was not told that there would be a female companion.” Mererid acknowledged.

“Just my job to escort them here.” The soldier said. “All other matters fall upon you.”

“Hm. Very well.” Mererid said. He took a step closer to Geralt and smelled him. Mererid wrinkled his nose, and took a step back, face in disgust.

“Not a big fan of strangers sniffing me.” Geralt said, frowning.

“And I’m not a fan of people smelling like manure.” Mererid shot back. “My word man, when was the last time you bathed. Geralt just shrugged. “No matter. You will be bathed and groomed before your audience with his Imperial Majesty. fortunately your companion doesn’t appear to be in the same dire condition you are.”

“Wait. I didn’t come here to be groomed. Where is Yennefer?” Geralt demanded.

“The Sorceress? I don’t know; about the castle somewhere I suppose. I was instructed to greet you upon arrival, and make you decent for his majesty.”

Geralt frowned deeply. Here he was, in the same castle as Yennefer, and he still ran into roadblocks. Why hadn’t Yennefer come to greet him, instead of this foppish ass.

Mererid clapped his hands twice, and the servant girls grabbed Geralt and Philippa by their arms, and began leading them into the castle proper. They were led down a hallway, which split into the left, and right; Geralt was taken one way, Philippa was taken the other. She glanced over her shoulder, giving Geralt a sympathetic look, before being led into a room to be prepped for the emperor. Geralt grumbled as he was brought into his room for the very same.
___________________________________________________________________________

“Hey, easy. I’m delicate.” Geralt teased.

“I’m sorry sir. I’ll be sure to use a delicate touch.” The servant girl teased.

Geralt sat in the bath provided to him by Mererid, as 3 rather pretty servants washed and attended to him. Though the circumstances were less than ideal, he had to admit that this was nice. The girls were lovely, and they weren’t shy while washing him. One girl tried to get a little too friendly when washing his lower body, but she was quickly admonished by one of the older servants.

Geralt enjoyed his bath, until Mererid entered the room along with another man. He simply waved his hand, and the servants left the room. Mererid walked up to Geralt, and lightly ran his finger on the Withcer’s skin and observed it.

“Hmm. It must suffice.” Mererid stated. Geralt stood and was handed a towel to cover himself.

“Think Emhyr cares if I’m clean.” Geralt said snarkily.

“The gentleman will refer to His Imperial Majesty by his full title or not at all.” Mererid lightly chastised. “The gentleman will be seated on the bergèr.”

“The what now?”

“In that...chair.”

Geralt crossed the room and took a seat in the chair that looked like it cost more than he usually made in a month of Witchering.

“Cledwyn.” Mererid called to the attendant. “Please shave the gentleman - sideburns to half an inch.

“What’s wrong with my beard. Always thought it added to my dignity.” Geralt questioned.

“It does. Yet it also detracts from your elegance. In Nilfgaard we consider beards hard on the eyes. Especially beards infested with lice.” Mererid explained, nose upturning in disgust. The lice weren’t that bad, Geralt thought. He hardly noticed them anymore.

“Been on the road a while. Fine, do your thing. Gonna do my nails too?”

“If time permits. Sadly, the day is short, while the list of hygienic and cosmetic treatments that the gentleman should undergo is really rather long.”

“Tilt your head back, please. And sit still.” Cledwyn requested. Geralt leans back in the chair as Cledwyn prepares to shave him.

“And prepare to answer some questions” Came a voice from the door. Standing there was a well dressed man, wearing mostly black He was very pale, even for a Nilfgaardians, and his eyes were black and looked sunken in.. Geralt could tell from his demeanor that he was military.

“General, I am not certain that this is the appropriate time.” Mererid tried.

“I can't think of a better time.” The man retorted. “Men turn honest when they feel a blade at their throat.”

The man took a step closer to Geralt, and bowed slightly.

“Morvran Voorhis, commander of the Alba Division.” He introduced himself as. “Before they take you in to see the emperor, Witcher, there's some information I need you to verify. It's a formality, but one that must be seen to.”

Morvran pulled out a small booklet and quill.

“Sure. Paperwork’s gotta be in order.” Geralt grunted. This shave was feeling a bit more like an interrogation to him, but wouldn’t be the first interrogation he’s had to sit through

“So, Geralt of Rivia. Place of birth -- unknown, parents -- unknown, age -- unknown... All insignificant details.” Morvran began. “Let us proceed to more recent events -- the siege of La Valette Castle. The fate of the defending commander, one Aryan.”

Ah yes, back when Geralt was an amnesiac, playing vassal to Kings.

“Let him live. No need to cut him down when he was no threat to me or Foltest at the time. Though he did set fire to the castle on his way out.” Geralt explained.

“Ahh, so that is how the blaze started. Our reports suggested the dragon was responsible.” Morvran pondered. “Moving on. You found shelter in charming Flotsam, and from there made your way to Vergen. My question is -- "how?"

Geralt didn’t appreciate his accusatory tone, but answered regardless.

“I left Flotsam with Iorveth, commander of a Scoia'tael unit.” Geralt answered. Iorveth. Geralt didn’t know if he could call the anarchist elf his friend, but their goals aligned and he was a good ally to him at the time. Geralt always wondered where the elf ran off to after Loc Muinne.

“A slayer of monsters and a slayer of men..you forge interesting alliances.” Morvran commented. Geralt could sense in the man’s voice that the General wasn’t telling him something.

“Something tells me my most interesting is yet to come. Go on, next question -- before my beard grows back in.” Geralt droned.

Morvran gave him an unamused look, but pressed on. “We shall shave you again if it does. Very well. The infamous summit at Loc Muinne. You were there. And once again meddled in the affairs of the mighty.”

‘The Mighty. What a load of horse shit.’ Geralt thought.

“Not at all. I meddled in a personal affair. Helped Iorveth lift a spell that held Saskia.”

“Yes, and in doing so gave Radovid a reason to begin his witch hunts. Congratulations.”

Geralt scowled.

Fuck this guy.

Who was he to try and place blame of a mad king on his shoulder?

“Nilfgaard recently started a war. Unprovoked. So do us both a favor and stop moralizing.” Geralt growled. Morvran didn’t look particularly threatened by Geralt, but he got a strange glint in his eyes.

“Out of curiosity-” Morvran began. “How did you and the elf lift the curse on the dragon queen?”

“Enchanted dagger provided to us by Philippa.” Geralt explained.

“Ah yes. The disgraced sorceress and kingslayer.” Morvran drawled.

“Figure the Nilfgaardians could relate with killing kings.” Geralt shot back.

“Tell me….What happened to Lady Eilhart?”

Geralt stiffened. It was minute, probably imperceivable to Morvran or Cledwyn.

Probably.

“She escaped.” Geralt answered. That was true.

“Any idea where she may have gone.” Morvran pushed, leaning forward in his seat.

“And why would I know something like that? She got out in the chaos. Probably fled the region.” Geralt lied. Morvran's eyes bored into his. Geralt knew he could lie well when he needed to. Lying was all about controlling one’s body: eye movements, voice, breathing, heartbeat. When he wanted to, he could lie as well as Dandelion. But something told him that Morvran was a man who was adept at dealing with truth and lies. The man just stared at him, face not giving away his intentions. Geralt sense the slightest movements in people’s faces, but Morvran’s was made of stone

“Our intelligence says otherwise.” The Nilfgaardian General eventually replied back. “But I suppose that’s an issue for another day.

Morvran stood from his seat, and presented the ledger to Geralt.

“I believe that is all. Your signature, please, affirming you stated the whole truth and nothing but the truth, on pain of imprisonment or death, et cetera, et cetera.” Morvran said quickly. Geralt took Morvran’s quill and signed his name. Not sure if this contract had any legal binding, but the Nilfgaards sure did love their paperwork.

“With these formalities seen to, I would ask the general to leave the room. We shall be choosing the gentleman's attire. An important matter, but one that does not require the general's assistance.” Mererid said, clearly annoyed by Morvran’s interruption of his work.

“Shame... I might've given you some advice. So long, Geralt. Good luck with your audience.” Morvran said, before swiftly gliding out of the room. Geralt didn’t think he ever heard a ‘Good luck’, sound so sinister.

His mind went to Philippa, wondering how she was getting along with all of this.
____________________________________________________________________________

Though she hated to admit it, Nilfgaardians certainly knew a thing or two about luxury.

A bath. Her first proper one in ages, one that wasn’t done in a river. She relaxed in the warm water, as some attractive young servants washed her body. She was brought back to her life before Loc Muinne, before everything went to all hell.

Despite her moment of relaxation, she was still thinking and planning her next move. She was in a very precarious, but potentially advantageous situation. Sure, she was in the proverbial lion's den, in the same castle as the empire she’s worked against for decades, but in the same vein lied an opportunity. The Emperor seemed to have made himself at home in the Royal palace, and everyone knew that home was where one kept their greatest secrets.

After her bath, the servants left her to get dressed in privacy. She was given a few outfits to pic from. Colors were a bit monochromatic for her tastes - Nilfgaard sure did love their black - but she supposed it would have to do. She quickly slid the dress on, apparently Nilfgaard women didn’t eat, since she found the dress to be rather tight around the bosom and the hips. She cast a quick spell to relax the fabric a bit, before slipping out the room. She cast On nie widzi, a spell that bent light around the caster, making them unseen to the human eye; an invisibility spell. Invisibility spells weren’t something to be used lightly. They could do a number on the caster’s body. Generally a powerful mage could hold the spell consistently for 30 or so minutes. Assuming they weren’t doing anything too physically exhausting that could take away from their concentration. Any longer than that, and the caster risked damaging their magical core and bodies irreversibly. Now Philippa was always one to push the boundaries of a spell, but she couldn’t risk it.

Her body wasn’t the only one at risk anymore.

She knew the castle well, having been there a number of times. She walked towards the south end of the castle; historically that was where the king and most important people would reside and keep their various offices and libraries. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just something that she could give her some information. She moved quietly in the halls, until she came across a room that had 2 guards stationed out front. Up until then, she hadn’t seen any rooms that had dedicated men; whatever was in there must have been of some value. She needed a way to get rid of them long enough to peak into that room. She scanned her surroundings, looking for something she could use.

A wall mounted torch. That could be used.

And a very long, and very flammable looking Nilfgaard banner right next to it.

Conjuring a magical wind, Philippa pushed the flame just enough so that it caught the bottom of the banner, and like a piece of tinder, the banner went up a blaze in a matter of seconds. The guards took notice and quickly ran to try and extinguish the fire, giving Philippa enough time to crack the door open, and slip inside. She recognized the room as the secondary library; kept many books, but was ultimately designated to house books of middling value. She walked toward a small desk in the middle of the room. She took notice of the papers scattered across the table. A few had Emhyr’s signature on them. Emhyr must have been using this room as an office at some point. This was exactly the type of thing she was looking for, however the papers weren’t things of particular note: Land acquisitions, orders of grain, minting new coins with gold supplies - Philippa was sure these would be important to someone, but it was nothing she could personally use or that interested her. Her eyes then went over to the book sitting on his desk, “The History of Abdication, 1231”.

‘Abdication now,” Philippa thought. ‘Now why would the Emperor be looking into this? Perhaps trying to force a transition of power in the remaining independent kingdom?’

She noticed the book had pages marked, and opened it to the page. It was in the section of the history of abdication in the Nilfgaardian empire.

-Barring vassal states and territories, the act of abdication has been a rare occurrence in the history of the Nilfgaardian Empire, especially of the willing variety. Going back a millennium to the very beginning of the empire, there seems to only have been 5 occurrences of abdication, 3 of which were through force or threats of violence, which will be discussed in a later section.

Focusing on the other 2 examples, we have Emperor Wilhelm van Servino in the year 449. Following a 23 year reign, the emperor chose to abdicate the throne to his younger brother, Chauncey, as he had no direct heirs. His reasoning was he wanted to live out his ‘older’ days in peace, and not be pressured by the stresses of the crown. Wilhelm was but a man of 40, and following his abdication, he died only 2 years later. It is suspected that he had some condition that he did not want made public knowledge, but it is only speculation.

Next we have Emperor Eric Judemas in the year 795. His abdication was a bit stranger by comparison. He abdicated as a result of his relationship with a woman of...lesser standings. A whore. He insisted on marrying her, but the Senate and noble houses would not allow it. So in an act of defiance, and some might say love, he gave up the crown to his son of his first wife, who died during childbirth. His son Eric II, whom was only 8 at the time, was crowned king, and his father was granted a wing in the palace to live with his wife. Unfortunately his wife left him for a high ranking officer of the military 3 years later, and he fell into a deep depression, one which he reportedly had until his death 7 years later. None of this much affected the functioning of the nation, as by this period, the Senate held much of the power and authority.

Technically abdication is a right of the Emperor, but that does not mean there has not been push back against it at times. There is at least one account of an Emperor attempting to abdicate, but through the Senate pressure, stayed on the throne. This might no longer be the case given the diminished role of the Nilgaardian senate, however-

Philippa heard movement outside the door. The guards must have gotten the fire under control. Quickly she exited the room, and started making her way back to the quarters given to her. She quickly slipped back into her room, closing the door lightly behind her, and dispelling her invisibility spell.

And no one was the wise-

“Madame? There you are? We were looking for you.”

Shit.

Philippa turned around, and there was one of the servant girls standing there.

“We came to see if you were dressed, and you were gone.”

She couldn’t very well have this girl letting slip she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

“Yes...I was just looking for my companion Geralt.” Philippa lied. “This castle is just SO big, I did not know where to look.”

The servant’s face softened, and she gave Philippa a smile.

“I can understand that madame. I get lost sometimes myself. If you needed help you could’ve just asked one of us. Here, I’ll show you the way.”

Philippa internally breathed a sigh of relief. She was in the clear. The servant began leading Philippa down the hall, and Philippa began to think. Why would the Emperor be looking into abdication? Was he sick like Wilhelm? Did he have a successor in mind? Perhaps she was reading too much into it, but this was something that she would have to keep in her mind, and potentially follow up on. Who knew where this information could lead.

Philippa was led to Geralt’s quarters. The servant pushed open the door, and Philippa was met with the freshly groomed Witcher looking very uncomfortable, and very out of place in expensive Nilfgaardian clothing.

“My my, you certainly do clean up nicely.” Philippa commented as she entered the room. Geralt glanced over at her. He fidgeted in his clothing, but gave her a slight smile. The servant girl bowed and exited the room.

“I feel like I’m going to a funeral with all this black.” He said. He took in Philippa, or rather Tomira’s form. The black dress accentuated her curves magnificently. The neckline was low cut, giving him ample view of her bust, which was quite the view even in her Tomira form. She was beautiful. “But you make it work.”

Philippa gave him a slight smile, a genuine one.

She almost looked like Yennefer in that moment.

‘Focus Geralt. Yennefer. That’s the only reason you’re here’, He reminded himself.

“If you two are finished, I’d like to get back to instructing the gentleman on how to greet the king.” Mererid interrupted

“By all means, don’t let me stop you.” Philippa encouraged.

“Now then, Please watch. Leg extended, hand flat, head down, chin to chest.” Mererid instructed, going through the motions of the bow as he spoke. “The gentleman will rehearse.”

Awkwardly, Geralt attempted to mimic Mererid’s motions. For someone so graceful on the battlefield and with heightened reflexes, he looked as if each of his limbs weighed a hundred pounds.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong.” Mererid admonished. “Once more.”

Mererid repeated the actions, then waited for Geralt to follow suit. Geralt just folded his hands in front of him and sulked “Gotta be kidding.” He grumbled. Philippa stifled a laugh behind him, earning her a glare from the moody Withcer.

“Not at all. I am mortally serious.” Mererid said gravely. “Does the gentleman know the penalty for breaches of etiquette in the emperor's presence? Two hundred lashes. I do not wish that upon him, so I will not let him leave until I am confident that he knows how to behave.”

“Come now Geralt.” Philippa interjected. “There’s really nothing to it.”

As if to show up Geralt, Philppa properly curtsied, showing off her regal nature. Geralt just rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath.

“See? The gentleman’s companion can show proper manners, then the gentleman can too. Now, again.”

Grumbling all the way, Geralt once again went through the motions of a bow. Still ungraceful, but this time matching Mererid’s actions.

“Hmm, lacking fluidity and grace. But we've learned to expect less of Nordlings. Come with me.” Mererid said, as he began to walk out the room into the corridor. Geralt and Philippa followed closely behind him.

“The gentleman will address the emperor only when asked to and using the
appropriate title.” Mererid demanded.

“Your Archmagnificency?” Geralt joked.

“I see the gentleman is in the mood for jests. I fear the emperor might not share his disposition. "Your Majesty" will suffice. Spoken loudly, clearly and with respect.” Mererid derided. “As for the lady, the lady will not address the king, unless addressed first? Is that understood.”

Philippa frowned a bit at Mererid’s tone. She had advised and cut down kings. As far as she was concerned, Emhyr should be honored to even speak to her, but there was a time and a place for that.

“Of course.” She said in a saccharine tone. “I wouldn’t even know what to say to such a great and powerful man.”

“Glad you understand.”

Mererid led them to a set of great doors, one the recognized as the audience social chamber of the king. It served as a place where the king could see guests and audiences for whatever purposes.

Mererid pulled the doors open. Standing in the room were several people, Geralt assumed nobility of some sort. And there, sitting at an expensive looking desk, was the The Emperor of the Nilfgaardian empire, Emhyr var Emreis.

He sat, lounged in his chair - only he could make lounging in a chair look foreboding, and serious - with a bored expression on his face. His head tilted ever so slightly to look at Geralt, the man he found entangled in his life and dealings for decades. His eyes shifted over slightly to Philippa disguised as Tomira. He quirked a greying eyebrow ever so slightly.

“Bow before his Imperial Majesty, The White Flame Dancing on the Graves of His Foes, Emhyr var Emreis! Bow!” announced Mererid in Nilfgaardian, going into a deep, submissive bow. Out of habit, and manners, Philippa curtsied as she had grown accustomed to in her many years in noble spaces. Geralt however just eyed the emperor, as if seeing an old rival. They certainly weren’t friends. Philippa lifted her head, and took notice of the intense game of masculinity the two men were engaged in. They might as well have pulled their manhoods out.

“Your Imperial Majesty.” Geralt finally said, not sounding much at all like he respected the title.

“As your Majesty wished..” Mererid began.

“All except the witcher will leave-” The Emperor orders. “And his...companion,”

Philippa looks at Geralt, shocked that Emhyr would keep her in the room for the audience; Geralt looks back, equally as shocked. The rest of the nobility file out of the room, leaving the pair in front of the black clad monarch.

“So many months at Foltest's court...yet you still haven't mastered the basics of etiquette.” The Emperor admonished, glaring at Geralt.

“Know what they say -- can't teach an old wolf new tricks?”

“True. However you seem to lack even the most basic of common sense, as you have not yet introduced your companion. I was under the impression you’d be arriving alone, or possibly with one of your fellow witchers” Emhyr commented, turning his head to look at the disguised Philippa. “Woman. Who are you?”
“Tomira Ibis” Philippa lied without missing a beat, going into a deep curtsy.

“Tomira…” Emhyr repeated slowly. “Hmph, and this companion of yours, do you plan to have her along for a while.” Emhyr questioned, turning back to Geralt.

“Have her along, for WHAT?” Geralt pushed. The Emperor looked at Tomira again, then back at Geralt.

“I suppose if she’s going to be with you, she might as well know what she’s getting into - My daughter Cirilla...she's returned, and she's in danger. The Wild Hunt pursues her. You will find her and bring her to me.” The Emperor said, standing from his seat and walking toward Geralt.

Ciri.

Emhyr’s daughter by blood, and Geralt’s daughter by fate.

She was back.

But how? When?

Why after all this time. Geralt didn’t let his surprise, his worry, or his secret joy show on his face. He didn’t want to give Emhyr that. Philippa was having her own mental crisis.

Cirilla. The girl of Elder Blood. The girl that had been at the center of her plans years ago. The Source. Philippa was somewhat surprised the Emperor would speak of his lost daughter so openly in front of her; as far as he knew, she was a complete stranger. Maybe he wasn’t the great tactical mind she always thought him to be.

“How many men in your army? Twenty thousand? Thirty? So why me?” Geralt questioned.

“You know why. Because she trusts you.” Emhyr answered as if it was obvious. To his credit, it was

“She trusts me, yes.” Geralt shot back, scowling at the man. “So tell me why you're looking for her. Doubt it's about making up for all those lost years.”

“For reasons of state. As always. Enough of this banter. You will agree regardless. If for no other reason than because I shall pay you. More than you customarily receive for a contract. Considerably more.”

Geralt just scoffed at the man flexing his wealth.

“Save your generosity for those whose houses your armies have razed. I'll do it for Ciri. Not for your gold.”

Philippa looked at Geralt as if he was crazy. Only he would admonish access to the wealth of the south. Geralt got quiet for the moment, and looked down in contemplation

“Are you sure? Ciri...left. Went far, far away.” Geralt said, voice a bit strange. Emhyr frowned at him.

“Do you believe I'd drag you here in the middle of a war to discuss a rumor?”

“I think anyone can be wrong, even an emperor.”

“I had forgotten how insolent you can be. I haven't the time to convince you, nor the desire, in fact. Yennefer’s letter will do that-”

What?

“Yennefer’s letter?” Geralt interrupted. “What do you mean here letter - where is Yennefer.”

A smirk spread across The Emperor’s face; a cruel one. “Yennefer left last night on official business in this matter.”

“What? Geralt growled. “Why? You couldn’t wait a damned day before you sent her out?!”

“Careful Geralt, careful. I might need you for this, but I’ve had men hung from the highest rafters for speaking to me with a fraction of disrespect you just spoke to me in.” The Emperor warned, voice deathly serious. “And she insisted she go. Perhaps if you didn’t doddle, you could’ve caught her.”

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, standing in silent fury, at Emhyr, himself, and Yennefer. He had traveled a long way, and waited so long to see Yennefer again, and once again, like so many times in his life, she was just outside of his grasp.

“Will that be all?” Geralt asked, trying to control his temper.

“Not quite.” Emhyr said, moving back to his desk. He turned and addressed ‘Tomira’. “Tomira was it? You’ve just become privy to some very sensitive information. I’d like to know more about you.”

Philippa raised her eyebrows in surprise. She wasn’t expecting him to address her or give her an opportunity to speak. She could use this. Maybe lay a seed or two into his mind.

“Well I’m-”

“Do please step closer.” Emhyr interrupted. “Your voice is too quiet and dainty for me to hear.”
Although a bit insulted that her voice was described as “dainty” Philippa stepped forward nonetheless. She crossed the room, moving toward her desk. When she was about 3 feet away from his desk, a sudden wave of sickness fell over her. At first, she thought it was the pregnancy once again affecting her, she looked back at Geralt, who’s eyes became wide. Then she realized-

She had changed back to her original form.

“Hm. I must say, I knew you weren’t who you said you were, but I did not expect the one and only Philippa Eilhart.” Emhyr drawled. She looked at him, unsure of what to say, or how this had happened. “Come now, don’t look so shocked. I spent enough time in a face that wasn’t my own to know when someone else’s isn’t theirs.”

“How did you-” She began.

“Thin layer of Dimeritium.” Emhyr explained. “Surrounds the desk. Makes dispelling possibly cursed items easier.”

The Emperor stood, and Philippa found herself taking a half step back. Emhyr wasn’t traditionally a physically imposing man, but within him was a capacity for such violence that even Philippa had to be wary of. Perhaps even fear.”

“You know, you have been an enemy to Nilfgaardian causes for sometime now. Tell me, why shouldn’t I have you stripped, beaten, and burned at the stake. Or perhaps ship you to Radovid as a bargaining tool. You know he put out quite the incentive for your head. Quite the bargaining tool between kings.”

Philippa was not one to panic. She was a calculating woman, used to thinking several moves in advance, but even she had to admit, she didn’t know what to do here. She was exposed to one of the most powerful men in the known world.

She thought about making some move, maybe she could kill him. Strike him down before he could do anything he had planned for her, but the guards outside would no doubt be upon her in seconds. She couldn’t teleport away, it was dangerous to try and do it suddenly without a clear image of where, and the castle likely had enchantments to block teleportation from within the walls unless at designated teleporters. She felt as if the world was closing in around her, and growing darker.

Then she realized it was just Geralt, standing close.

He moved in front of Philippa, pushing her back. He gently placed his hand on her stomach. She didn’t know why, but she covered his hands with hers.

“That’s enough Emhyr.” Geralt said sternly. Geralt’s cat-like pupils narrowed dangerously, like an animal protecting their pack, their young. Phillipa felt his muscles tighten, ready to move to protect her in a split-second.

“Judging by your reaction, you are aware of the company you have been keeping.” The Emperor said, taking his seat one more.

“Yes.” Geralt answered simply.

“And for what reason would Philippa Eilhart, the disgraced Lady of Montecalvo be doing with Geralt of Rivia?” Emhyr asked rhetorically. “Protection?”

“That’s none of your business. She’s off limits.” Geralt barked

“NOTHING is off limits to me.” Emhyr replied, voice hard.

“She is, if you want Ciri found. I need her.” Geralt said. Philippa looked up at Geralt, surprised by his declaration. Emhyr frowned, and leaned back in his chair.

“How?”

“You’re asking me to scour a war town continent, to find a girl who can leap through time itself.” Geralt explained. “I’ll need Philippa’s magical expertise.”

“Yennefer tried using magic to find Ciri, and all it did was attract the Wild Hunt” Emhyr pushed back.

“She’s not a tracker. She was relying solely on magic. I am, but I can’t perform miracles and be everywhere at once. My tracking, plus the aid of magic is the best way to find Ciri, and with Yennefer gone, I need Philippa.”

Emhyr didn;t reply immediately, just stared in Geralt’s eyes. Geralt stared back, unflinching, hand still protectively covering Philippa’s stomach, The two men were in a silent battle over Philippa’s life. Finally-

“Very well.” Emhyr said, waving his hand dismissively. “Take Eilhart. Find my daughter. Do so and there will be rewards - for both of you. I recommend you keep your sorceress on a short leash though. Wouldn’t want her to get any...ambitions.”

Geralt jerkily nodded his head, and Philippa breathed a sigh of relief.

“This audience is finished. Mererid!” He called. The chamberlin entered the room, awaiting instructions. “Take them to the Sorceress’ quarters.”

Mererid bowed, and began to lead the pair out of the room. Geralt grabbed Philippa’s hand, and followed behind quickly. Philippa let out a shuddering breathe. That was close, entirely too close. She got too cocky again, and in an instance, things almost came to a horrifying end for her.

But Geralt was there.

He was becoming somewhat of a constant there.

He spoke up for her. Protected her. Maybe he only did it for the child, she didn’t know, or care. The fact remained the same that she was once again safe, because of him.

“You alright?” He asked suddenly, pulling Philippa from her thoughts.

“Yes...yes I’m fine.” She answered. “I underestimated Emhyr once again. That was my own”

“One can never know what goes on in his mind. Trying is like diving into the deepest, and darkest cavern.”

“How poetic…..how are you though?” She found herself asking. “I know you were hoping to see Yennefer.”

Geralt breathed out deeply through his nose.

“I know this much - that letter better be fucking good.”

They arrived at Yennefer's quarters, and the room glowed with her presence. Various magical trinkets, books and scrolls….and it smelled of lilac and gooseberries. Geralt went to the desk, and on it found a letter, sealed, with his name on it. He quickly tore it open and found two pieces of paper.

The first was of Ciri. A life like drawing of her...how she looked now. Ciri was a woman of 20 years now; the last time Geralt saw her, she was only still a girl of 15 or 16, just coming into her own. Now she was unmistakably a beautiful young woman, ashen haired and scarred, just like he was.

His little girl had grown up.

The second piece of paper was a letter from Yennefer.

-Geralt,

If you’re reading this, then that means we missed each other. Shame we couldn’t meet face to face, and you don’t know how sorry I am I had to leave you like this before even reuniting, but you must understand, I had to.

Ciri, our little Ciri is back. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but our little girl came back to us. But she’s in danger. I don’t know how much Emhyr has told you, but the Wild Hunt is after her. I’ve spent these last months using every bit of magic I know to try and find her: locating spells, haruspicy, geomancy, anything. The Wild Hunt sensed this, but I thought I tricked them, I thought I was clever. I was wrong.

That’s why I need you. You're the best tracker I know. I know if any one can find her, it’s you.

Ciri has been reported to have been seen in Velen, and there’s rumors of her being in Novigrad. In Velen, there is an agent named Henderik who can help you pick up the trail. Reports in Novigrad are unconfirmed, just rumors and sightings. But you’ll have an old friend to help. Triss Merigold.

I’m sure you two will be happy to see each other.

As for me, I’ll be headed to Skellige Island. Reports of magics of unheard of levels. I’ll be making several stops before then, to try and buy you time and keep the hunt from pining my location down again. Maybe we’ll run into each other.

Geralt. Find Ciri. She needs us. She needs you. Don’t be a hero. When you can, come find me.

Speak to the Ambassador var Attre; he usually works in the room next to mine. He can help fill you in on the details of the war and regions.

And Geralt,

I hope to see you soon.

Yen.-

And there it was.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from her message. He wanted to be mad, mad that she didn’t stay and see him, mad that she didn’t contact him earlier...but her reasoning, her logic made sense.

Too bad he was never a logical man.

“Everything alright?” Philippa called behind him. He’d honestly forgotten she was there, so wrapped up in Yennefer’s words.

“Fine.” He lied, setting the letter down. “Looks like we’ll be going to Velen.”

“Velen? That region was hardly the most hospitable place before the war, can’t imagine what it’s like now.” Philippa commented.

“We’ll find out in a moment,” He replied. Geralt and Philippa walked out of Yennefer’s quarters, and in the next room, standing by the fire was the man he presumed to be the ambassador. The ambassador looked at Geralt, and unlike most of the Nilfgaardians and nobles in the castle, he didn’t look immediately disgusted by his presence; a small victory. The ambassador looked over at Philippa with a surprised look on his face.

“Ambassador var Attre? Yennefer suggested I ask you about current events. The war, and so on.” Geralt addressed the man.

“Of course. The emperor's servants keep no secrets from each other, and I must say, the emperor is greeting quite the spectrum of servants.” The ambassador said glancing at Philippa. “Shows just the extent of his influence I suppose. If you will, let us approach the map.”

They walked over to a map laying flat on a table. It showed the northern kingdoms, or what remained of it. On it, were 3 chess piece sized figurines of kings to represent conquered lands.

“How's the war going? I mean, apart from the fact that Nilfgaard's triumph is imminent?” Geralt asked sardonically. The ambassador looked over his shoulder, making sure the room was empty before he spoke.

“I assume this to be a private conversation. We've no witnesses, so let's dispense with propaganda, even that shrouded in irony.” He said plainly. Geralt could appreciate a man who spoke direct. “Our offensive was going splendidly -- until winter came. Aedirn was in such disarray that we encountered no resistance. We had reached the Pontar before the first snows. Only a weakened Kaedwen remained...and Radovid's Redania, which had ignored the rest of the North's pleas for help. We thought they'd sue for peace, perhaps even submit to vassalization. We waited for spring, certain of victory.”

“Radovid? Submit?” Philippa said incredulously.

“Hmph. I could’ve used your backing earlier.” the ambassador chuckled grimly. “Might’ve saved us some time and good men. Yes. A vain hope, I agree. Radovid sent no peace envoys, nor did he advance on our position. Instead, he trudged over the snow-bound Kestrel Mountains...and attacked Kaedwen, his ally. This attack took the Kaedweni by surprise. They were still mourning the loss of their king. Rudderless and dejected, they laid down their arms after a few lost skirmishes -- and joined Radovid. And so by spring, instead of two weak enemies we had only one powerful one.”

Philippa had to hand it to Radovid, he was showing to be a rather brilliant tactician when it came to war. She’d have been proud of him if she didn’t long to see him screaming in agony. Though she supposed the feeling was mutual.
“What about Kovir?” Geralt asked.

“Kovir values its neutrality. Enough not to lend its armies or, more importantly, even its coin to either side.” the ambassador replied. This didn’t surprise Philippa. Kovir was always an outlier in the Northern Kingdoms, rarely picking sides. That was one of the reasons Philippa wanted to put a magical ruler on the throne, by marrying off Ciri - a neutral state that worked toward the progression of magic. It’s a decision that she….has come to not look fondly on.

“Returning to the war,” The ambassador continued. “This spring there was a massive battle in the marshes of Velen. Massive, yet indecisive. Both sides suffered enormous losses. Unprecedented, even. Radovid has retreated across the Pontar. He's safe for now...until reinforcements come from the south. Then Emperor Emhyr var Emreis will deal with him once and for all.”

Couldn't you just go home? Save everyone a lot of marching. Not to mention a few human lives.” Geralt said. The ambassador almost gave him a sad look.

“I'm afraid the stakes are too high to fold now. We can only go all in.”

The sunk cost fallacy of man.

“Hm. How do things look in Velen?” Geralt questioned.

“As bad as ever...perhaps worse.” He said gravely. “This land never flowed with milk and honey, and now it flows with blood. Armies have swept through it several times, trampling fields, looting granaries, burning villages. Famine grips the populace.”

“But with Radovid’s forces back across the river, surely your forces could bring some order to the area?” Philippa found herself asking. She didn’t love the idea of Nilfgaard occupation, but order of any kind was better than chaos.

“Yes, one might think that, but our forces are spread thin as it is, and Velen is chiefly swampy forests that are difficult to control. We've had several patrols never return to their camps. Thus, we've temporarily delegated authority in this region to a certain Nordling, a former low-ranking officer in the Temerian army, one Phillip Strenger. Better known by his nom de guerre, the Bloody Baron. I advise you well -- avoid him.”

“Any news from Novigrad? Is the free city still free?” Geralt followed up.

“Yes, although everyone knows this won't last.” The ambassador explained Radovid is in Oxenfurt, and the emperor is here, in Vizima. At Novigrad's doorstep, both. And both require coin and ships. Novigrad can provide these. Which is why the mood in the city is rather...well, on edge.”
“Meaning?” Philippa interjected, sensing something in his voice. The ambassador seemed to be thinking over his next words carefully.

“How do men deal with fear?” He asked rhetorically. “They seek reassurance...and scapegoats. The Church of the Eternal Fire understands this perfectly. And so it promises to improve the lives of its flock by pointing out the guilty. Who started the war? Who profits from it? Why, it's obvious -- mages, elves, dwarves. In a word, any and all deviants. I've been stationed in Novigrad for thirteen years. First as a consul, then as an ambassador. I've seen a great deal -- cruelty, cynicism, greed. But what is happening there now concerns me greatly.”

“How bad is it?” Philippa asked, voice straining.

“We only have vague reports from agents. I couldn’t accurately say-” The ambassador tried.

“Guess.” She demanded sternly.

“...Based on our reports, the magic user population has been cut nearly in half, either from being killed, captured, or fleeing the city. Elves and dwarves are also being purged, but not with the same severity.” The ambassador admitted. Philippa hadn’t realized that her fists were balled up so tightly, that her knuckles were white. She tried to suppress her rage, her distraught, as she learned that Oxenfurt, a place formerly known for it’s free thought and haven for magic, was exterminating them. She was brought back to Loc Muinne - hundreds of her peers, some just learning the art, the way of magic, cut down, and horrifically killed. She remembered hearing all their screams.

“Guess Nilfgaard got what it wanted. A weakened North. Destroying itself from the inside out.” She said, voice flat, but the accusation was clear. The ambassador had enough grace to look contrite.

“I will admit, our hope was for instability. I can not deny that. But what is happening now...We might keep our magic users and non-humans under a close eye down south, but we don’t codone outright genocide, and we don’t tolerate fanatcism.” The ambassador defended. “And I hope that helps you understand why we’re the best hope for the North.”

“Philippa.” Geralt said softly, placing a hand on her upper arm. “Maybe you should go back into Yenn’s quarters...to calm down. I’ll fill you in.”

Philippa didn’t reply, but turned and exited the room. Geralt watched her leave, feeling sorry for the sorceress. The two talked a bit more, about Skellige, about the best path into Velen, and how to correspond with the Nilfgaardian agent. Once he got all the information he thought was relevant, he bid the ambassador farewell, and returned to Yennefer’s quarters to check on Philippa. He closed the door behind him, so that they would have some privacy. She was leaning against Yennefer’s workstation, appraising the image of Ciri.

“She’s grown up.” Philippa said simply.

“Yes.” Geralt responded, He didn’t really know what to say, so he settled on. “Are you okay?”

Philippa didn’t answer his question. Truthfully, she was far from okay. So much in her life was out of her hands. Her exile.

Her pregnancy.

And now, she found herself an agent of Nilfgaard. So much, so fast.

But once again, she had a constant.

Geralt.

“You defended me in there. With the emperor.” She said sytrangly. Geralt quirked an eyebrow at her changing the subject.

“I told you, I wouldn’t let anything happen to either of you.” He said, eyes falling down to her stomach.

“Still, I owe you thanks. I owe you my life...again.”

“You don’t have to thank me for keeping my word. Comes with being a decent man.”

“I think we both know being a decent man is a rare trait these days. And even decent men don’t do something for nothing.”

As Philippa spoke, she brought her hands to the shoulder of her dress, and tapped lightly. She glowed slightly, as the fabric of the dress began to fade and disappear. Geralt’s eyes grew a bit as Philippa’s nude form came into view.

“Philippa…” He said slowly. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just giving you a reward.” She said with a sly smile. She leaned back and hopped up on Yennefer’s table, setting her ass on the wood surface, and Yennefer’s various documents.

“I told you, you don’t owe me anything.” Geralt said. Despite his words, he walked forward towards her slowly, manhood filling with arousal.

“Come now Geralt, no need to be coy. We are well past that.” She breathed out. Slowly and sensually, she spread her legs open, giving Geralt a clear view of her shaved, glistening cunt. He stepped closer again, now only inches from her.”

“But-”

“Gods Geralt, only you would attempt to talk your way out of a woman willing and wanting for you.” She said with an exasperated laugh. “We’re going to be stuck together a while. Indulge a little. Now - come and get it.”

That was all the pushing Geralt needed.

He closed the distance between them, capturing her mouth with his. He ground his clothed cock against her center, making her shudder.

“Yessss.” She hissed into his mouth as she grinded back against him, enjoying the blissful friction. One of his hands latched onto her right tit, and began to massage and knead it. With his other hand he pushed his velvet pants and underwear down, letting his cock hardening cock bounce free. He rubbed himself against her core, feeling skin on skin. He groaned, and she made a noise deep in her throat.

“Dammit Geralt, you’re always a tease. Fuck me before I hex your balls off!” She cried needily. He just chuckled and latched his mouth onto her neck, causing her to gasp. He swiped the head of his cock on her opening a few more times, before lining himself up with her slit, and slowly entering her. She moaned as he slowly filled and stretched her. He took his time filling her, slowly gliding into her, feeling her tightness around him. When he finally reached the hilt, he just himself there as Philippa squirmed.

“Geralt….Please.” She begged. She squirmed and tried to thrust her hips upwards up into Geralt, but he held her at bay with one hand on her hip. “Ger-MPHFF!”

She was cut off by him pressing his lips to hers again, as he slowly began to roll his hips.

This was different from their previous romps, which had all been rough and fast, full of pent up anger and frustration.

This was...more intimate.

Geralt’s hips pumped into with controlled, long strokes. He would run his hands over her sides and breast, feeling what skin he could. Phillipa locked her ankles around his hips, pulling him deeper into her. She let her hands roam to his white hair, as she gasped and moaned. If Philippa still had eyes, they’d be boring into his.

“Geralt...Geralt...Geralt…” She moaned as he began to pick up the pace. Yennefer’s table screeched at his thrusts, and her papers fell and scattered to the floor.

She felt her peak overtake her, her cunt clenching around him, and her legs shaking. “Fuck!” She yelled out., throwing her head back. Geralt used the movement to lean forward, and clamp his mouth on her right nipple. He suckled and gentley nibbled at it, causing her to moan even louder.

“Geralt….Geralt stop.” she gasped. Instantly he stilled his hips, and looked at her with worry in his eyes.

“Something wrong? Am I hurting you?” He asked in a panic.

“Gods, gods no.” She said with a breathy laugh. She unwrapped her ankles from around his hips, and pushed him back. He pulled out of her, cock shiny with her juices. She hopped off the table, nearly tumbling because her legs were so weak from her orgasm. On shaky legs turned around, and bent over, propping her elbows on the table, presenting her backside to him.

“Just giving you a change in scenery.” She teased over her shoulder.

Geralt’s nostrils flared and he grabbed two handfuls of her plump ass, and dropped to his knees. Philippa squealed as she felt her asscheeks pulled apart. Before she could say anything further, Geralt dove his head between her legs, pushing his tongue into her cunt. Philippa let out a strangled moan as he began lapping at her folds. Geralt’s tongue was longer than most people’s - element of his mutations - and it was dexterous too. He was able to move his tongues in ways Philippa didn’t think was possible, tasting every bit of her twat. She pushed her hips back, trying to ride his face and get more of his tongue, which he was happy to oblige; Geralt was a generous lover. He actually enjoyed pleasing women with his mouth, a trait few men had shared in Philippa’s history. Philippa came again, HARD. Her juices ran down Geralt's chin, as he lapped at her like he was drinking from the fountain of youth.

“How are you so perfect at this Geralt?” Philippa gasped. The man was a sex god. She didn’t say that though. He didn’t need to know the extent of her neediness. Geralt just smiled and wiped his chin before standing back up. He aligned his cock with her entrance and reentered her in one swift motion. Philippa let her head fall to the table, enjoying his hard strokes as he fucked her from behind. Despite his gruff nature, Geralt was a very vocal lover, grunting and groaning as he moved his hips. She liked to hear the low whimpers that came from his throat, the ones he didn’t think she could hear, making sure to clench around him even more, hoping to elicit another one from him.

His thrusts were becoming less and less controlled, and more rushed and frantic. She knew that he was close, she was too.

“Come on Geralt…” She moaned wantonly. “Do it. Cum for me. Cum.”

He grunted loudly, and that same whimper she liked escaped from his throat. He hilted himself in her fully, his cock swelled as he unloaded into her. Another massive orgasm tore through her, causing her legs to go even weaker. She nearly fell to the ground, but Geralt caught her around the stomach and held her up. They stayed like that for a while, enjoying the warmth and feel of each other. Finally Geralt spoke.

“We should probably rearrange Yennefer’s desk.”

“Geralt, I feel like I shouldn’t have to say that it’s rather rude to mention another woman, while you have another in your arms.”

“But-”

“Geralt.”

“Yes?”

“Do be quiet, and take me to bed.”
_________________________________________________________________________

The pair slept into the late morning. After their romp in Yennefer’s chambers, they had Mererid show them to their room, and bring them some food. They ate, discussed the plan ahead of them, and fucked some more. They eventually fell asleep, wrapped up within each other.

Mererid woke them up, informing Geralt that the castle blacksmith wanted to see him about his gear. Not liking other people touching his stuff, Geralt got dressed quickly, and followed the servant. They arrived at the blacksmith, who had a forge right outside the castle.

The blacksmith was a Dwarf by the name of Branson. He wore a blacksmith apron and goggles, with his long beard plaited across his chin. When he saw Geralt and Mererid arriving, he stopped what he was working on, and greeted them.

“I’m assuming you’re Geralt,” He said with a smile.

“Aye, that’s me.” Geralt replied. Branson extended his short arm to Geralt, who took his hand and shook it. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“If that will be all gentlemen, I will get back to my duties.” Mererid said, turning and walking stiffly back to the castle.

“That man walks as if he has a stick up his ass.” Branson laughed.

“Likely the emperor’s septor.” Geralt joked.

“Ha! I like you. You’re not uptight like these black ones.”

“Mererid told me you wanted to talk about my armor.”

“Ah yes. I’ve been instructed by the emperor to get you a new set.”

“You’re going to make me armor?”

“MADE. In reality I just repurposed some armor I already had made for someone else. Some noble’s son. Went and got himself beheaded on the battlefield trying to play warrior.” Branson explained. “Mererid gave me your approximate dimensions, and after some minor adjustments it should fit you like a glove.”

The dwarf walked to the back of his forge and rummaged around in a trunk. He pulled the armor out, and presented it to Geralt. It had a padded jacket as the bottom layer, with a short black and gray striped gambeson to cover it. The shoulders were reinforced with pieces of steel, and hardened leather. The gauntlets looked strong and flexible, and the leather pants included knee and shin protection. Geralt took the amor, and slipped into it quickly. It fit him well

“Hm, not bad.” Geralt commented.

“Well you sure know how to give a tradesman a compliment.” Branson jibbed sarcastically. “I also sharpened your swords. One steel, and one Silver? You a witcher by any chance.”

“What gave it away, they glowing yellow eyes?”

“Ha! I was going to say the face that looks like it took a few beating from an ogre.”

“Have something that needs Witchering?”

“Not me. But I have a friend who lives in a village, right outside of the city. They’ve been having some problems with some bugger of some sort. Nilfgaardians too busy keeping the city on lockdown to do anything about it, Think it’s beneath them.”

Geralt thought about it. They were technically destitute, and If they were about to venture into Velen. They’d need the coin.

“I’ll look into it.” Geralt assured. Branson gave him a jolly smile.

“Many thanks. Oh, and before you go, the emperor asked me to give you one more thing.”

Branson walked to his work table, and pulled out a black cloth, with something in it. He handed it to Geralt, who raised an eyebrow.

“Why the dramatics?” Geralt asked. Branson just shrugged.

“I was told that your company, whoever that is, might not like that you have these.” The dwarf explained.

Geralt unwrapped the fabric, and in his hands were a pair of Dimeritium shackles, and a small piece of folded paper. Geralt unfolded the paper, and written on it was simply “Just in case.”

Geralt frowned at the shackles. He knew the implications. They were to be used on Philippa, as a form of last resort. He didn’t need them. At least, he didn’t think so. Philippa had no reason to try and betray him, it wouldn’t be rational. It would put her in more danger than it was worth.

Though he was sure of her allegiances in Vergen.

Truth was, despite the last few days they spent together, and their flashes of passion, Geralt still couldn’t say he really trusted Philippa, and with good reason. Yes, he wanted to keep her and his child safe, but he also knew of her boundless ambition and scheming.

He rewrapped the shackles in the cloth, and thanked Branson, before making his way back to the castle
____________________________________________________________________________

With his armor and weapons returned, and a quick meal, Philippa and Geralt were soon ready to hit the trail towards Velen. Philippa got herself ready, while Geralt spoke with the Ambassador var Attre about any final details they needed to know about Velen.

“Ambassador.” Mererid interrupted, entering the room. “The elf is here to see you.”

“Ah yes. Show him in” The ambassador requested. Mererid waved his hand, and from around the corner, walked in a familiar face.

Iorveth.

Geralt’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of the war torn elf. Iorveth looked at him, and his one eye widened in surprise, and then it fixed itself into a glare.

“Looks like you two are already acquainted.” The ambassador noted. Iorveth took a step forward, and Geralt did as well.

“Iorveth.” Geralt said.

“Geralt.” Iorveth replied. “Surprised to see you in the presence of the Nilfgaardians.”

“Can say the same for you.” Geralt retorted, folding his arms over his chest.

“Looks like we might be allies once again.” The elf said, not very much sounding like an ally.

“Hm. We’ll see.” Geralt shot back.

“Gentleman” The ambassador interjected. “If you’re quite done, I do need to speak with Iorveth on matters of state. So if you will please, let’s go to the next room”

The elf glared at Geralt for a moment longer, before following the ambassador into the adjacent room, closing the door behind him. Seems Nilfgaard was pulling out all the stops for this war. Moments later, Philippa entered the room, travel attire ready. She saw Geralt's face and asked-

“Something the matter?”

“No. Just saw another familiar face.”

“Who?”

“Better if you don’t know. Come on. Let’s get to Roach and get out of here.”

Philippa didn’t very much appreciate being dismissed like that, but she didn’t push. Besides, she could just read his mind later anyway.
____________________________________________________________________________

With Roach packed and saddled, they pair road out the city, on the road to the war torn Velen. The Nilfgaardians gave Philippa her own horse, a gray mare. They rode side by side, at a gentle pace. Geralt’s mind was set on the road ahead of them. Velen was unknown territory. He had no idea what chaos would be there, or if the lead would even be helpful in leading him to Ciri. But like many things in his life, he was willing to risk the unknown for what he cared about. He couldn’t go about it with the same reckless abandon that he usually did. He was responsible for Philippa now...and his child. He had to keep them safe before all else. Geralt’s life was always one of contradictions.

Philippa’s mind was also on the road ahead, but in a more figurative sense. Ciri. The special girl being back reopened so many possibilities for Philippa and her grand visions. And then there was Nilfgaard. Though she hated to admit it, the Southern empire gave her opportunities. She spent so much of her life fighting them for the North, but now the North had all but rejected her. Rejected magic. Nilfgaard - maybe it was an opportunity to make things right in the balance of man, kings and magic. Emhyr was a powerful man, but all powerful men could be influenced.

It was just the matter of showing them what they wanted.

Chapter Text

“Where is this supposed village at?” Philippa whined.

“It’s only been an hour, Philippa. We should be there soon.” Geralt answered.

The pair had just left Vizima and the Emperor, new information, destination, and goal in hand. Ciri. She was back, and they were going to find her.

But first, they had a job to do. Steadhaven, a village outside of Vizima. They needed a Witcher. Under normal circumstances, Geralt would've made a b-line straight to the agent who had information on Ciri, but as it stood, he had very little money. Normally that wouldn’t have bothered him, but he had precious cargo in tow. Two of them to be exact. Roughing it as he usually did just wasn’t an option.

The pair arrived at Steadhaven, or what Geralt assumed was Steadhaven. The village was in absolute shambles. Looked as if a twister had hit it. Buildings leveled and burnt, the road trampled and misshapen; while White Orchard had seen better days, this village looked as if it was dying. He didn’t know which army marched through there, but they did a number on it.

As they slowly trotted to the center of the village, or what Geralt presumed to be the center of the village, Geralt noticed a group of men eying him and Philippa. They looked nervous. Nervous men sometimes did dumb things. They whispered to each other before leaving and disappearing behind what looked like a tavern. After a few seconds, they reappeared on the other side of the tavern, moving to the road to block the path of their horses. They were holding axes, bits of wood, and a PITCHFORK.

Geralt frowned, knowing where this was going. Philippa arched an eyebrow at the scene, not intimidated in the slightest.

“Gentlemen” Geralt said sarcastically, stopping Roach from going any further. The men all looked anxious. “Nice to know some places still do town greetings.”

“What is your business here?” One man asked, stepping forward. The other men filed in behind him, emboldened by him but also clearly waiting for him to advise them on their next move.

“Our business is our business.” Philippa chimed in from behind Geralt. The Witcher looked over his shoulder at the witch. While he appreciated her moxy, it wasn’t helping at the moment.

“I’m not talking to you woman.” The villager said.

“Hey!” Geralt barked, making the man jump. “Be polite to the lady, friend. Address me.”

“I’m not your FRIEND. We’re sick of all you outsiders. Look at what’s been done to our village.” The villager ranted. The men behind him nodded and grunted in agreement. “Now tell us who you are, turn back the way you came, or things will get ugly.”

This was beginning to annoy Geralt. Man always had to make a show of everything, be suspicious, be paranoid. He had half a mind to hop off his horse, and cut through them like butter. But that was the baser part of him. The reactionary part. He looked around and saw the state these men’s home was in; disarray and despair. The men themselves looked sickly, skinny, some with wounds that didn’t look like they healed quite right. These villagers were scared, not just of him. Of everything that might come through and finish what the war had started.

Geralt took a deep breath to calm himself before he spoke again. “I’m a Witcher. I was told that you had a monster problem.”

The villagers looked surprised by this. They looked at each other, mumbling in confusion.

“Told by whom?” The lead villager asked, still suspicious.

“Branson. The dwarf blacksmith at the palace.” Geralt answered.

The villagers literally let out sighs of relief. They relaxed, dropping their weapons, looking ragged that they had to even pick them up in the first place.

“Gods man, why didn’t you say that to begin with? We could’ve killed you.” The man said, placing his hands on his knees.

“Well...you would’ve tried.” Geralt retorted smoothly. The lead villager eyed him, then let out a bark of laughter.

“Tough guy, aye? Good. We need a tough guy right now. Name’s Herman.”

“Geralt. And she’s….Philys.”

Philippa gave him a strange look at her new moniker, but said nothing. Luckily Herman didn’t seem too interested in details about her.

“Well come on into the tavern, what’s left of it anyway.” Herman invited. Philippa and Geralt dismounted their horses and tied them off. They followed Herman into the tavern - it looked like it’d been ransacked. It probably was. Herman flipped one of the many overturned tables upright, and grabbed chairs for them to sit.

“Well, welcome to the beautiful Steadhaven.” Herman said bitterly.
“Lovely town.” Philippa replied, voice flat. Herman just scoffed

“It was a shithole that turned into a crater. But it’s home.” Herman sighed.

“You the leader here?” Geralt asked. The mob that greeted them seemed to fall in line behind him. Herman just snorted derisively.

“Leader? No...least not in any official capacity. I was just a woodcutter. Still am, but those soldiers came through here, and a lot of important and strong people went missing or ended up dead. I’m just the best of what’s left.” Herman said disdainfully.

“So about your monster problem. What’s the scenario? What am I dealing with.” Geralt pushed.

“About that...thing is we don’t rightly know.” Herman admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Geralt quirked an eyebrow and Philippa pursed her lips into a thin line.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Geralt pushed.

“I mean we don’t know.” Herman repeated. “Look around you. Everything is in disarray. We don’t know our asses from elbows right now. The soldiers displaced a lot of people. Some found their way back. Others-“

Herman let the implication sit in the air.

“Simply put, we had some people go missing over the last fortnight. Usually while going out to trade, supply runs.“ Herman continued. “We thought it could’ve been bandits, or some soldier boys going into business for themselves-“

“But…” Philippa interjected.

“-but nothing was ever taken. Wagons full of goods left to spoil on the side of the road, but not a trace of the person… or horses for that matter.”

Geralt leaned back in his chair, face tight in contemplation, for a minute.

“Look, I know it isn’t much to go on-” Herman began.

“Your beast is likely grounded, not able to fly. They must feed on man, but aren't particularly picky, hence the missing horses as well. Also they must be strictly carnivorous to leave carts of what I assume to be some form of grain or produce. That narrows down the number of creatures it could be in this region. Plus, with the wetness in the air, and proximity to a body of water - looks like you might have a Water Hag on the loose.” Geralt said.

Herman looked at Geralt in shock.

“I- you figured all that out from that? He asked. Geralt just shrugged.

“Been doing this a long time, friend.” The Witcher answered.

“And he's very good at his job.” Philippa added, honestly impressed with his skills of deduction when it came to Witchering. Geralt smiled internally at her complement.
“Well you seem to know more than those Black Ones we had stumbling around here.” Herman stated. “So, let’s get down to business. How much is this going to cost us? We don’t exactly have much here.”

“We’ll discuss that after I see the full extent of your monster problem. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you destitute. I’m fair.” Geralt said.

“But not CHEAP.” Philippa added. Geralt looked over his shoulder and frowned slightly. Philippa returned his look, unbothered by his glare. Regardless, Herman seemed satisfied with his answer.

“I can point you in the direction of the last wagon. It’s south, towards the river. Where the trees split.”

Geralt nodded his head and stood, and Philippa followed suit. They exited the tavern and walked to their horses.

“Philippa, maybe you should stay here at the tavern.” Geralt suggested. Philippa looked at him like he was crazy.

“I beg your pardon?” She said haughtily.

“Don’t know how long this will take. Witchering isn’t a fun business. Might get messy, literally and figuratively.”

“You don’t think I can handle myself? Have you lost your memories again and forgotten who I am?”

“Of course not. It’s just-” Geralt didn’t finish his sentence. Letting his eyes rake over Philippa form. ”It’d be safer if you stayed here.

Philippa’s face softened, picking up on the implicit meaning of his look.

“I told you, I’m not a figurine. I can take care of myself. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.” She insisted. “Plus, I’ll have a big strong Witcher to look after me.” She teased lightly. Geralt just snorted. “Besides, how bad can a Water Hag be?”

“Have you ever encountered one?”

“No. I tend not to spend my free time in backwood swamps.” She said aristocratically.

“Well, they’re nothing to joke about. Most are a head taller than me. Strong, fast, and smarter than they’ve any right to be.” Geralt warned. “I have an eight inch scar on my forearm as testament to that.

“Well it sounds like you need all the help you can get then.”

_______________________________________________________________

The pair rode to where Herman instructed, a small bank near the river. There was a single horse wagon. The front axis was broken, the contents of the wagon were strewn about. As they got closer, an awful smell hit Philippa’s nose.

“Gods, what is that?”

Geralt took a deep inhale through his nose.

“Hag musk.” He said simply. “It’s how hags attract drowners to mate with or eat.”

“Lovely.”

Geralt got off of Roach and walked closer to the wreckage. He knelt down in the mud, looking around for something, anything that would lead them to the hag’s nest. Water Hags could move underground, through the deep mud. Made it harder to track them through traditional means, like prints.

“So what now?” Philippa asked, looking around. She didn’t see how milling about a wrecked wagon was useful.

“Mhhm. Now, we wait and hope to get lucky.” Geralt answered.

“Wait?”

“Yes. Wait. Water Hags are mostly nocturnal hunters unless there’s an obvious and easy meal in front of them. They can’t be as easily baited like a Griffin can.” Geralt explained. “Also they don’t need to feed everyday. They’re like snakes in that way. They can go days, even weeks without needing to feed again.”

Philippa frowned. She had no intention of spending WEEKS there. “Why don’t we travel up and down the river bank until we find something.” She queried.

“Big river. It’d be like looking for a singular bird in the treetops. We could walk a mile in either direction and not find anything.”

“So we just wait?”

“Water Hags and drowners are creatures of habit and territorial. They’ll often return to their ambush spots to check for any scraps. Waiting for night is our best option.”

Philippa was slightly regretting not staying in the village like offered. She hardly wanted to wait hours in the wet grass and mud for some beast that may or may not show up. Here she thought Witchering would be interesting.
_________________________________________________________________________

The two camped out in a small clearing surrounded by trees, where the river bank could still be in view. The dampness of the air made it cooler than Philippa would’ve liked as night came. Geralt wouldn’t build a fire, because it might be noticed. She cast a general warming spell on herself, but that could only do so much. She really regretted not staying in the village. Geralt just leaned against a tree, not at all bothered, or uncomfortable. In fact, he looked a bit at peace. That of course annoyed Philippa to no end.

“You glaring at me isn’t going to make this go any faster.” Geralt said.

“I have no eyes, how do you know I’m glaring?” She questioned.

“It FEELS like you are.” He answered.

“Well I’m not.”

That was a lie of course, but she wouldn’t let him know that.

“I told you to stay in the village.” Geralt reminded, hint of mischief in his voice

“Oh shut up will you.” Philippa snapped.

Having mercy on the woman, Geralt closed his mouth with a satisfied smirk, which Philippa didn’t particularly prefer either. Another few hours passed before anything happened. And then-

“Philippa-”

Philippa had dozed off at some point after hours of doing nothing but sitting.

“Philippa.”

Geralt shook her by the shoulder. Phillipa awoke, looking around. Geralt was crouched down beside her, looking intently towards the river bank.

“What?” She asked, alertness coming back to her. “What’s going on?”

“There’s movement by the wagon.” Geralt announced. “Two sets of feet.”

“How can you tell?”

Geralt just taps his ear.

“You should stay here.” He suggested. Philippa frowned at him.

“Not a chance, Witcher.”

Sensing arguing would just waste time, Geralt stood and began making his way toward the river bank. Philippa followed behind him, trying to match the silent strides Geralt made. When they got close, Geralt held out his arm, telling Philippa to stop. They could hear a pair of low, throaty growls and clicking noises.

Drowners.

Nasty buggers. Pale blue, about five feet tall and scally. Many folk thought they were the spirits of drowned humans due to their similarities, but in reality Drowners were more closely related to eels than any other species.

The Drowners were skulking around the wreckage, looking for any food scraps that may have been left - the bottom feeder in their DNA. Drowners didn’t have particularly strong good eyesight or a strong sense of smell, so they hadn’t noticed Geralt or Philippa yet. Geralt slowly took out his crossbow, pulling back the bolt as slowly and quietly as he could and began moving slowly slowly. Philippa was a step behind him, not sure what the Witcher had planned, but ready to react to anything.

*SNAP*

Philippa froze and looked down. A twig. Out of all the places she could’ve stepped, she stepped on a twig.

The Drowners went silent.

“Shit.” Geralt cursed under his breath.

One of the Drowners hopped on the wagon, staring menacingly at Philippa. The other scampered around the front and hissed at Geralt.

“Philippa, get back!” Geralt yelled, as he let a bolt loose at the Drowner facing him. The Drowner ducked out of the way and leapt at Geralt, but he was able to roll away.

Philippa had her own monster to worry about. The Drowner on the wagon looked at her angrily with its large offwhite eyes, frothing at the mouth. She wasn’t scared, but she was repulsed by the creature, taking a step back.

“Stay back, you wretched thing!” She yelled at the monster. Though it likely didn’t really understand her, the monster appeared to grow angrier at her words. It lunged out at her, scaly claws stretched out. Philippa stumbled backwards and executed the first spell she could think of.

“Rozpadać Się!” Philippa yelled, left arm outstretched. Her palm flashed, and a bright white light shot from it. It struck the Drowner as its claws were inches from her face. Where the Drowner once was, was now a stew of Drowner guts and skin as the monster exploded. Phillipa was blasted by the parts and viscera of the Drowner, and knocked off her feet.

“Philippa!” Geralt yelled. He took his eyes off the remaining Drowner for a moment, which the monsters used to try and attack once again. It leapt at Geralt, swiping wildly at his head with it’s claws. Luckily for Geralt, his muscle memory kicked in, and he was able to get his arms up, and twist his body to throw the Drowner to the side. The Drowner landed hard on the ground, dazed. Geralt took the opportunity to run to Philippa and check on her.

“Philippa!” He yelled, kneeling down to grab her shoulders and sit her up. “Are you okay?”

Philippa groaned and shuddered, drowner guts covering her whole body. “I don’t think I like being a Withcer very much.” She said in a queer, hazy voice.

The remaining Drowner seemed to regain it’s bearings, and hissed at the pair. On instinct, Philippa raised her hand again, pointing it at the monster.

“Rozpadać-”

“Wait, Philippa, don’t-”

“-Się!”

Philippa’s hand began to glow once again, spell ready. Geralt slapped her hand to the side, causing the spell to misfire, and strike the dirt a few feet from the Drowner, sending mud and grass into the air. Drowner’s weren’t too smart, but they had survival instincts. It realized it wasn’t going to win this fight, and turned to crawl back into the water. Quickly, Geralt loaded another bolt into his crossbow, and fired it, hitting the Drowner in the shoulder right as it leapt into the water. He loaded another bolt and looked around, to make sure it was just the two Drowners. Once he was sure it was clear, he grabbed Philippa under one of her arms, and helped her to feet. She stood shakily, still in a haze.

“Philippa...are you okay?” He asked again. She didn’t answer immediately, just standing there silently. “Uh, Phil-”

Suddenly, Philippa bent over and started retching. She coughed and dry-heaved, hands on her knees and shaking. Geralt didn’t know what to do, so he just rubbed her back.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more disgusted in my life. It’s….EVERYWHERE.” She finally croaked.

“Yeah, You’ll get guts on yourself in this line of work.” Geralt said with a slight smile, attempting to comfort her. She didn’t take it that way.

“Do you think this is funny?” She asked in an accusatory tone.

“I told you to stay-”

“PISS OFF!”

Philippa waved her hand, casting a spell which expelled the large chunks of Drowner from her form. She then marched over to the river, knelt down and began to furiously splash herself with water, and scrub herself.

“Damn Witchers. Damn Monsters. Damn Village.” Philippa mumbled to herself as she tried to rinse the stench of drowner out of her hair.

“Might want to hold off on that.” Geralt said. “We’re not done yet.”

“We WOULD be done If you’d let me blast that wretched thing to oblivion!” She yelled over her shoulder. “Wait...why didn’t you?”

“Because there’s no way these two are the source of all this chaos. Half a dozen people over a few weeks, whole horses, gone without a trace. Drowners aren’t strong enough to move whole carcasses like that. Would have to be a Witch Hag.” Geralt explained.

“Still doesn’t explain why you let it run away wounded.” Philippa stated.

“Simple. An injured beast always returns home, to rest and recover.” Geralt said. He turned and looked into the water, at the diluted Drowner blood leading up the river. “And now we have a trail to follow.”
____________________________________________________________________________

Geralt figured it’d be easier on foot, leaving the horses in trees. Roach was smart enough and battle trained enough to run if anything dangerous came along. The other horse...well they could always find another if it came to it.

Geralt used his Witcher sense to follow the blood, smelling it like a wolf smelled out it’s prey. The Drowner took them North up the river for about half a mile. There was a small cave entrance, one which Geralt assumed was the home of the Drowners and likely a Water Hag.

“Last chance to go back.” Geralt said, turning to Philippa. “Because once we go down there, we’re not coming out until we have our prize.”

“Don’t patronize me, Witcher.” Philippa said, folding her arms. “I just got anointed in the guts of one of those foul beasts. I’m not leaving until all of those things are dead.”

Geralt chuckled lightly. He liked her spirit.

“Okay. Once we’re down there, you need to follow my lead.” He said, suddenly serious. “This is my world, and I know what I’m doing. I NEED you to be smart in there. To be safe. Do you understand me?”

Philippa looked at Geralt for a moment, then nodded her head. He nodded in return.

The pair entered the cave. It was dark and damp, as caves were, and it smelled of death and rot. That let Geralt know that they were on the right track. Philippa cast a small luminous spell to aid them in maneuvering in the dark. Geralt’s natural night vision was good, but it helped. They kept walking down into the cave, deeper and deeper. They were well underground now, with Geralt no longer being able to hear the sounds of outside. They kept walking until they came upon a large cavern. In it were various pools of shallow water, and one larger one, which Geralt figured ran deep. Geralt sniffed the air, then looked to one of the far corners of the cave.

“Philippa. Shine your light over there.”

Philippa nodded, and increased the power of the spell. In the corner were several mangled corpses, flesh nearly completely gone. Slightly to the left of it were 2 horses, half eaten and rotting.

“Well, we’re no doubt in the right place.” Philippa stated gravely.

“Hmmh.” Geralt just noted He looked toward the large pool of water, and began to draw his silver sword.

“Get ready,” He told Philippa. “Something’s coming.”

Emerging from the water came several drowners, including the one Geralt shot with a bolt.

“There’s our other Drowners.” Philippa said. There was a loud growl, and from the water emerged a ratty head of long, grey hair of a Water Hag. The creature slowly emerged fully from the water, hunched over in all it’s horrible glory. It looked at Geralt and Philippa with it’s glowing yellow eyes, and growled in the back of its throat.

“And there’s our Water Hag.” Geralt said, preparing to step forward. He stopped, once he saw the water had yet to become still. Slowly emerging from the depths came two more Water Hags, taking their place right beside the first.

“Water HAGS.” Philippa corrected. She looked around, admittedly nervously. She saw Geralt tense up. This was a bigger hunt than either of them anticipated. One Water Hag could do enough, especially when it had a group of Drowners around - but 3?

Well no one said Witchering was an easy job.

“What now?” Philippa asked, preparing herself for a fight.

“Now, we do our job.” Geralt said. He suddenly held up his hand. “Aard!” He yelled, blasting a surge of kinetic energy from his hand. The wave of magic hit the creatures, stunning them.

“You take the Drowners, I’ll handle the Hags! Don’t let them surround you!” He said, jumping into action. Philippa didn’t need to be told twice. Immediately she fired Rozpadać Się at the closest Drowner to her, causing it to explode into hundreds of pieces. The other Drowners scrambled.

Geralt lunged at the Water Hags with a wide, horizontal swipe of his sword. The Hags hissed, and jumped back. Despite their size. Water Hags were very agile creatures. The Hag on his left tried to swipe at him with its massive claws, but Geralt ducked under it. He tried to cast Igni, but the dampness of the cave hindered its effectiveness greatly, with only sparks coming from his hand. Geralt rolled out of the way as the other two hags tried to pounce on him.

Back with Philippa, she was blasting away at the Drowners, keeping them at bay. She’d already turned 3 of them into paste, and the others were getting the hint to getting too close to her meant death.

“You like that, you foul beasts!” She yelled as she killed another, splattering it against the cave wall. If Geralt weren’t fighting for his life at the moment, he’d probably find her excitement and tone here incredibly sexy. Something about dangerous women-

But at the moment, he had to deal with the dangerous women in front of him. Geralt slashed upward with his sword, catching one of the hags under its arm, diggin into its scaly flesh. It screamed in pain, slashing at him with its other arm. It’s talon caught Geralt in the shoulder. The gambeson and mail of his armor absorbed most of the blow - MOST of it. He felt the familiar warmth of his blood trickle down his arm, but it could’ve been much worse. The other two Hags attacked in unison, trying to overwhelm Geralt. He blocked their barrage of talons with his sword, but was being backed up toward Philippa, who was still dealing with the Drowners. Suddenly, one of the Water Hag’s feet shot out, catching Geralt square in the chest with a powerful kick. He flew back, right into an unsuspecting Philippa, knocking them both to the hard cave floor.

“Fuck! My shoulder.” Philippa cried out. She landed hard on it. The Water Hags and Drowners began to advance, but Geralt quickly signed Yrden; Several glowing runes appeared on the cave floor, immobilizing the monsters temporarily. Geralt used the time to help Philippa to her feet.

“That won’t hold them for long.” He warned. “We need fire. They hate fire. Know any spells?”

“Yes, but they require both my hands, and I’m pretty sure I dislocated my shoulder just now.” She answered. The monsters were slowly breaking through the sign. They only had a few seconds.

“Well we need something fast, or this will not end well.” Geralt said, gripping his sword with both hands. Philippa thought for a moment.

“Cast igni” she instructed.

“It won’t work. The air’s too wet.”

“Just do it!”

With no time to argue Geralt lifted his hand, preparing to cast the sign and expecting nothing to happen. Philippa placed her hand on his shoulder, and focused all the magic she could throughout her body, to the single point of her palm. Geralt felt his skin tingle, and the hair on his neck began to stick up, and CRACKLE. He’d never felt anything like it before.

“IGNI!”

His hand sparked a few times as the monsters finally broke through the Yrden. As they rushed forward, a wave of fire bigger than anything Geralt, or even Philippa for that matter, had ever cast shot from Geralt’s palm. It was so forceful, Geralt had to dig his heels in the ground to keep himself from being pushed back. The fire illuminated the whole of the cavern, engulfing the monsters completely. The stream of fire was so powerful, that the small pools of water in the cavern began to rapidly evaporate. The heat was enough to make Philippa recoil behind Geralt, but she kept pumping her magic into Geralt, wanting to make sure all the horrible creatures were dead. After several more seconds, Phillipa pulled her arm back. The fire quickly died down to sparks from the Witcher’s palm. Geralt put his arm down, breathing heavily and sweating. Philippa felt light headed, and shakily stepped forward. They looked down at their handy work; the Drowners and Water Hags were almost unrecognizable, skin burnt black to a crisp, nearly nothing besides oversized pieces of charcoal.

“Holy hells.” Geralt breathed out.

“Yeah. That was-”

“Effective.”

“Very.”

“Come over here.”

Philippa walked over to Geralt, who reached out, grabbed her shoulder, and forced it back in it’s socket.

“FUCK!” She yelled out in pain. “A bit of warning next time would be appreci- MPFF”

Philippa was shut up by Geralt suddenly capturing his lips with his, She melted into the kiss, throwing her arms around his neck. After a moment, they broke apart, looking at each other.

“Not bad for a first time Witcher.” Geralt lightly teased.

“Hm. While that kiss was a nice reward, I’d rather get mine in gold. Let’s go get paid.”
______________________________________________________________________

“Sweet fuck! Three of em?”

Herman was more than a bit surprised when Geralt and Philippa came to his door at the crack of dawn, with 3 burnt Water Hag heads in tow.

“We all found the remains of the villagers in the cave. Some men should go and retrieve them. Give them a proper burial.” Geralt informed.

“Aye.” Herman agreed solemnly. “Shame any of this happened. Well, you two did us a great service. Greater than you can know. Here.”

Herman handed Geralt a small sack of gold.

“We gathered what we could. There’s some extra in there given the circumstance. Also feel free to get some rest at the tavern. We’ve plenty of vacancies.”

Geralt nodded his head. Some rest would do wonders.

Philippa and Geralt went to the tavern and took a room Philippa flopped onto the bed, exhausted.

“So, what do you think of the glorious life of being a Witcher?” Geralt asked with a smirk.

“I think we didn’t get paid enough.” Philippa groaned

“Heh. We never do.” Geralt laughed. “You know, you did great. I underestimated you.”

“Brief lapse in sanity. Happens to the best of us.” Philippa teased.

“The way you carried yourself out there….well I could just jump you right now.” Geralt crooned, sitting on the bed. Philippa perked up a bit, rolling over to face him.”

“Well what’s stopping you?” She asked huskily, propping herself up. Geralt gave her a sexy smile and leaned down close enough to whisper into her ear.

“Because you smell like absolute death.”

Philippa pulled back, mouth agape, as Geralt wore a shit eating smirk on his face.

“You...you-” Philippa sputtered.

“Really, we should see if they have a bath somewhere around here. Kissing you in that cave was like kissing the bottom of a fish barrel.”

Geralt quickly got to his feet and made a break for it, as Philippa started slinging hexes at him.

“You horrible, RUDE, inconsiderate-” She yelled as she continued firing a variety of unpleasant spells at the Witcher.

Geralt just dodged them, staying just out of her reach. Internally, he was laughing.

He hadn’t remembered feeling this young in a long time.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Philippa questioned.

“Are you going to keep asking questions?” Geralt sighed.

“Until you start giving answers.”

Geralt and Philippa continued their way to Velen with some coin in their pocket. They were close to Velen now, the No Man’s Land. They would likely be there in a day or so, riding at the pace they were going.

“Yes, we’re going the right way, and yes, we’ll be where we need to be soon.” Geralt responded.

Philippa didn’t appreciate his curt tone, but didn’t voice it. She figured she’d give the man a break given the circumstance. Their little detour had got them some money, and they were on their way to their destination. She didn’t have much to complain about if she was being completely honest.

But naturally, fate had a sense of humor.

A sudden wave of nausea hit Philippa like a warhammer. She got light headed, and her stomach turned. It hit her so suddenly, that she nearly toppled from her horse. Great, this is just what she needed. They were so close to their destination, and her body was having a fit of some sort. Of all the-

“PHILIPPA.”

Philippa was pulled from her thoughts, and looked at Geralt, who was staring at her with concern.

“I called your name several times.” He said, looking her over. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Philippa lied.

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s warm out.”

Geralt frowned at her, not buying her words. She could’ve just told him how she was feeling at the moment, but truthfully she didn’t want to hold up their progression again. She was embarrassed.

“Philippa of something is the matter-“

“NOTHING is wrong Geralt. We need to press on. I’m perfectly capable of..of-“

As Philippa spoke, the feeling of an impending sneeze hit her.

“AAA-CHOOO!”

Now, being a Witcher meant that Geralt could react to things faster than the normal man. This applied to both his physical prowess, and mentally - he could react and process moments in his head quickly. But even then, he was not quite sure what he had just seen.

Philippa sneezed, and then her horse was gone.

Not faded away, or entered a portal. Just gone. Philippa herself didn’t realize what had happened until her bottom hit the ground painfully. Quick as a whip, Geralt dismounted Roach and ran over to her, kneeling beside her.

“Philippa, are you ok?” He asked, looking around trying to assess his surroundings. “What happened?”

“I’m….not sure.” Philippa answered, rubbing her sore bottom. Geralt took the opportunity to take off his glove, and feel Philippa’s skin. She was hot; not like a fever but rather as if her skin was giving off a source of heat.

“Philippa, you’re-”

“FINE. Don’t worry about me, worry about what happened to the H-h-h-HCHOO!” Philippa sneezed again.

“NYYYGGH” Came a sound above them. Geralt looked up, and 50 feet in the air was Philippa’s horse, coming down fast right on top of them. Geralt pushed Philippa away, and stepped back. The steed came crashing to the ground with a hard thud. Geralt could hear dozens of bones break as the poor animal writhed and neighed in pain on the ground. Philippa looked absolutely bewildered, and a bit ashamed.

“I...think we should stop.” Geralt said. Philippa didn’t argue.
_____________________________________________________

Geralt set up camp a bit away from the road. He put Philippa’s poor beast out of its misery, and dragged it out of the road so it wouldn’t block the path of any other travelers.

Philippa resigned herself to sitting on a tree stump, as far away from Geralt as she could be at the moment. She wouldn’t face him, or talk to him. Geralt figured it'd be smart to give her some space. But no one ever said Geralt was a smart man. He of course decided to push the issue. He walked up behind her, and could hear her muttering to herself under her breath. “Accidental magic. Fucking accidental magic! I haven’t done that since I was 12.”

“Accidental magic? That what that was?” He asked, getting her attention. She glared at him over her shoulder, mad that he could move silently, and that he overheard her. “Is it because of the baby?” Geralt found himself asking. Philippa didn’t answer immediately, but he saw her visibly stiffen.

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with.” She said tightly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Judging by you making it rain horses from nothing more than a sneeze, I don’t think that’s up to you.”

“And what do you know of it?” Philippa snapped, whipping around to face the Witcher. “I’ve forgotten more than you could ever know about magic. I’ve studied the craft for your lifetime, twice over. Thrice! So don’t dare to tell me about my magic!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at the ranting Sorceress. Reminded him of Yennefer would often take it out on him when something went wrong, or south in her life. And like with her, he knew it had nothing to do with him. Philippa was embarrassed. Geralt remembered when Ciri would have fits of accidental magic when she was young: One time she accidentally made all the hair on Geralt’s body fall off. Luckily it only took a week or two for most of it to grow back. But accidental magic in such a seasoned magic user - well it was like wetting the bed at 40. So he let her rant, sitting there as she complained and berated him. He knew she needed it right about now. This situation, her current status as an outlaw of her home nation, the pregnancy - Philippa lost control of so much in her life, so quickly. Her magic was the only thing she had complete control over, and even now she was losing that.

Philippa ranted and raced for another 10 minutes or so, before she went back to scowling and ignoring Geralt. It was early in the day still, and Geralt wanted to push on forward, but they were now down one horse, and he didn’t want to risk the same fate happening to his Roach. They sat in uncomfortable silence until night, and decided to call it in early, hoping to make up for the lost day by waking up at dawn. Geralr insisted on checking on Philippa’s condition again before they slept, pressing his hand to her head. She wasn’t hot anymore, but she still had an unnatural sweat. He thought it best that they sleep with some distance between them, lest Philppa accidentally hex him - or purposely. Phillipa found that just fine, still in a foul mood.
They slept through the night with little issue. Periodically Geralt would wake and slyly check on Philippa, who was sleeping soundly. He went back to sleep for the final time until morning. When he awoke, the sun was just coming up over the horizon. He stretched, and went to stand, but strangely, he couldn’t feel the ground below him. Awareness coming back to him, Geralt looked around and that’s when he realized he was levitating several meters in the air. He looked down at Philippa who was none the wiser, still sound asleep.

“Erm, Philippa.” He tried. Philippa just mumbled in her sleep and turned onto her side. Slowly, Geralt began to rise in altitude.

“Philippa! Philippa wake up.” He exclaimed as he began to get further from the ground. Several meters turned into 5, and then 6, and then 8. Geralt turned and flipped in the air as he tried in vain to control his ascent.

“PHILIPPA!”

Philippa snapped awake at the sound of Geralt’s voice, rolling onto her back, and seeing the Witcher levitating above her.

“Wha-” She started to say, before whatever magic that was holding Geralt suddenly released, and he same crashing back down, landing on his back with a hard thud.

Now Philippa was fully awake, rushing to Geralt’s side to check on him.

“Geralt! Gods, are you okay?” She asked in worry.

“Never better.” He responded sarcastically, groaning in pain. He sat up, and cracked his shoulders a few times. “No permanent damage.”

“Did...did I do that?” Philippa asked, voice sheepish.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Geralt said, standing and stretching his back. Philippa’s face was conflicted, looking a mixture of shame and anger.

“I’m...I didn’t mean-” She began, voice pained

“None of that, now.” Geralt said, cutting her off. “You were asleep. You didn’t know what was happening.”

That was the wrong thing to say evidently. Philippa let out a loud groan of frustration and stood from her sleeping roll.

“I’m a Sorceress dammit! Master of the arcane arts, manipulator of the very fabric of this world. I’ve studied for 100s of years to be able to have control over my magic. I EARNED it….and now I’m like a child casting their first spell.” She said solemnly. She wrapped her arms around herself, and looked at the ground. Geralt wasn’t a master at comforting people, but he walked behind her, and wrapped his arms around her supportively, hands going to her stomach. She stiffened, but didn’t try and pull away.

“I know this is all a lot, but you’ve been strong this far.” Geralt praised. Philippa didn’t respond, but she ever so slightly relaxed into his touch. They stayed like that for a bit.

“This is all your fault you know?” Philippa finally said, some of her signature haughtiness back in her voice.

“I know.”
_________________________________________________________________

The pair decided they’d walk for the first part of the trek. Geralt wasn’t keen on putting Roach at risk if Philippa’s magic flared up again. It added time to their travels, but it was the safest route. It had already been 4 days since they left Vizima, but the Nilfgaardian agent was a local, unlikely to go anywhere far.

They walked along the rode, Geralt leading Roach, and Philippa a free paces in front of them. He wanted to give her a bit of space lest she accidentally summon a bolt of lighting, or something of that nature. She still was in a melancholy mood so she didn’t speak much as they traveled. Geralt actually found himself missing her constant questions and pestering; made the road feel empty.

Philippa would occasionally look back at him, and he’d offer her a slight smile, which she did not return. A few times she looked back, she noticed Geralt was looking up, over her head. After a while she asked “What?”

Geralt simply pointed over her head, and the Sorceress tilted her head up. Flying overhead was a group of half a dozen or crows, circling over her in an unnaturally uniform circle.

“Agh!” Philippa let out in frustration. She shot out a spell, striking one of the crows, making the other disperse. Geralt looked on with a raised eyebrow.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Stuff it Geralt!”

Sighing, Geralt walked up beside Philippa, and placed a comforting hand on the small of her back. When his hand made contact with her lower back, she jumped forward as if she had been burned. She looked at him, face screwed in a confused grimace, her features flush. She walked faster. Putting distance between her and Geralt once again. The Witcher had no idea what that was about, but knew at the moment strange things from her was to be expected, so he didn’t press the issue.

They walked for another two hours of open road, before coming across a village. It was small, likely with no more than 20 or so inhabitants, but it had an inn and a general store.

“Let’s stop.” Geralt said.

“What? Why? It's barely evening.” Philippa replied.

“Because, you’ve been fidgety, sweating, and flush for the last 2 hours.” Geralt said a-matter-of-factly. “I told you, to tell me if you were feeling.”

“I feel FINE.”

“Pft, still going with that huh? Look, even if you’re fine, it won't hurt to stop. There’s a general store and an inn here. Even on foot, we’ll be at our destination by tomorrow.”

Philippa scowled, but didn’t say anything. Geralt took this as her begrudging acceptance.

“Come on. We’ll hitch Roach, and get a room.” Geralt said.

“You get a room. I’m going for a walk.” Philippa said a bit snippily. Geralt looked at her confused.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You’re not my keeper, Witcher.”

Geralt frowned, but decided to make a tactical retreat. Maybe she needed to blow off some steam. Better she go do it productively, rather than aimed at him. He wasn’t too worried for her safety; things seemed quiet around here, and he knew she could handle herself in a fight. He just hoped she didn’t go and do something to bring attention to them. Last thing they needed was to get run out of another town.

“Just...be careful, alright. I’ll be in the inn.”

Philippa didn’t answer him before turning and storming away.
__________________________________________________________

Philippa was going to go mad. Absolutely mad.

Her body wasn’t her own at the moment. She was just a bundle of aching muscles, magic, and anxiety moving along. If the spike’s of accidental magic weren’t enough, Philippa was currently suffering from the...other symptoms of her pregnancy.

Philippa wasn’t sure what an animal’s heat cycle was like, but she was sure what she was feeling was something akin to that. Her body was hot, and she ached, especially between her legs. Her hormones were out of sorts, making her want to rut like an animal. It was uncomfortable; it was undignified. Philippa had always had a healthy libido - to her detriment depending on who was asked - but she had CONTROL over it. Right now, she felt like one big nerve ending. She walked around the outskirts of the village, trying to get a handle on her body. She was failing.

And naturally Geralt was unaware of all of this, or what his presence was doing to her.

The man was sex and masculinity incarnate. Aloof and mysterious, and a hell of a lover. She had been dreaming of them having sex when she’d accidently levitated him. She woke up before the good part. And when he touched her lower back trying to comfort her, it was as if someone shot a bolt of lighting through her body. She wanted to just jump him on the spot. But Philippa would be damned if she let her hormones control her. She was an intelligent, powerful sorceress, not some backroom nymphomaniac. She could power through this. She could-
__________________________________________________________________________

Geralt enjoyed the small windows in which he got to relax. With everything going on, Ciri, Philippa, A CHILD, these moments were to be savored. Geralt bought some supplies, and spent a bit of time in the tavern. The locals were nice enough, pleasant even. He’d have to remember this place if he ever came through the area again. After spending some time people watching and drinking in the tavern, he went upstairs to the room he rented for the night. The bed was comfortable enough as well.

Suddenly, the room door swung open forcefully. Geralt sat up, ready to fight until he saw it was only Philippa.

“Enjoy your walk?” He asked. She didn’t answer him. In fact, Geralt noticed the state of her: She was breathing heavily, sweating, and her nostrils were flaring. She looked wild, feral even. “Uhm, You alright?” He inquired, genuinely concerned. Once again, she didn’t answer him - verbally. She stepped forward, waving her hand and shutting the door magically behind her.

Geralt stood, about to ask her what was up with her, but she simply waved her hand again.

And the white haired Witcher found himself in nothing but his undergarments. She waves her hand again, casting a spell to silence the room.

“Where did my-” Gerlat began

“Roach.” Philippa interrupted. She then started to tear at her close, mumbling angrily about how her cest had too many laces. Geralt watched in sheer confusion as the witch stripped bare in front of him manically; she was shaking.

“Philippa are-”

“Geralt, I swear to my magic if you ask me if I’m alright again, I’ll hex everything besides your cock. Now I need you to shut up, and fucking RUIN me.” Philippa practically begged. She took a step forward, and the brave, battle born Witcher actually found himself taking a step back. This all didn’t make alot of sense to him. They were so close to their goal of Velen. They needed to focus on that. Philippa obviously had other ideas of what was important as she stalked toward Geralt. He could see the wetness dripping down her thighs, and she was so intense, her steps seemed to shake the room.

In fact, the room was shaking. The whole building was. Philippa’s magic was crackling on her body, and the sheer energy she was exuding was causing the tavern to move. Not wanting to half to pay for MORE structural damage, Geralt mentally prepared himself to cast a quick Axii on Philippa to get her under control. That was until Philippa practically threw herself down onto her knees in front of him. With speed he didn’t even know her to be capable of, she grabbed the waistband of his undergarments, and pulled them down his thighs. She didn’t say a word before engulfing his half hard cock into her mouth, humming around him. She bobbed her head a few times, bringing him to hardness, before trying to push herself down. She pushed past the barrier of her throat, gagging slightly as his cock filled her esophagus.

Geralt was momentarily stunned. This beautiful Sorceress basically pounced on him, and began to throat his cock, but a part of this felt wrong. They had been intamite before, but she was out of it, and so was her magic. She was liable to bring down the whole building at…

Wait.

The tavern...it stopped shaking. Geralt looked down at Philippa, who was happily and vigorously blowing him. He needed to test something. He placed his hand in her hair, and pushed her off his cock. She didn’t want to go, fighting him, but eventually he pushed her back, popping himself free from her mouth. Her tongue darted out, trying desperately in vain to taste him. As he held her out bay, he could hear the floorboards start to creak, and the building begin to rumble again.

“Philippa…” He said, grabbing her attention. She looked up at him, and even without eyes, he knew she looked desperate. “What do you need?”

A pained expression spread across her features. She was fighting, fighting against making herself completely vulnerable here. She was embarrassed, ashamed about all of this, but she couldn’t fight it. The ache between her legs was too much.

“I want...I need you to fuck me.” She breathed out shakily. “I don’t care how. You can do whatever you please. You can slap me, spit on me, call me whatever you want...please, just give me some RELIEF.”

Geralt stared down at her, and considered what he just heard. She sounded like she was in pain. Her body and magic were unstable. And he seemed to be the only thing that could soothe her. The tavern began to shake with earnest now, and Geralt made his decision. He moved both his hands into her hair, gripping it at the base of her twin braids. Then he pulled her forward back onto his cock; her mouth opened wide on instinct, taking him into the back of her throat. She let out a happy hum and moan, as she placed her hands on his thighs to brace herself. Geralt began to pump his hips, fucking himself in and out of the sorceress throat.

“HRUCCKK...GLACUK...GLRUCKK..” She gagged, as spit pooled in her mouth and dripped down her chin. Her body was feeling peace for the first time in two days. Peace as she got brutally face fucked by the Witcher. It didn’t make sense, and it was shameful, but at that moment she’d listen to anything he’d tell her; do anything he’d asked. She wanted to please him. Her tongue skillfully lapped out at his balls every time she brought her down to the base of his cock. Philippa didn’t particularly enjoy performing oral sex on men, she found it beneath her. But for some reason, he tasted like the sweetest treat she’d ever had.

Geralt pulled her down his cock and held her there, burying her face in his pubic hairs. Her throat tightened and flexed around his length, massaging it. She was getting high off the restriction of air, enjoying the light headedness it gave her. She was always thinking so much. It was nice to have no thoughts at all besides the task at hand. Eventually, he pulled her back, completely off his member. She was reluctant to let him go again, but released his cock from her mouth with a pop, breathing and gasping for air, drool and spit running down her chin to the valley of her breast, with a goofy smile on her face. Geralt rubbed his wet cock over Philippa's face, smearing it all over her pretty features. She just happily took it, as her face was covered in her own saliva, pre-cum and sweat. Suddenly Geralt pulled her up by her hair, making her stand. She got shakily to her feet, with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

“On the bed.” Geralt said simply. Philippa couldn’t obey fast enough, nearly tripping over her feet to get on the hay bed. Geralt took the moment to fully lower, and step out of his smallclothes, kicking them to the side. “How do you want it Philippa? Tell me what you need.”

Philippa swallowed, and her face pinked. Even in all of this, she could still get embarrassed. Her body was burning. She wanted something intense. Something that would hopefully snap her out of this...this..situation. She turned to her front, and lifted her ass into the air. She pressed her face into the bed, and brought her hands back to her ass, slowly pulling her cheeks apart, revealing her puckered pink asshole.

“Here…” She mumbled into the mattress. “Here please..”

Well now this was certainly interesting.
Last woman to so openly ask to be buggered by him was Lytta Neyd all those years ago. Geralt walked to the bed, and placed himself behind the folded over witch. She wiggled her ass invitingly as Geralt loomed over her. Grabbing her firmly by the hips, he guided his cock between her cheeks, into her asshole. There was the natural resistance at first, but she was hot and bothered at the moment, that the muscled ring relaxed, and stretched as he pushed his cock into her. She groaned, both in pain, and pleasure. It had been a long time since she had done this, at least half a century, but it was having its intended effect. As he pressed more and more of his cock into her ass, she felt her cunt gush and spasm. The penetration alone was enough to send an orgasm rushing through her body. Everything was intensified ten-fold. Eventually, when his cock was buried halfway in her ass, he decided to drive the rest home, snapping his hips, and filling her completely.

“FUCCCKKKKK…” Philippa moaned out loudly. She felt so full, so incredibly full. So right, like she was exactly where she needed to be.

Geralt gave her a moment to adjust to his size and sensation, before he began to pump his hips. Slowly at first, earning low throaty moans from the Sorceress. This was heaven, and a hell: reduced to a moaning, whimpering mess all because her body decided to betray her and override her mind, but oh, did it feel so WONDERFUL.

Geralt pick up the pace, hips slamming against her ass, the sound filling the room. His heavy balls swung as he fucked her slapping against her cunt, adding another layer of depraved pleasure to the sorceress.

“Yesyesyessyes!” Philippa moaned out, each word being fucked out of her. She lost track of time as to how long Geralt fucked her ass. The whole world melted aways besides the pleasure. Truth was it had only been 20 minutes or so. Geralt felt the familiar pull in his balls, and knew he was going to cum. He reached out with one of his hands and grabbed both her braids, pulling them back like a reign. Philippa moaned wantonly with her tongue out as Geralt fucked her faster and harder.

He slammed his hips forward, and pulled her back, so that her back was flush against his chest. He forced her head upwards to look at him, and pressed a hard, sloppy kiss to her mouth as his balls contracted, and he emptied his load into her bowels. The sensation threw Philippa over the edge again, and her cunt spasmed and sprayed all over the bed. Geralt held her up for a while, just lazily running his tongue against Philippa’s. Eventually, he broke the kiss and looked at her. Her face was still red, but it looked as if a weight had been lifted off of her.

“How...do you feel?” He asked, trying to catch his breath.

“More…” She rasped out. Geralt raised an eyebrow

“More?”

“More.”
___________________________________________________________________________

And more he gave her. It was only early afternoon when they reached the village, and now the sun was well on its way to set. Geralt had fucked her every which way, over every square inch of the room. Missionary, doggy, standing, sitting, upside down. Philippa was insatiable. It was only after her 7th orgasm, and his 4th, that she finally seemed to come to her senses.

They laid together in the disheveled bed, her head laying on his chest in exhaustion. She’d definitely feel everything he did to her in a few hours, but at that moment, she couldn’t be more content.

“So…” Geralt began.

“Geralt, we both know you’re no good at pillow talk, so please, just let me rest.” She said hoarsely, but sounding like herself,

“None of that. I think you owe me an explanation of what the fuck that was. Not that I’m complaining.”

Philippa sighed, and sat up. Well tried to. Most she could do was prop herself up on her elbows.

“I….have a theory.” She said cautiously.

“Well?”

“The nature of my pregnancy...it’s like any normal one, hormones, mood swings, that sort of thing. But-”

“-Add your magic in, and it turns you into a ball of anger, horniness, and magic.”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it so CRASSLY, but in essence, yes.”

“Hm...so that means this will happen again as things progress.”

“It’s more than likely.”

“And if left unchecked, could cause serious damage.”

“Yes, Geralt. We've established this.”

A smile spread across the Witcher’s face.

“And the only way to counteract it, is for me to fuck it out of you-” Geralt said through a grin. Philippa put a hand to her face and groaned.

“Geralt-”

“Seems to me like I’m saving what’s left of the Northern Kingdoms by fucking you.”

“Oh sod off.” Philippa snapped. Geralt placed his hands between her legs, still sticky from their coupling. Philippa’s breath hitched, and she shot him pouty frown.

“Well, maybe we should make sure you’re back in your right mind. Can never be too safe.” He said huskily. Philippa didn’t answer him, but she did allow her legs to fall open as Geralt rolled on top of her.
_________________________________________________________________________

The next morning saw a Geralt and a VERY sore Philippa rise early. They walked down the stairs of the tavern and were met with a very surprised looking barkeep.

“Wait...were you two up there the whole time?” The barkeep asked, shocked to see them descending the stairs.

“Why wouldn’t we have been?” Geralt asked.

“Didn’t ya feel that shaking last night? It was an earthquake or something! I thought the whole building was gonna come down. Had to evacuate the buildin’” The barkeep explained. Philippa's face pinked a bit, and Geralt stifled a laugh.

“We’re heavy sleepers.” Geralt explained. The barkeep eyed them suspiciously, but asked no further questions. Geralt slapped 2 coins on the table for his hospitality - and in small part to go to get their room back in order- and he and Philippa walked out of the tavern, and rode out of the town.

Back to one horse, Geralt and Philippa rode together, her arms wrapped gently around his torso. They rode in comfortable silence, enjoying the sunny road, and the feel of each other.

But then, the road became muddier, and ragged almost like sludge. The green trees they had seen were becoming more bare, and sickly. Geralt noticed something. The birds, they got quieter, their chirps becoming fewer and farther between. The air changed too, heavier, and with a taste to it. A feeling of foreboding filled Philippa’s stomach; one of anticipation, and dread. Geralt felt it too, as he did so many times before when he went into a conflict. Premonitions of war and pain. Even Roach seemed to be affected by it, his steps becoming more cautious, eyes darting constantly for predators.

It wasn’t until they arrived at a large tree, the largest they had seen for miles by far, with the bodies of a dozen men hanging from it that it really hit them that they’d crossed a line.

This was Velen.

Chapter Text

“Well, that’s just lovely.” Philippa commented sarcastically.

“I guess that means we’re on the right path.” Geralt said, looking at the hanged men swaying in the wind from the branches of the tree.

“Right is a poor choice of words.”

Geralt couldn’t disagree with that.

This was Velen.

The war torn region of Northern Temaria. Geralt could already feel that nothing good could come from being there. He hoped that Ciri wasn’t still here, and if she was, she was safe somewhere, but he knew that wasn’t likely with the Wild Hunt on her trail.

Not wanting to linger under a tree of dead men, Geralt and Philippa continued down the road. They had a destination: The Inn at the Crossroads. Common place for travelers in the region. One of the few safe places, and even then it was barely that. The pair rode on the muddy, disheveled road. This was swampland, so Roach treaded slowly in the terrain.

It only took them a half hour to reach the inn. When they entered, it was sparsely populated by a half dozen patrons, drinking in silence. None of them looked happy to be there; Geralt couldn’t think of a reason they should be. They all looked pale, dreary, and underfed.

Geralt and Philippa walked to the bar where the inkeep was cleaning a mug. He didn’t even spare them a glance.

“Look for a man. Goes by Hendrik.” Geralt stated bluntly.

“What you want with ‘im?” The inkeep asked, casually continuing to clean the mug.

“Wanna talk to him.”

“What about?”

Geralt knew this game. Inkeepers, barmen, tavern wenches; they were the eyes and ears of the country. Need directions, need to find someone, need info of the mood of the region? These were the men and women to ask. Sometimes they didn’t know anything. Sometimes they told you to fuck off. It was all in your approach. And rule of thumb - don’t approach with no intention of buying something.

“Give me a bottle of something strong,” Geralt ordered, “And something a bit gentler for the lady.”

The inkeep looked the two over. He figured they were strange, but harmless compared to what’s rolled through recently. He reached behind the bar, and pulled out a bottle of strong liquor for Geralt, and a mild mead for Philippa. He poured Geralt a small shot of the liquor, and The Witcher downed it like it was nothing. Philippa took a sniff of her mead, and nearly gagged, pushing it to the side.

Outside, the sound of several horses arriving could be heard. The patrons of the inn all looked at each other, and without a word, they all stood, and filtered out the door. The inkeep looked worried, glancing between the door and the pair.

“You two gotta go.” He said urgently. “I’ll open the back way for ya.”

“We haven’t finished our drinks yet.” Geralt replied, glancing at the door as it opened. In walked several men, wearing a mixture of steel curiasses and mail. By the look of the fit, it wasn’t meant for them - likely scavenged.

“Inkeep. Vodka!” Ordered one of the men in a hood. He looks at Philippa and Geralt, eyeing them disdainfully.

“Who's this 'un?” He asked, referring to Geralt. Geralt doesn’t look up from the bar. Philippa glances at him, raising an eyebrow. She figured he was more experienced with running into miscreants, so she waited for his move.

“Brave warrior, looks like. Got two swords, see?” Said the mustached of the men.

“Oi, gray boy! What's the point of havin' two swords?”

“Wonder if he keeps an extra prick in his trousers, too.”

You fuckin' deaf? Gonna say who you are, or do I need to loosen your tongue with me knife?

Geralt found these threats to be tedious. You’d think they’d come up with better insults or threats if they were gonna be belligerent.

“I don’t care about some gray haired twat,” Commented the man with a bald head. He let his eyes roam lecherously to Philippa. “I’m interested in who this pretty tart is here.”

The hooded man perked up, and stepped closer. Geralt figured he’d give the man another step and a half before he’d cut him two.

“What’s with the feathers and the blindfold?” Asked the mustached man. “You some kinda freaky foreign whore? This part of your act, eh?”

“I wonder if she got feathers up her ass too.” Laughed the bald fat man.

Philippa didn’t seem to be phased by their harassment, it wouldn't be the first time a man made the mistake of talking to her like she was some common wench, but Geralt could feel the magic crackling off of her from his proximity. The inkeep seemed to notice it too, taking a step back from the pair. Not wanting Philippa to draw attention to them by painting this lovely inn with their entrails, Geralt decided to step in.

“I’m a Witcher.”

As quickly as they started, the laughing and jeers of the men stopped. They all visually paled, and the hooded man took a step back. Geralt loved when they did that, when they deflated. Men loved to talk big, talk out there ass, all they way up until they got knocked back onto it.

“Heard you wondering about my swords. Well, one's for monsters, the other -- for humans. Only got one prick, though. In case you're wondering about that, too.” Geralrt said, standing to his full height, and turning to face the men. “Another thing about Witchers. We don’t like it when others talk rudely to their women.”

“Don't touch 'im. Don't even look at 'im. Worse than lepers, that lot. And any bitch mad enough to hang around them is probably nothing but trouble”

“Saw one in action once. Killed a half dozen, blood everywhere -- freak didn't even show a drop of sweat.”

“Got the stench o' corpses on 'im.”

The men all sat down, as far from Philippa and Geralt as they could be. Geralt turned back to the bar, and looked at Philippa, who looked highly amused, biting her lip a bit.

“Your woman, am I?” she teased lightly.

“Had to get the point across.” Geralt responded shrugging

“Oh you certainly did that.” Philippa said, voice with a hint of huskiness in it. “You’ve any idea how much I want to jump you right now?”

“Down girl.” Geralt chided playfully.

“Ahem.” The inkeep cleared his throat, interrupting their moment. “If you wanna rest, come with me. I've a bench you can use.”

The inkeep walks from behind the bar to the back of the room. Geralt and Philippa follow.

“Thanks for not startin' a row with those swine.” The inkeep said.

“Geralt: I don't generally poke my nose into other people's business.” Geralt stated. Philippa mentally scoffed at that.

“Looking to stay the night?”

“No. Looking for a man named Hendrik”

“Man lives in Heatherton.”

“Don't know where that is.”

“Other side of the hill. Looked thataway this morn and saw a strange glow. Imperials on the raid, perhaps, but who knows…”

Philippa looked at Geralt. Strange glows were generally not good signs in both their experiences.

“Anything else you can tell me about Hendrik?” Geralt inquired.

“Aye, an' he stays out o' their way. Always seems to know when they're comin', always manages to disappear.” The inkeep answered.

‘Wouldn’t be a very good spy if he didn’t’ Philippa thought.

“That it?” Geralt asked, seeing what else he could get out of the innkeep

“Aye, that’s it.”

“Right, we’ll be off then.”

“You wouldn’t appen to be a witch would ya?” The inkeep asked, looking at Philippa. Philippa arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips a bit.

“What makes you say that?” She asked.

“Well back there, you weren’t scared of them boys a bit. Most women…. Well anyway, any lady who ain worried about that lot must got some weird powers of some kind. Reminds me of the other witch who came through a few weeks back.”

“Hmm, well keep your astute observation to yourself.” Philippa declared. The inkeep nodded, and bid them farewell as they left. They now had a location for Hendrik.

Heatherton.
_________________________________________________________________________

They rode over the hill as instructed, taking the road following the signs to Heatheron. The road was ragged, clearly having many people and horses trample over it recently. Besides a few burned or abandoned farm houses or huts, their path seemed devoid of life.

“What do you think that light the barkeep mentioned was?” Philippa asked from behind Geralt.

“I’m not sure. Probably nothing good.” Geralt answered.

As they continued to ride, there was a gradual drop in temperature as they got closer and closer to the village. Only slightly at first, but as they went, it was enough to make Philippa shiver and rub her exposed arms. It was May and weather this cold was very uncommon, and so suddenly- this wasn’t normal

Geralt looked up, and saw that the trees at the edge of the village were lightly frosted in white. Philippa noticed it too.

“Is that-’

“-snow.

Something unnatural happened here. Something unnatural and horrid.

The village came into clear view.

It was covered in ice and snow. Geralt could see his breath. It was as if they walked into a cellar on a hot winter day.

The village was in ruins. Houses burned, but covered in ice. Strangely, there weren’t any bodies. There were obvious signs of a struggle, but there wasn’t a soul, a corpse in sight. It was like the whole village just up and vanished.

Philippa felt a great sense of unease in the pit of her stomach. The unnatural cold, the mysterious disappearances. This felt like some dark magic to her. She could sense it. Geralt could sense the natural world, but she could sense outside of it. And her sense was telling her that they shouldn't be there long

“Back! Get back!” Came a man’s voice in distress. Geralt and Philippa quickly dismounted Roach, and went to investigate. At the edge of a village stood a man, his back pressed against the door of a house. He was surrounded by several hounds, no doubt finding the village as an easy meal. The man waved a torch at the beasts, trying to defend himself. Geralt went to grab his sword to handle the hounds, but Philippa stepped forward. With a wave of her hand, the dogs bursts into flames. They yelped in agony, and scattered, attempting to put themselves out. Efficient.

The man didn’t calm down however. Even with the dogs gone, he still waved the torch around wildly. He stumbled over his own feet, falling to his side, cowering away from them.

“Begone! Leave me be, whoever you is! Get away!” He shouted

Geralt took a step forward. The man flinched as Gestalt brought his hand up. “Calm yourself. It’s over.” He instructed, signing Axii with his hands. The sign worked as intended, and the man relaxed, just a bit, but enough to talk. He was still strung as tight as a bow, rocking as he sat.

“Aye, it's over... All's past, never to be restored. I'll not forget that ever.” The man said solemnly, looking at his feet.

“What happened?” Geralt asked. The man looked at him with a pained face.

“I dunno... I don't wanna know. They came for Hendrik...and they got 'im.” The main said Geralt looked over his shoulder at Phillipa, who frowned. This wasn’t good. Something got to Hendrik before them. Something terrible. “They nabbed 'im in that hut. If you'd o' heard the cries, sir...if you'd o' heard how a man can scream...how he can suffer-

“Hey, I need you to focus for me, okay? Tell me what happened here.”

So he did.

The man recounted the story of how the Wild Hunt rode into the village like specters of death. They slaughtered the inhabitants, taking their bodies...somewhere. Hendrik, they tortured until his screams turned into nothing more than gurgles and whimpers. How he had only survived because he hid...how his wife and daughter hadn’t.

“Dammit!” Geralt exclaimed.

“Weren't here long, the terrors. Yet the village froze like the heart of winter..” Said the man as he shivered. Philippa cast a slight warming charm on him, feeling sympathetic. Philippa had never taken the Wild Hunt seriously. For most of her life, she considered them and their exploits to be somewhere between a myth, and none of her concern. But now, seeing what they could do...well she couldn’t deny what was right in front of her.

“You in that hut when they rode off?”

“No. And I'll not set foot there. Never.”

The man rocked anxiously. Geralt figured this was all they were gonna get out of him. He’d leave him be. Wish he had some words to console the man, but nothing came to mind, so he did the second best thing and stayed silent. Geralt looked towards Hendrik’s hut. He could smell the corpse.

“What now?” Philippa asked. Geralt thought for a minute. None of this was going smoothly. He figured that was about right for his life.

“Dammit.” He repeated. “Let’s get this over with.”

Geralt and Phillpa walked to the hut. There was no door, it was ribbe from the hinges. Lying in the middle of the floor was Hendrik. His clothes were soaked through with blood, as if they were dyed burgundy. His skin was purple and bloated. Bones protruded from his skin where they had been snapped. His face was scorched, as if held to a fire. They didn’t know what he had looked like before, but they knew he was unrecognizable in this state.

Philippa covered her nose in disgust.

“Do you need to step outside?” Geralt asked, not taking his eyes of Hendriks body

“No...no. I’m fine.”

Geralt dropped to one knee next to Hendrik. Removing his gauntlets, he patted down his body, searching for a clue, anything that could help them. He was cold as ice, clothes stiff as if left to dry mid winter. Geralt didn’t find anything in his pants or shirt. He even checked under his hat.

“Check his boots.” Philippa suddenly said. Geralt looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Dijkstra used to hide things in the heel of his boot. Instructed his men to as well. You pick up a thing or two when you lie with a spymaster.”

The thought of Dijkstra and Philippa made Geralt frown a bit, but he couldn’t think of that now. He did as instructed, pulling off Hendrik’s boots. He checked the right heel - nothing. Then he checked the left, and the heel popped off, revealing a small indentation, with a key inside.

“Hrm. A key.” Geralt stated. Philippa smiled in self satisfaction. She looked around the hut, seeing what the key could be to. In the next room, there was a VERY conspicuous looking fur, laid across the floor of the hut.

“Geralt, do you think this fur is a design choice?” She asked facetiously.

“There’s a draft coming from it. Step back.”

Geralt lifted the rug, and under it was a trap door.

“Looks like we found where our key goes.” Philippa stated.

“Guess so.” He agreed. He bent down, unlocking the door and opening the hatch. They climbed down into the cellar; it was dark. Philippa cast a spell that lit every available candle in the room, giving them some light. The cellar appeared to be a mixture of a storage space and workspace. There was a large cabinet at the far end of the room, a desk, along with various valuables and goods.

“All his unlocked. On display almost.” Geralt noted. “Lost his mind, or-”

“Maybe he was trying to throw off the scent of the real valuables.” Phillipa finished for him.

The pair looked around the room. This was a spy, so they needed to look for any hidden doors, false bottoms, or...levers. A candle stick on the wall. Geralt didn’t know why, but it looked off to him. Reaching his hand, he grabbed it. He felt a mechanism behind it, turning it sideways.

The cabinet made a clicking noise, and swung open sideways, revealing a shelf with a a small chest on it

“A hole in the wall?” Philippa commented. “Really? Lack of creativity for a spy.”

“He kept it out of the hands of the Wild Hunt.” Geralt countered. “That counts for something.”

“I’m just saying, I would’ve disillusioned it. Hide it in a pocket dimension. Something like that.”

“He’s not really in a position to defend himself.” Geralt said sarcastically. He went to the newly revealed shelf and opened the safe.

“What’s in it?” Philippa asked.

“ Hmm...interesting. A ledger...payment for a sack of grain...amount due for a charcoal shipment... Hendrik was masquerading as a merchant.” Concluded Geralt.

“Means he’d be able to move around the area without raising much suspicion.” Philippa commented. “Great way to keep tabs on people.”

“Hm, what's this? Notes among the ledger entries -- clever. Interesting headings… ‘Missing and Wanted.’ Subject appeared in Skellige. Also sighted in Novigrad. Appearance unchanged. Ashen hair. Scar on her face. Avoid contact with others.’ Geralt read. Sounded like his Ciri. Always the survivor. He was glad she was avoiding making a spectacle of herself. Safer that way.

'Drunken Swine. So-called baron hosted subject at his castle, or should I say, illegally-appropriated fort..."Reason unknown. Talk to baron at Crow's Perch.'

So Ciri encountered the Baron. Seemed that they’d stop and see him after all. He was glad he didn’t kill his men in the inn. That might have needlessly complicated things. Geralt carried on reading. 'Clashed with a Witch. Subject landed in a swamp, encountered a witch. Conflict ensued. Cause unknown. Find the witch. Talk to the peasantry -- village of Midcopse.'
>
‘Teleported into a swamp and ran into a witch, hm?’ Geralt thought.

“Know of any sorceresses or witches in the area?” Geralt asked Philippa.

“What, am I supposed to know of every woman who brews homemade cold medicine and fancies herself a witch?” Philippa asked snippely. Geralt gave her a look and she sighed. “The war scattered and displaced a lot of people. Any tabs I had on magic users are long rendered outdated.”

“Well we might have to pay this witch a visit. See what she knows.”

Geralt flipped through the pages, seeing if there was anything else of note. Nothing. Geralt placed the book in his pocket.

“So a witch and a baron.” Philippa stated. “Which should we pursue first?”

“The baron is our closest lead.” Geralt answered. “Though from what I’ve heard, he’s not the most hospitable.”

“Never stopped you before.”

“It sure hasn’t.”
__________________________________________________________________

The pair headed to Crow’s Perch, the home of Philip Stenger, aka the Bloody Baron.

From the brief rundown the Ambassador gave them, the Baron is a Nilfgaardian defector by circumstance. He fought against the empire at the beginning of the war and was soundly defeated. He and his surviving men took up residence at the abandoned fort of Crow’s Perch, and instilled themselves as new power. They joined Nilfgaard not out of any loyalty to them, but rather a realization that they couldn’t fight them. Path of least resistance. Nilfgaard wasn’t going to turn down a rooted presence in the area, so they recognized the Baron as the lord and ‘protector’ of the area.

In reality, he and his men ran Crow’s Perch and the surrounding area with little more discipline or care than a gang. A gang with the empire of the south behind them. That’s why the local populace feared them. They were ruthless, callous, and they held a chokehold on the citizens.

Good thing Philippa and Geralt weren’t citizens.

They rode for a while, likely no more than a half hour to reach the village, when suddenly, Philippa was hit with a wave of unease. Her stomach rolled, but not in nausea, rather like something was trying to enter her body. Trying to touch her from the inside.

And then, everything went black.

The world around her disappeared and She was in a void. She had no voice, no sense of her surroundings. Then a voice, no voices reached out to her.

“Come to us….. Come to us.” They chanted from nowhere and everywhere at once. The voices sounded pleasant, beckoning her toward them. Yet unease ran through her. She couldn’t move if she wanted to, but she didn’t want to go to the voices.

“Come to us….. Come to us!” The voices demanded, all softness gone. She felt her limbs being pulled at, holding her in place. Multiple invisible appendages all over her body

“We will have it. We will have her.”

Philippa…

“Philippa!”

Philippa came back to the world with a start.

“You’re squeezing me pretty tight there. You alright?” Geralt asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I-I think so.”

Geralt wasn’t sure he liked that answer. “You feeling sick again? You’re not going to accidentally turn me into a frog are you?”

Philippa was a bit shaken by what just happened. A few seconds felt like an hour. Another vision maybe, but none of her visions before were so...unpleasant Geralt looked over his shoulder waiting for her to respond.

“Just feeling a little sick. Let’s keep moving.”

“If we need to stop-”

“NO...We’re so close to our goal. And we’ve already lost enough time because of me as it is. I know you don’t want to stop when we’re right at the gate.”

Geralt opened his mouth to argue, but Philippa was right. He didn’t want to stop. They were so close to their first breakthrough on finding Ciri. And with knowledge of how close the Wild Hunt is, well Geralt wasn’t in a mood to take things slowly. Still though, he worried about Philippa's health and safety, even more so than he outwardly showed.

“But-” He began, before Philippa pinched him. “Ow!”

“Geralt, argue again and I WILL turn you into a frog, on PURPOSE.” She threatened. We’ll soon be at Crow’s Perch behind high walls. You can fret over me once we’re there and find out what this Baron knows about. Cirillia.”

Geralt gave her one more withering look, and then nodded, turning back to look at the road.

“Stop worrying so much. Nothing I haven’t felt before.”

That was a lie. She had never felt anything like that before. And she didn’t want to feel it again anytime soon.
____________________________________________________________________________

The pair arrived at Crow Perch soon after; a wood and brick fortress on a hill, surrounded by a village below. It was sparsely populated, maybe 50 or so inhabitants in total, but it was larger and more intact than any village or hamlet they’ve encountered since they’d left Vizima. Geralt supposed this place was safer than most places in Velen. An iron-fist is hearty. The Baron’s men eyed them suspiciously as they moved through the village, but otherwise left them be.

They climbed the hill, and approached the front gate of the fort, which was manned by two guards standing in front of it.

“Halt! Who goes there?!” A guard demanded.

“Baron home?” Geralt asked.

“Depends who's askin.” Said the second guard.

“A Witcher and his companion. We wanna talk to him.”

“ Hmph, yeah. And I wanna plough the lovely Queen Cerro.”

“Lovely.” Philippa said dryly.

“Wait, you think these two are the same pair from the inn who had them boys pissing their pants.” The first guard asked the second.

“Lot of white haired Witchers coming through this area?” Philippa asked sarcastically.

“Oi! Watch your cheek woman!” The first guard barked. “I’ve little incentive to let in mouthy wenches, and mutants who threaten our men.”

“I didn’t threaten your men.” Geralt stated. “I just told them who I was. If they felt threatened, that’s on them.”

“Still doesn’t give me much reason to let you lot in here.”

“Hold on now.” The second guard interjected. “I’m sure we can work out some kind of...arrangement.”

Geralt rolled his eyes at the euphemism. He knew what that meant.

“How much?” He asked with a sigh.

“Thirty gold.”

“Fuck off. For that much, I can find my own way in. I’ll give you five.”

“Five?! Why I should whip you for that insult. We’re risking our necks by letting you two in. You could be spies. YOU could carry diseases. Twenty-five.”

“Ten.

“Twenty.”

“Fifteen.”

The guard looked at his companion, who just shrugged. “All right. Fifteen.”

Geralt reached into his pouch and counted out fifteen gold. They weren’t out, but they were running low. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long. He handed the gold through the holes in the gate, and the guard counted, and pocketed it.

“Lodrin, let 'im in. If he makes any trouble...well, we outnumber 'em.” The first guard said. After a second, the gate slowly opened for the two. The first guard then turned and called out to a man standing next to some training equipment. “Sergeant! Ardal! Witcher to see the baron!”

The Sergeant looked toward the gate, and walked over. He walked directly in front of Geralt and Philippa, eyeing them. He looked older. It could’ve been from age, or just world weariness. His hair was a mop of brown, greasy and balding. His eyes were a bit sunken in, giving him a ghoulish look. The Sergeant turned to the second guard and held out his palm.

“What-“ The guard began.

“Hand it over.” Sergeant Ardal ordered the man.

“Hand what-”

“The gold you just got from these two. Hand it over.” The Sergeant opened and closed his hand expectantly “Don’t make me ask again.”

The implicit threat in his voice made the guard relent, reaching into his pocket and giving the Sergeant the gold he just extorted from Geralt and Philippa. They thought the Sergeant was going to return the gold, until he put it in his own pocket. Chain of command.

“Come on then.” He said as he spun around and started walking back toward the center of the fort. Geralt and Philippa followed behind the Sergeant closely, taking in the fort. There were perhaps 3 dozen guards within the walls, the others were likely at other stations and checkpoints, and patrolling the area. Geralt watched as the men sat around, drank, and sloppily trained. These weren’t soldiers; they might have been at one point, but now- just a bunch of thugs with armor. Though Geralt supposed that could accurately describe soldiers as well.

“Guard called you a sergeant. You a Temerian soldier?” Geralt asked Sergeant Ardal. He seemed to bristle at that, but didn’t turn around or stop walking.

“Not your concern, mate.” Geralt could tell he was annoyed by the question. Nevertheless, Geralt continued to push.

“Deserter?”

“Nothing to desert. Temerian army don't exist no more.”

“Yet you’re all here?” Philippa added.

“Had a choice after the Black Ones thrashed us -- let it lie and try to lead normal lives...or continue to resist, join the guerillas and fight for our beloved Temeria till death do us part. We chose the former.”

“And the baron your commander?” Geralt pressed.

“I’m sure he fancies himself one.” The Sergeant grumbled.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning- you ask to many questions. Your business is with the Baron. Pester him with questions. There he is over there.”

Ardal pointed to a small garden a few meters away. Sat a table were several Nilfgaardian soldiers, and a middle aged, portly, bearded man in red. That had to be the Baron.

“ In Vizima -- now those were balls!” Exclaimed the Baron boastfully. His Nilfgaardian guests looked rather annoyed. “Attended a few, me and my Annie! Oh, how we danced! How we twirled! Hahaha!”

The Baron stood, and grabbed an old maid who was tidying up the area. He began to spin her around in a sudden waltz.

“One, two, three -- one, two, three -- wayhey!”

The Nilfgaardians had enough of his antics, and their leader stood abruptly. “Enough! I don't care how you do it, but the deliveries must be weekly.” The Black One barked. The Baron let the maid go back to his duties, and eyed the Nilfgaardians disdainfully, obviously not liking their curtness.

“Won’t you stay for tea?”

“No. Besides, you've another guest.”

The Baron looked over to Geralt and Philippa as the Nilfgaardians departed. He stood with his hands on his hips, making a large presence of himself.

“Well, if it isn't the pair who had some of my boys shaking in their boots.” The Baron said, sounding almost impressed. “You know, usually people who cause disturbances in my realm I have brought to me. I’d have them flogged.”

“Didn’t know we caused a disturbance.” Geralt said dryly.

“Ha! Way they described it, you basically threatened to kill their bloodline. Exaggeration I’m sure. But I figure anyone who can make my boys shake in their boots are some people I’d like to meet. Might prove to be useful.”

“Sorry, I’m not here looking for a job. I’m-”

“I know who you are.”

Geralt arched a white eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh? And how do you know that exactly.”

“You kidding? Yer a spitting image of her. White hair. Walking into a fort full of armed men without the slightest bit of worry. Hell, you even got similar scars.” The Baron explained. Geralt stiffened a bit, and the Baron knew he had him. “You’re here about Ciri.”

Geralt didn’t bother to confirm it. The Baron already read him well. Better than he was comfortable with. Taking Geralt’s silence as all the answer he needed and smiled.

“Looks like we have much to discuss. We’ll continue this inside.”

Chapter Text

The Baron led Geralt and Philippa through the fort, and into the castle. It was a modest castle by most standards, a large castle wouldn’t do much good out in Velen; It would be too hard to stock, keep staffed and maintain. Still, neither Geralt or Philippa figured the Baron had any complaints.

They entered what they assumed to be the main work and comfort quarters of the lord of this castle. It was in a state of disarray, with many belongings haphazardly thrown around. Philippa doubted half the things in the room actually belonged to the Baron himself.

“Make yourselves at home.” The Baron said with over exaggerated enthusiasm. “Now where’d I put the bloody vodka?”

The Baron looked around his mess for his alcohol, and Philippa and Geralt gave each other weary looks. THIS was the man who held information on Ciri? This was their step, and impediment to their goal.

“Ah, there it is! A snifter?” Asked the Baron, offering drinks to Geralt and Philippa as he took a seat at his table.

“No thanks.” Geralt answered for both of them. “We didn’t come here to drink.”

“Hmph. As you will. But I'll not sit here adry, if you don't mind.” The Baron proclaimed. He didn’t bother to grab a cup, rather setting the whole bottle in front of himself. “Before the war, there was a distillery nearby, best in Velen. But the whoresons burnt it to the ground. But to the matter at hand -- I'm Phillip Strenger, though the blobtits 'round here call me the Bloody Baron!”

Philippa noted that he seemed rather proud of that title.

“Geralt of Rivia. Blobtits call me the Butcher of Blaviken.” Geralt stated. “And this is Philys”

The Baron raised a scrutinizing eyebrow at the pair.

“Come now, no need to be coy. You think I don’t recognize the infamous Philippa Eilhart when I see her.” The Baron said, smirk gracing his rough, red face. Philippa stiffened and nearly gaped at the man. She hadn’t expected someone like HIM to make her, and make her so quickly. Geralt tensed as well, not knowing what the Baron was thinking.

“Relax, the both of ya.” The Baron said. “Doubt anyone else recognized ya. They ain’t cultured like me. I been around, traveled a bit. Seen her in Tretogor decades ago. Feathers gave ya away.”

Geralt looked at the side of Philippa’s head, as the Sorceress did her best not to acknowledge the Witcher and give him the satisfaction.

“Plus the way I see it, with your face plastered on every wall and post in Redania, I’d say we’re practically on the same side. Truth be told, the only reason we’re talking is because I know of the both of ya, and what you can do. How do you like it here in Velen?”

“Since we’re being so honset, I don't. Swamps, bogs, marshes everywhere…” Philippa said disdainfully

“Exactly!”

“Didn’t come here to talk scenery.” Geralt interjected, growing tired of the Baron’s games.

“You're wrong to avoid the topic. You've just arrived, plain to see.And the local swamps and bogs -- they're interesting to say the least.” The Baron chided cryptically. “Someone loses their way 'round here, he becomes damn hard to find.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Many have lost loved ones here. Some their wives, others their daughters…”

“Spit out whatever it is you’re trying to say.” Philippa asserted. “We did not come here to hear you wax poetic,”

“Hm, not as clever as I thought you’d be. I’m being very literal.” The Baron said, frowning at Philippa, who scowled back in return. The Baron turned his attention back to Geralt. “You want to hear about your girl, Ciri.”

“Obviously.” Geralt stated.

The Baron leaned back in his chair and looked up.

“She showed up some time ago -- exhausted, wounded, and stinkin' like a soaked hound after a hard hunt. Later I learned she'd come from the swamp... Said some beasts from the woods attacked her before she could reach the village…”

Geralt and Philippa stood there and listened. Listened as the Baron recounted his experience with Ciri. How she appeared in the swamp. How she saved a little girl. How she fought a werewolf. When the Baron first said Ciri’s name, Geralt was honestly skeptical that he knew anything. Perhaps he heard the name in passing, perhaps he remembered Ciri’s adventures all those years ago. But now, hearing him speak, there was no doubt in his mind. Everything he said was just so...her. She might’ve been older, but she was still the Ciri he picked up a decade and a half ago.

“That’s my girl.” He thought proudly.

“-So I ordered my men to watch her, and let her rest.” The Baron finished. Geralt gave him a confused look. That wasn’t all.

“And?” He asked.

“Ahhh, a topic for another time.”

“I want-” Geralt started, feeling himself grow angry. He stopped himself, trying to gain a handle on the various emotions flowing through him. I NEED to find her, understand? I need every last bit of information available.” Geralt tried to reason. The Baron looked at him, almost sympathetically, but Geralt could tell he was about to be denied.

“I understand. But you see, it so happens my wife and daughter are missing as well. I propose an exchange -- find my loved ones, and I shall tell you about the girl you seek. All I know.”

“And if we refuse?” Philippa piped in. The Baron gave her a hard look, which Philippa simply lifted her chin to.

“Would you tell me to sod off? Go ahead.“ Dared the Baron, voice gruff. “But then I'll do the same. And what'll that make us? Three helpless, empty-handed sods.

“And what’s to keep me from just ripping the information from your head?”

Geralt was a bit surprised by Philippa’s threatening tone. For someone who dealt in diplomacy, she had a low threshold for people giving her the run-around. However, the Baron didn’t look all too threatened by her words.

“I’ll admit, I know little about magic, but I know a thing or two about bluffs.” The Baron stated, unconcerned. “If you very well could do that, you wouldn’t tell me. Hells, I doubt you would’ve even entertained me this far.”

Philippa kept her face impassive, but internally she was seething. He called her bluff. The man was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. He was still a drunken mongrel, but he wasn’t dumb.

Truthfully, telepathy and mind magic was a complex, and downright dangerous form of magic. If one’s execution was not perfect, it could result in the caster permanently destroying the mind of it’s catsee, or even themselves. The mind is complicated; pulling specific bits of information was like pulling a needle from a haystack, but the haystack was constantly influx, and full of termites. It was not something that she had become adept at, and as much as she loathed to admit it, one of the few remaining masters of telepathy was Yennefer. When Geralt sensed Philippa had nothing more to add, he continued.

“When’d you see them last?” He asked.

“They vanished after the new moon, as if whisked away by shadows.” The Baron replied solemnly.

“What do you mean ‘vanished’”?”

“Precisely that. I awoke one morn to find them gone.”

“Geralt knew there was more to what he was saying, but he didn’t have the time to question him. He needed this information, and sometimes the path of least resistance was the best way.

“I'll need to know a lot more than that. Can I see their rooms?”

The Baron tensed up at the request, which didn’t go unseen by Geralt or Philippa.

“I need clues, anything to latch onto.”

“I'll not let a stranger paw through their belongings.” The Baron said with a frown. He was defensive, cagey.

“Want me to find them or not?” Philippa interjected. The Baron gave her a stern look.

“I do.” He ground out.

“Then let us work.”

“Huh, fine. But I shall go with you. The doors are locked.”

The Baron stood from his seat, and led them out the chamber. They walked the halls and climbed a set of stairs.

“Got any enemies?” Geralt asked as they walked. “Maybe they were kidnapped.”

“None worth mentioning. Worthless little pricks and angry peasants is all. None would dare raise a finger against my family. Any who might've, they've been eating dirt long since.” The Baron said confidently.

“You’d be surprised how bold man can get when they think they have an advantage.” Philippa said in a veiled insult of the Baron. He clearly didn’t get it, because he just laughed in response.

“Bold, sure. But not suicidal. I’d pity any bastard who’d hurt my Tamara”

“What about your wife?”

“...Of course. Goes without saying.”

They arrived at the room, and Baron tried for the door. It was stuck. The Baron kicked and banged on it with little grace.

“Bloody door. Always getting stuck when - ah, there it is!” The door swung open, and the Baron stepped to the side. “Our bedchamber. Tamara's room is there. Try not to make a mess. For their return, I want everything to be as they left it.”

Geralt gave a slight nod, and entered the room, followed by Philippa. The Baron closed the door behind them, leaving them alone.

“He’s hiding something.” Philippa stated once she was sure the Baron’s footsteps were far enough away.

“Of course.” Geralt replied, more interested in seeing what he could discover in the room. “Someone is always hiding something.”

“I’m becoming quite the Witcher myself it seems.” Philippa said facetiously. “Fighting monsters. Get wrapped up in other people's affairs. You rub off on people in more ways than one.”

“Philippa.” Geralt said sternly. “Please, we don’t have time for this. I need your help right now, and your glib comments aren’t helping.”

Philippa shot Geralt a petulant frown, before sighing. “Fine, fine. Let’s get on with this then.”

The chamber was big, spacious, More room than the Baron and his family, or anyone for that matter really needed. Geralt walked around the perimeter of the room, seeing what stood out. Philippa stood in the center and did the same. She of course didn’t have the natural senses of a Witcher, but she was observant, even without her eyes.

“Hmmm.” Geralt grunted. He moved towards a table which had some plates and a candlestick on it. “This candlestick is missing a piece. Maybe it’s around here somewhere. What do you think?”

Philippa was paying him no mind, instead looking at the wall at the far end of where she was standing.

“Geralt, does that wall look strange to you?” She pointed. Geralt looked to where she was pointing; the wall was two different colors. A perfectly rectangular section was lighter than the rest.

“Something was hanging here” Geralt commented, walking over to examine it closer

“A painting?”

“Bout the right size.”

Geralt looked around for a painting of some kind. To his left was a portrait of The Baron and his wife Anna hanging on a small divider wall of an alcove. It looked to be the same dimensions as the discolored section of wall. Carefully, Geralt removed the painting, revealing a hole that went clear through the wall, and into the cabinet.

“Looks like a commotion of some sort happened.” Geralt said.

“And then someone tried to make sure everything looked normal.” Philippa added. “Except they didn’t account for a Withcer poking around.”

“No one ever does.”

Geralt bent down, and reached into the hole. He fumbled his hand around, until he felt something. He grabbed whatever it was, and pulled it out.

“What is it?” Philippa inquired. Geralt turned, and revealed a small piece of broken wood.

“Looks like we found the rest of our candle stem.” Geralt speculated. He walked back to the table and grabbed the candlestick, flipping it, and fitting the wood piece back into where it belonged. “And if I had to guess, someone used it as a makeshift club.”

“So there was a fight?”

“Judging by the marks in that post there, and the scent of wine lingering on the floor, I’d say that seems to be the case. Question is who?”

“Wine?”

“Too faint for you anyone else to pick up. It’s all over the floor. Someone likely smashed a bottle. Everluce, from Toussaint.”

“Shame of a waste. Good wine.” Philippa said sarcastically. She thought for a moment. “Can you smell where the wine leads?”

Geralt took a deep inhale, smelling the air. He looked at the ground, and slowly began to follow an invisible trail around the room. The trail stopped at the bed. Geralt looked around the bed, seeing if anything looked out of the ordinary. Nothing. Then, he went to a knee, and bent forward, so he could look under the bed.

“What do you see?” Philippa asked. Geralt didn’t answer immediately, rather laying down flat on his stomach so he could reach under the bed. When he stood again, in his hand was a small amulet. It was made of dark wood, near black, with an inscription carved into it. It smelled of spices, ones that Geralt didn’t readily know. . Philippa stepped forward to get a better look at it. “That’s Zerrikanian”

“You know of it?” Geralt asked, a bit impressed.

“Oh don’t sound so surprised. I visited the region once or twice in my younger years.” Philippa said offhandedly. “My Zerrikanian is a bit rusty, but from what I can tell, It’s a protective amulet of some sort.”

“You sure you weren’t a Witcher in your past life?” Geralt commented. Philippa wrinkled her nose at that, but gave a small smile. She did seem to have a knack for it.

“If I was, there wouldn’t have been much competition.” Philippa said with a smirk. Geralt just snorted

“Well, whatever this is obviously didn’t work.” Geralt commented dryly as he examined the Amulet further. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything else. Let’s report to the Baron.”

The pair left the chambers and went to the Baron, who was sitting on a nearby bench, smoking a pipe

“Done pokin' around?” He asked, blowing smoke in their direction.

“Recognize this amulet?” Geralt asked, holding it out for the Baron. The Baron inspected it for a moment,

“Hmm... Yes. Anna began wearing it a time ago.”

“Any idea where she got it?”

“None.”

“Philippa believes it to be Zerrikanian in origin. Might be a stretch, but know of any Zerrikanians that came through here?”

“Know that you mention it...there’s word of a fellar, bronze skinned, who people have been talking about in an inn not a half hour away. I was going to send my boys to go check him out, but then all this happened.”

A lead. Good.

“Also, found signs of a fight in the room. Know anything about that?”

“ A fight?” The Baron said, sounding shocked. “What're you talkin' about?”

“Someone was attacked -- probably your wife or daughter” Geralt explained. “Whoever it was tried to defend themselves with a candlestick. Missed the attacker, punctured the wall, instead. They tussled, too.”

“I...I don't know nothin' about this. That night...I was drunk, don't remember a thing. They were gone by the time I awoke.”
“All these men, and no one heard anything?” Philippa questioned, not convinced. The Baron frowned deeply.

“Three times I asked those bastards if they'd seen anythin', heard anythin'. Nothin', not a one of 'em.” He said angrily.

Sensing they were at the end of any useful information from the Baron, Geralt pressed on. “Oughta have a chat with this bronze skinned fellow;” He said.

“The inn he’s supposedly staying at is not a half hours ride North of here. And let me tell you something Witcher, if he had anything to do with my family gone missing, you’d better kill him yourself, because I’ll make him suffer.” The Baron finished gravely.

“Noted.” Geralt replied simply. With a look to Philippa, the two descended the stairs to the Castle doors, in search of a Zerrikanian.
____________________________________________________________________________
Geralt was in a foul mood by the time he and Philippa located the tavern. Another bloody assignment, another bloody task. He might as well have had the word chump written on his forehead these days, because he always found himself the lackey in someone else’s scheme and agenda.

“This the place?” Philippa asked

“Must be. Ain’t nothing else for miles.”

‘The Two-Legged Mule.’ A lovely place. From outside Geralt could hear a commotion going on. Seems they were walking into a lively place. The pair entered the tavern, and it was in stark contrast to the Inn at the Crossroads. It was crowded, loud and the patrons were animated. Geralt also noted they were meaner looking, and most of them were armed. Looks like they stumbled upon a Bandit Bar. Guess they had to spend their pillaged coin somewhere.

“You cheated! You fuckin’ cheated!” A drunken man yelled from across the room.

Geralt and Philippa looked over, and a portly man was standing over a small round table, with cards scattered on it. Across from him, sitting with his feet propped up, was their Zerrikanian. He’d stand out like a sore thumb even if it weren’t for his dark skin amongst the pale northerners. He wore a long purple tunic that went down to about his shins, baggy tan pants tucking into his boots, as well as a turban matching his tunic. He wore many wings on both his hands, and his right ear was pierced with small gold hoops along the helix. His face had patterned scarification; little crosses that went from below his eyes, to mid cheek. And unlike everyone there, he wore a big, white-toothed smile on his face.

“Cheat?” The Zerrikanian said. “No, never. I am a man of honor. Perhaps you are just bad at cards.”

“No, ya cheated!” Pipped in the drunken man’s even drunker friend.”

“Friend, you are 6 ale deeps. You’re not seeing much of anything right now.”
The portly man drew his sword from his belt, pointing the blade at the Zerrikanian, inches away from his throat. The man did not move from his relaxed position. If anything, his smile grew wider.

“I don’t take kindly to cheats!” The man threatened.

“Gentleman, gentleman.” The Zerrikanian said, showing his palms in placation. “Sometimes we have bad nights. Happens to the best of us. But what I can tell you, is that your night will get considerably worse if you don’t sheathe your blade right now.”

“I don’t think I will. In fact, I think I’ll take back me gold, and yours too.” The drunk man said. His friend smiled with crooked teeth, excited at the prospect of robbing someone. The Zerrikanian just pursed his lips, and shook his head.

“I see, well, I suppose this can’t be helped.” The Zerrikanian said as if he was disappointed in a child. Geralt thought he’d have to step in. Wouldn’t do them very good if the man they were looking for went and got himself killed, but then suddenly almost so fast that Geralt missed it, The Zerrikanian brought his left hand up, and tapped the drunk man’s blade. The blade glowed orange, and what was once hard steel, shattered like glass. Before the man could register what happened, The Zerrikanian stood, and drew his own weapon, a dagger with a curved handle and blade. With a quick slash across the man's face, The Zerrikanian cut off the tip of his nose. The drunkard fell back in pain, hands going to cover his bisected nose. The man’s friend was shocked, and fumbled to unsheath his blade. Before he could get it halfway off his belt, The Zerrikanian already had his dagger pressed against the man’s neck. The man halted his movements immediately.

“Oi!” Yelled the barkeep “You know the fucking rules! No fighting in here! This is neutral ground. You two, out!”

“Us? But this dirty dirty Sand rat is the one-”

“I saw the whole thing. You two knobs started it. Derrick has always been shit at games. Now get out, before I have your legs broken and you can crawl out.” Two large men who had been standing close to the bar stepped forward, the barkeep's enforcers as it were. The man even in his drunken state seemed to understand that this wasn’t a fight they were going to win, so he sheathed his sword, and helped his friend to his feet. He took the bottom of his shirt, and pressed it to his friend’s maimed nose, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Come on Derrick, let’s get out of here, get ya fixed up”

“My noooobe” The man whined deliriously. He probably was in a bit of shock. “We chanbt leabe my noooobe”

The two drunks walked out of the tavern, leaving the Zerrikanian to take his seat once more.
“And you-” The barkeep said sternly pointing at him. “Don’t do any more of that freaky magic in here, or you’ll be out right with them.”

The Zerrikanian held his hand up in mock salute. The barkeep grumbled something, and went back to work behind the bar.

Geralt and Philippa saw that this was as good a time as any to move forward, so they did, crossing the room. The Zerrikanian saw them, and his large smile returned to his face.

“These seats not taken anymore I’m guessing.” Geralt said.

“Be my guest. You two seem to be better company than those two other fellows. Name’s Ameer.” He said, with a slight bow of his head. “Do mind the blood.”

“Ameer huh? Got a last name.”

Do you? Or does ‘of Rivia’ suffice?” Ameer asked with a smirk.

“You know who I am?” Geralt asked, slightly surprised.

“Why of course! Geralt of Rivia - monster hunter, hero, ladies man. I’ve heard stories of your deeds and conquests of the superior sex. Me and you are very alike my friend. Travelling the world, bedding women. We’ve both fucked many women my friend. I’ve fucked Nilfgaardians, Northerners, the beautiful women back home of course, elves, dwarves - tell me friend, have you ever fucked a dragon?” Ameer rambled.

Philippa and Geralt looked at the man in open confusion. He wasn’t like any Zerrikanian either of them have ever met. By history and society, Zerrikanians were serious, hard people, mysterious, wary, and downright hostile to outsiders and other cultures. Though the same could be said about the Northern Kingdoms. But Ameer spoke a mile a minute in his thick accent. He seemed to enjoy talking. He reminded Geralt of Dandelion honestly.

Typically the only Zerrikanians to venture across the great desert and mountains separating Zerkannia from the rest The North and Nilfgaard were traders, and Ameer certainly didn’t seem like a trader of any kind. The last Zerrikanian Geralt met tried to kill him, but Ameer didn’t seem to have interest in doing so, at least yet.

“Uhm No.” Geralt answered. “Can’t say that I have.”

“It is truly a magnificent experience! One I wish for every man. But I digress. Tell me, would you like a game of Gwent? I learned it when I arrived, and can’t stop playing! Greatest thing to ever come out of your realm, besides the women of course.”

‘Gwent. A man after my own heart.’ Geralt thought, a bit amused.

“Mr. Ameer” Philippa interjected. “With all due respect, we did not come here to play silly dwarven games. We sought you out for a reason.”

“Silly game?” Ameer asked in faux offense. “Gwent is a work of art. A game of true intellectuals. But fine, it seems the pretty lady has no interest in such things. Shame. So why have you sought out Ameer?”

Geralt fished out the charm, and placed it on the table. “Recognize this?” He asked. Ameer took a glance at it and nodded.

“Yes. An old protective charm from home. Priestesses would bestow them to people going through great struggle and turmoil.” Ameer explained, leaning forward in his chair and placing his elbows on the table. “Lady came to see me, thought I could help her. She was very troubled - looked older than she was.”

“Anna.” Philippa said. Ameer just shrugged.

“Never got her name. Didn’t need it. She was desperate for help, coming to see a foreigner. You Northerners were always wary of our magic.”

“That lady is the wife of the Baron of this area. She’s gone missing. Daughter too.” Geralt explained.

“I know nothing about that. Ameer is not surprised though.”

“And why is that?”

For the first time since laying eyes on him, Ameer looked concerned. He leaned forward more, speaking in a hushed voice.

“This woman Anna, she came to me seeking protection from a darkness.”

“A darkness?” Philppa repeated. “You're going to need to be more specific than that. Many dark things in the world.”

“An old darkness. The kind that doesn’t have a name, that the tongue can’t decipher. When Anna came to me, I could feel it radiating off of her. This whole area is steeped in it. All I could do was offer her my charm. Nothing else. You’re connected to magic. I know you feel it too.” Ameer said, looking intently at Philippa.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t know what she felt. She knew something was off when they had first arrived and that horrid vision hit her. SOMETHING reached out to her. She didn’t know what it was, and Phillippa did not like not knowing. Perhaps Ameer was right. Perhaps some old, horrible magic was infecting the area.

Geralt took note of her silence. He frowned a bit. She was keeping things from him again. He’d have to talk to her about it later.

“If this darkness is so great, why are you here?” Geralt questioned.

“I hate to admit it, but I also have a missing wife. We had a disagreement and she stormed off. Been looking for her since.” Ameer explained sheepishly. “Perhaps you can assist me in finding her as well.”

“Sorry. We have our hands full enough with one missing wife.” Geralt stands from the table. “Come on Philippa. Don’t think we’ll get much more here. Appreciate you telling us what you could Ameer.”

Geralt and Philippa exited the tavern, and Geralt was visibly frustrated. Philippa walked behind him, placing a gentle hand on his back.

“What are you thinking?” Philippa asked carefully. Geralt snorted derisively.

“I’m thinking we don’t have time to be playing the games of a drunkard who thinks himself a lord. CIRI doesn’t have time.” He said, running his hand through his white hair. Another unneeded hurdle. So close to Ciri, yet so far.

“Friends!”

Philippa and Geralt turned to see Ameer exiting the tavern, jogging over to them.

“You left so quickly before I could offer to help further.” Ameer said.

“I thought you didn’t know anything.” Philippa pointed out.

“True. I don’t, but perhaps the spirits do.”

“Meaning?” Geralt asked impatiently

“The amulet, it has a memory. The moments when it is worn are imprinted into it. They can be accessed with the help of the spirits of the land.”

“What do we need to do?”

“We need the blood of the living. Does not matter what. Can be something small, like a Hare. I’ll need a bit of time to prepare the incantation.”

A break. Finally.

“Philippa, help Ameer with preparation. I’ll go find some poor animal to help us.” Geralt said. Philippa gave a nod, and she and Ameer moved to a small clearing several yards away, just past the treeline and out of sight of the tavern.

“Here.” Ameer said, handing Philippa four candles he fished out of his pouch. “Light these while I draw an incantation circle.”

Using a stick, Ameer made a circle in the grass and dirt, with 2 parallel lines crossing it. Philippa wasn’t particularly familiar with Zerrikanian magic, but her guess was that he was making a possession circle. Geralt walked into the clearing, with a struggling rat in his hand.

“Would have preferred something less disease ridden, but it will do. The candles if you would.”

Philippa handed Ameer the candles, and he placed them where the lines met the circle. Geralt handed him the rat, and Ameer pulled out his dagger. Ameer cut the poor rat down the middle and spoke.

“Arlhma igto ma. Alrmha igto gom” Ameer chanted as the blood spilled to the center of the circle. In an instant, Ameer’s head was clouded in grey smoke, and his eyes turned orange. He grabbed his head as if in pain, and fell to his knees. Philippa stepped forward to check on him, but Geralt held out his arm in front of her, stopping her. Suddenly Ameer’s head snapped up, looking to the sky.

“They are not here. They have gone. Blood! I see blood!” The spirit spoke through Ameer.

“Who? Whose blood?” Geralt asked. Ameer’s head snapped to look at him.

“No Anna...no Tamara...just a child...sent between here and oblivion...by family”

As quickly as he was possessed, the spirit left Ameer’s body, letting him fall forward to his hands.

“...I always hated doing that.” He said between gasps. Philippa went to him and helped him to his feet. Sweat covered his face and he seemed to somehow lose a bit of color. He stood on his shaky legs, trying to collect himself. “Spirits are often bad guests.”

“What did all that mean?” Geralt asked.

“A child...A child that lives not, yet did not die.”

“Whose child?”

“Why Anna’s of course.”

“She was pregnant?”

“Was. She miscarried. A shame.”

Philippa covered her stomach protectively at the word.

“Why wouldn’t the Baron mention something like that.” Geralt questioned.

“...sent between here and oblivion...by family” Said Philippa, repeating the Spirit's words. Her face knitted in anger as the realization of the meaning came to her. “It was the Baron.”

“What?” Geralt asked.

“The fight. Someone trying to cover it up. The wine everywhere. By FAMILY. It was the fucking Baron Geralt. He beat the baby out of her.”

Philippa's voice was raw, angry, as if she was trying to keep herself from crying, not that she still could. She hadn’t noticed her hands were tightly clenched into fists and shaking. Geralt's eyes widened in shock, and he looked to Ameer.

“Ameer saw a grave. No rite or ceremony. The child is awake now. And it is angry. Full of venom.” Ameer said solemnly. Geralt let out a humorless bark of laughter.

“The bastard created a botchling.” He said angrily. Ameer nodded. “He has us run around this this fucking countryside, trying to fix a problem he created.”

“I think we need to go and see the Baron again.” Philippa said, voice low and dangerous.

“Yes.” Geralt agreed, voice just as sinister. “I think you’re right.”

Chapter Text

Geralt and Philippa rode hard back to Crow’s Perch, arriving in about half the time it took to arrive at the tavern.

They were on a mission. They were ANGRY.

Angry that they had to jump through hoops for information on Ciri. Angry that they were lied to by a drunken wife beater. Then a part of them, one that was subconscious yet connected between the two of them, was absolutely, inconsolably livid at the prospect that they were working for a man who murdered his own child in the womb.

It was almost as if Roach felt their burning anger, because he galloped down the road as he could.

Burning.

Crow’s Perch was on fire.

The stable’s hay roofing was ablaze, embers in the air. Fire had spread to the nearby wood structure, and the dry grass in front. When Geralt and Philippa rode through the gate, two guards, a bald older man with a grey beard, and a hard-faced man in a brown hood were standing there in hapless panic.

“Oswin? Where’s Oswin?” The hooded man said frantically. “Anyone seen Oswin?”

“Believe I saw him headin’ to the stables.” Answered the bald man.

“What?!”

Geralt and Philippa had dismounted Roach and ran to the side of the men.

“Fire- you blind!” He said to the men. “Nobody willing to put it out?”

“Ain't that simple.” The bald man explained nervously. “Most're afraid! Baron flies into a rage, he takes no prisoners!”

“My brother's in the stable! We've got to save him -- he'll burn alive! Him and the horses!” Cut in the hooded guard.

“We’re here for the baron-” Geralt began.

“Geralt.” Philippa said urgently. “There need not be any more death today. I’ll help his brother., You go sort out the Baron.”
Geralt looked at Philippa for a moment, and then nodded.

“Be careful.” He said. Philippa nodded back. The two ran in opposite directions, Philippa to the stables, Geralt to the castle and Philippa to the stables.

Philippa figured the front door must have been blocked, so she looked around for another way inside. She saw a small window leading to the second story of the barn. She looked around to make sure no one was watching - everyone seemed to be in a status of panic and paid her no mind. With the coast clear, Philippa transformed into her owl form, flying up and through the open window. She transformed back immediately once on the second level. The air was hot, and the smoke thick. She coughed and did her best to cover her mouth. She couldn’t be in there for long.

“Help! For godsake somebody help!” Someone yelled below her. Must’ve been her man. She looked down to see a man doing his best to press himself in a corner away from the flames. The Horses all neighed in panic, trying to get out of their enclosures.

Philippa hopped from the platform, slowing her descent magically. She walked to where Oswin could see her, and he looked utterly shocked.

“H-How’d you get in here?” He asked, confused .

“Nevermind that.” Philippa instructed. “Free the horses, and let’s get out of here before the stable comes down atop of us!”

“The doors blocked!” Oswin pointed out. “How are we gonna get out?”

“Let me worry about that. Now the horses!”

Oswin looked as if he had something else to say, but the heat, smoke and flames around him didn’t lend itself time for an interrogation. He went and began opening the horses stalls while Philippa stepped in front of the door. A beam and part of the roof had collapsed in front of it blocking access. Concentrating, Philippa brought her hands up.

“Poruszać się!” She yelled, and a large telekinetic blast shot from her hands, blasting the blockage, and the doors clear off its hinges. The horses were smarter than Oswin, and ran out immediately. Oswin looked at Philippa in shock, mouth gaping open.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Philippa said over her shoulder, Oswin’s surprise left him, and he gratefully nodded and rambled thanks, before running out of the burning stable.

On the other side of the yard, Geralt had found the Baron, stumbling about.

Drunk. Of course.
The Witcher made a b-line toward him.

“You, you...where do I know you from, eh? Ah, right! The witcher! Come, drink with me! Pale as a ghost, you are!” The Baron laughed, noticing him walk up. The Baron tried to place a friendly hand on the Witcher’s shoulder, but Geralt roughly brushed it off. He did not want this man touching him.

“I know your wife miscarried.” Geralt said, getting directly to the point. He was in no mood to speak lightly. The Baron didn't deserve as much regardless. “Was that before or after you beat her to a pulp?”

The Baron’s eyes widened, and he looked as if he had just been slapped. His shock turned into rage in a second, something Geralt figured happened quite often.

“What the fuck're you suggesting?!” Roared the Baron, taking a swaying step toward Geralt.

“Don't play me for a fool. You'd been beating them for years. Finally, they'd had enough and fled. Sound about right?” Geralt accused. The Baron’s mouth gaped open and shut a few times, a man trying to formulate a lie, and excuse. Then, he just yelled in anger, balling his fists up, and taking a wild swing at Geralt.

Geralt easily weaved out the way, tripping the Baron as his lumbering body came by. The Baron stumbled to the ground, landing on his hands and knees. He quickly scampered to his feet, throwing another wild punch at Geralt. The Witcher dodged it easily again.

“Fuckin' get out of here!” The Baron demanded, continuing to try and hit Geralt. Geralt simply moved out the way. Seems the Baron wasn’t much of a fighter unless it was against other drunks or women.

“They ran from you, didn't they?” Geralt said simply, phrased as a question, but it was a statement of fact.

“Lying prick!”

The Baron threw a wild haymaker towards Geralt’s face, but Geralt caught it with his own, squeezing his fist and twisting the Baron’s wrist harshly.

Then Geralt threw his own punch. Difference was his connected.

Geralt’s punch hit the Baron square in the jaw, causing the large man to stumble. Geralt threw another punch, this time connecting with the Baron’s nose. Then another, and another.

Soon Geralt was on top of the Baron’s prone body, straddling his stomach as he continued to reign down strikes to the drunk’s red face. The Baron did what little he could to shield himself from the Witcher’s onslaught.

“Stop-” The Baron croaked out in a plea. But it fell on deaf ears. All Geralt could hear was his own heartbeat, and the cunch of his fists against the Baron’s face.

Suddenly, a hand came out, and grabbed Geralt’s arm as it moved upward to reign down another blow. Geralt spun around, prepared to give whichever fool who decided to intervene a bad time, until he saw Philippa face staring at him.

“Geralt-” She said softly but sternly, still holding onto his arm. “That’s enough. He can’t answer to us if you beat him dead.”

Geralt let his muscles relax, and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looked around and saw that he had formed a crowd, with some men looking terrified, and others satisfied that their leader was beaten into submission. The Baron himself was whimpering pathetically, covering beaten face with his hands.

Gerlat got off of the Baron, and grabbed him roughly by the collar. He dragged him to a nearby trough, dunking the struggling Baron’s head in the water - rinsing the blood off, and sobering up. Geralt held him under the water for several seconds before letting go. Sputtering and coughing, the Baron sat limply against the trough, looking at Geralt and Philippa looking down at him.

“We need to talk.” Philippa said.
—————————————————————

The Baron sat in his chambers facing the fireplace. He sat with his arms hanging to the side, and his head down staring at the fire.

He was ashamed to look at them.

Though the room was warm from the fire, it felt cold. The glow of the fire couldn’t illuminate everything.

“You beat them.” Philippa said simply.

“I never laid a finger on Tamara, not once.” The Baron said defensively.

“And Anna?” Geralt asked, knowing the answer.

“That's another story. She always knew how to spark my ire.” The Baron admitted. Philippa scoffed indignantly and his glibness.

“You expect us to believe you never laid hands on your daughter? That your ire was only directed towards your wife? Philippa pushed. The Baron threw her a hard look.

“You're free to believe whatever you wish, but she was always the apple of my eye. She had the run of the place, ask anyone. She'd ride the horses, hunt with the men, at times join them on their rounds. And they'd send for her when I flew into a rage, for only she could calm me.” The Baron defended himself.

“I believe she’s gone, and I KNOW you’re a liar.” Philippa said flatly “Your words mean nothing.”

“Fuck you!” The Baron roared, standing from his seat and turning to them. “Fuck the both of you! You freaks don’t understand - you could never understand! I’d never hurt my child you cu-AGHK!”

The Baron was cut off by Philippa simply holding out her right arm; her hand was clenched as if holding something. She was in fact - The Baron’s life. She was choking him with magic. The Baron scratched at his throat, hopelessly clawing for air.

“You would never hurt your child?!” Philippa seethed. Clenching her hand even more, causing the Baron’s face to go even redder. “You beat your child out of your wife! Before it even took a breath of air. It deserves the air in your lungs.

The Baron dropped down to his knees now, eyes red, foaming from his mouth, the life being choked out of him.

“Philippa.”

Geralt put a gentle hand on her shoulder, pulling her from her rage. She had forgotten he was in the room, only focused on making The Baron suffer. She looked back at him, and he looked at her, unjudging but firm.

After a second, Philippa dropped her hand and the spell, freeing the Baron’s airway. The large man fell forward to his hands, coughing and gasping for air.

Philippa walked to the side of the room, and sat in an unoccupied chair, her elbows on her knees. She was suddenly tired. Ragged, she wanted this night to be over, to wash her hands of all this.

To their surprise, The Baron let out a pained laugh. There was no humor in it.

“Gods, If me an’ Anne understood each other like you two do, maybe none of this would’ve happened.” He said in self-pity.

“Get up.” Geralt ordered. He had no time for his late remorse. “Tell me that happened that night.”

The Baron moved to a seated position on the floor, and sighed wearily.

“I'd been soakin' myself for three days straight. Anna came to me, said they were leaving. I begged them to stay. She refused to hear it. I tried to stop her. She wriggled like an eel, we struggled...she fell. Last blasted thing I remember. Woke up in the morn, breeches heavy with me own piss, a large bump on my head. Sadly, they were gone. Know what that's like, witcher? No, how the fuck could you? I was left with nothing! Nothing! Only the bottle…”

Philippa snorted angrily. The Baron stiffened, afraid that she might come back over. When she remained seated, he relaxed a measure.

“Now is not the time for your self pity” Geralt said. “Tell me what happened next.”

“Next...it only got worse. I awoke at sunset, not knowin' how many days had passed. Thought it was all a ploughin' drunken nightmare. An' then I went to the bedchamber, but Anna was not there. Instead... there was blood everywhere. I knew. She'd miscarried…. I neared the bed...and saw it. It lay there. A tiny thing, defenseless...on bloodied sheets...dead. And it was my doing.”

His last admission came out a near whisper. A confession.

Yet-

Hearing the Baron say it out loud...Geralt couldn’t fight a small doubt in his mind. Something telling him that there was more to it, something unnatural. Ameer’s mention of a darkness in the region. Could be the ramblings of a mad Zerrikanian….or could be something.

“What did you do with the child?”

“Wrapped it in a clean sheet and buried it.”

“Just like that?” Philippa said from her seat. The Baron’s head turned to give her a miserable look.

“Damn you! I gave no thought to a funeral. It was a horror, I wanted it to end. That child had been my dream. I told Anna, ‘A little one, our little one, to make things right.’ Yet she died before she could be born. Understand, witch? My child was dead.”

“If you dare cry - if you shed one damn tear, I swear-” Philippa began.

“Enough.” Geralt said firmly, silencing them both. “Enough...As it turns out, you might have found a bit of luck in all your tragedy. your dead child might help us find the one who's still alive...and your wife.”

The Baron perked up immediately.

“What? How?”

“Sometimes miscarried fetuses, if they don't get a proper burial, turn into botchlings.”

“Into fucking what?”

“You don’t need to know the details,” Geralt said. “There is a bond between it and your family. I can use that bond to find them.”

The Baron looked unsure. He wanted to forget the child, to wipe it from his mind. But now...he’d have to face it directly.

“What...what do we need to do?” He asked, unsure of himself.

“First...you need to send your guards away. Make sure they’re indoors. This can be unpredictable.”

The Baron nodded

Then you need to show me where you buried the fetus. Is it close by?”

“...Aye. A small grave in the yard. Far from the Castle as I could put it”

“Good. If we fuck this up, then we at least have place to be buried.”

That did not inspire confidence in the Baron.

Regardless, he did as he was told, going out and ordering his men to turn in for the night. He then led Geralt and Philippa to where he made the makeshift grave. It had started raining since they’d been inside, which helped put out the fire at the stable. Philippa cast an aquaphobic spell on herself to keep dry. Geralt didn’t mind the rain. The Baron looked like a drowned boar as he got soaked. The three walked to a far corner of the keep, away from the entrance and barracks.

“You give the child a name?” Geralt asked. The Baron looked dumbstruck by the question.

“No... Why would we?” The Baron answered.

“Mistake...Names are powerful seals.”

The trio walked a bit farther, behind a damaged grain storer.

“Chose a lovely spot for an unmarked grave.” Philippa said bitingly.

“Dammit woman, would you relent. I ploughin’ know I did wrong.”

“Good.”

“Hm” Geralt interjected, looking down. The grave was open. “The grave's dug up. And empty.”

“What's that mean?” The Baron said, panic evident in his voice.

“Botchlings on the prowl.”

“Hghrll...Hghrlll.”

And when you speak of the devil-

From behind them, between the wooden Palisades, crawled a tiny mass of pink and purple flesh.

A botchling.

Botchlings were tragic little creatures. The most innocent turned into a monster. They vaguely looked like children a few months, but their skin was pink and slimy, veins visible throughout. Their faces were deformed, a hole where their noses should’ve been, black eyes, no lips, and teeth that were razor sharp.

The Baron cowered behind Geralt at the sight of it, attempting to avert his eyes and alleviate his guilt. Geralt had seen a few botchling in his days. He wasn’t a part of the process to pacify them though.

Philippa…couldn’t look away from it. She didn’t know why. It was a wretched little thing, but when Philippa saw it, she wasn’t disgusted by the creature itself but at the violence and disregard that created it. It was something that shouldn’t exist. Something that shouldn’t be forced to exist.

Staring at the thing's tortured eyes, Philippa was suddenly brought back to the layers of her life. To the machinations of hers that had harmed people. Of her own violent marks upon the world. For the briefest of moments, it weighed on her, weighed on her in ways it hadn’t ever during the last three hundred years.

Gods, she was going soft.

“Take the botchling into your arms, quick!” Geralt told the Baron. The Baron looked at Geralt as if he was crazy.

“Are you mad, lookat that thing!”

That THING is the only way to find your family, and we must do the ritual now.”

“Why can she hold it?” The Baron said pointing at Philippa raised an eyebrow at the Baron, and her mouth went into a thin line.

“It’s not my family we’re looking for.” She said scathingly. “That's the last remnant of your lost child. Now man up.”

The Baron frowned, but slowly moved toward the botchling nonetheless. The botchling looked at him curiously - by all accounts it had the mannerism of an infant. Carefully, the Baron bent down and took the Botchling in his hands. Surprisingly, the botchling let itself be picked up without any fuss.

“It’s calm. Good.” Geralt commented.

“And if it doesn’t stay calm?” The Baron asked with worry.

“Then it’ll bite through your jugular and you’ll die before you hit the ground.” Geralt said. “Now come on. We need to get it back to the fortress.”

“What?”

“Best place to do the ritual. Better get walking. Not sure how long it’ll stay calm.”

“Oh fuck.” The Baron breathed out. He began to slowly walk back to the Castle, leading the way while Geralt and Philippa trailed a few steps behind him. He held the botchling out at arms length, trying to keep it as far from his face as he could. The botchling squirmed a bit in his hands, reaching out trying to touch his beard. Despite it’s gruesome nature, it was indeed like a small infant, curious of the world around it.

“Sweat merciful gods.” The Baron muttered to himself.

“Steady Baron. We’ll be back soon enough, Just-”

Geralt didn’t finish his sentence.

“What? What is it?” Philippa asked, looking around. Gerallt’s ears twitched as if he heard something. Without warning, Geralt pushed Philippa backwards several feet. The ground where Philippa had previously been standing glowed green, and from it rose a ghastly specter wrapped in bandages and ragged clothing, holding a sword in it’s right hand, and a lantern in its left.

“Wraiths.” Geralt said. As the words left his mouth, 2 more ghosts appeared from the surrounding area. Wraiths were naturally drawn to death and misery. A botchling represented both in physical form. They no doubt wanted it for themselves. For what, Geralt didn’t know - man was not meant to understand the reasoning of the horrid specters. What he did know is that he couldn’t let them get close.

“Fuck. Fuck!” The Baron panicked.

“Calm down!” Geralt ordered, drawing his silver sword. “They’re attracted to the Botchling. Keep moving toward the castle!”

The Baron didn’t have to be told twice, picking up his pace towards the castle. Philippa and Geralt put themselves between the Wraiths and them.

“Give….us the….child.” One of the Wraiths rasped out, voice causing Philippa physical pain.

“Not gonna happen.” Geralt responded.

“Then...Dieeee.”

The Wraiths flew forward, weapons leveled. Geralt prepared to meet them head on with his sword, but Philippa stepped in front of him.

She performed an intricate gesture with her hands, before sticking her arms out.

“Wygnany z tego świata!” She called out. Her palms were illuminated in a light green aura, and spectral chains shot from them. They wrapped around the Wraiths. They groaned in their ghastly voices as if burned by fire. Their spectral form began to dissipate, until they were rendered to ash. Blowing in the wind. Once she was sure the Wraiths were gone, she canceled the spell.

Gerlat resheathed his sword, as Philippa gave him a smirk.

“Just a simple banishment spell.” She said nonchalantly.

“Nobody likes a showoff, Philippa.” He said.

“Help! For the love of fuck, HELP!” Cried the Baron from several yards away.

“Shit!” Geralt exclaimed. Philippa and Geralr ran up the hill to the Baron. The portly man was on his back, holding the Botchling up. The Wraiths seemed to upset it, because it was struggling to get out of the Baron’s grasp, hissing and spitting as it swiped at his face.

“Do something!” The Baron yelled, trying his best to keep a grip on the botchling.

Geralt stepped closer, and cast a quick Axii sign. The effects hit the botchling, who stopped wriggling, and went back to it’s docile state. The Baron rolled to his side, and pushed himself to his feet all while still holding the Botchling.

“Sweet hell” He rasped out.

“This is close enough. Let’s do the ritual.”

“Alright. Alright, what do I have to do?”

“Chosen a name?” Geralt asked. The Baron shook his head no. “So think of one. It's important.”

The Baron appeared to think for a moment. “Okay. I think I have one. What now?”

“Repeat after me. By the powers of earth and sky.” Geralt Began.

“By the powers of earth and sky.” The Baron repeated.

“By the world that was to be your home.”

“By the world that was to be your home”

“Forgive me, you who came but who I did not embrace”

“Forgive me….you who came but who I did not embrace” The Baron said, voice choking with emotion, face screwed in anguish. Philippa watched from afar, actually feeling the slightest amount of sympathy for the Baron in that moment.

“I name thee -- say his name,” Geralt instructed.

“It’s a girl.” The Baron near whispered.

“Say her name -- and embrace thee as my daughter.”

The Baron brought the botchling close to his chest, cradling it in his large arms. The botchling looked up at him, it’s horrid face almost smiling like a baby would.

“I name thee Dea and embrace thee as my daughter.” The Baron finally finished. As the final syllable left the Baron’s throat, the botchling went limp in his hands.

“Good. Now bury it...properly this time.” Geralt stated. The Baron nodded, not trusting his voice not to come out as a pathetic whimper. He placed the body on the ground gently, gentle as a father laying his baby down to sleep, before going to get a shovel.

They chose a spot close to the castle this time. The Baron dug a shallow hole, placing the botchling’s body in it. He covered it with dirt, leaving a small pile of rocks as a makeshift headstone. Philippa swore she heard sniffling from the man as he went.

“So what now?” The Baron asked, voice ragged.

“Now, you go back to the castle. At midnight, Dea should turn into a lubberkin. I'll stay here and wait. You go home.” Geralt explained.

“I'll wait with you.”

“Out of the question.”

“But...that's my child. And the guilt, the responsibility for all this lies with me.” The Baron said adamantly.

“So now your father of the year?” Philippa snapped. The Baron gave her a look and was about to retort, before Geralt cut him off.

“Your guilt isn’t of any use right now.” He said placatingly. “nothing else you can do here. Just Witcher’s work. It’s a few hours from midnight. Go. Try and get some sleep. And try not to drink yourself stupid again.”

The Baron’s jaw works back and forth for a moment. Finally he lets out a sigh and nods. He turns, and walks back to the castle.

“You should go.” Geralt said to Philippa.”Try and rest. It’s been a hell of a day.”

“Yes, it has been.” She responded. “And you're a damn fool if you think I’m not going to see it through.”

Geralt almost smiled.

He took a seat in front of the small grave, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. Philippa went and sat on a nearby bench, and they waited.

Philippa was curious how Geralt could manage to sit so still for so long. After an hour on that bench her arse was sore and she was feeling antsy. But Geralt just sat there, only sound emanating from him was the occasionally loud exhale. Bored, she decided to go and sit next to him. She sat down close, their shoulders almost touching. He was still getting wet from the rain, so Philippa cast a small shield to enclose them both. He made no indication that he noticed besides a small grunt. They sat in silence for a while, before the sound of the rain hitting the barrier began to get to her.

“I’ll level with you Geralt. This is not at all how I expected my day to go. How I expected this little task of ours to play out.” She said. Geralt didn’t move, but his ears perked up, indicating that he heard her, so she continued. “I mean, YOU might be used to wild goose chases for lesser men, but I’m not.”

She hugged her legs against her chest, suddenly a bit cold.

“I am Philippa Eilhart dammit. I wait for no man, yet here I am, sitting in the dirt, waiting for the next step in helping some drunken bastard, all so we can get a shred of information that might not even be useful. I’m not a mercenary. Hell, I thought I was past even using my magic to fight. I’m a state maker gods dammit.” She said in a frustrated sigh.

“This is not what I expected in my life…”

She looked at Geralt, who hadn’t moved from his meditation pose. She didn’t know if he retained a word of that, but it was nice to just get it out. She guessed today was the first of many long days in her uncertain future.

Suddenly, she heard Geralt shift, and before she knew it, a soft kiss was pressed to the side of her head, right on her temple. Her face went involuntarily red, as she turned to look at him. He hadn’t even opened his eyes.

“I know this has been hard.” He said. “This kind of thing. I’ve done it for years. I’m used to it, but I know it's hard. You’ve done well in all of this and I don’t think I’d be even this far without you.”

Philippa’s blush went even a darker shade of red at his praise.

“But, I need you to be quiet now. We’ve a bit longer until I can perform the ritual, and I need to concentrate.”

Philippa pouted at essentially being told to shut up, but his comforting words superseded her need to comment, so she sat there quietly, red in the face.

They waited some more, until Geralt suddenly said -

“It’s time.”

Philippa, who was half asleep at this point, jolted awake but the suddenness of his voice.

“How can you tell the time?” She asked. He shrugged.

“Just can.”

Geralt repositioned himself so that he was on his knees in front of the grave. Lifting his arms to the heavens, he chanted. “By blood's power I summon you, with your name I beseech you. Hear my call and arise, Dea! Lead me to those bound to you by blood.”

It took a moment for the incantation to take effect, but then the grave began to glow brightly with white light. From the mound of dirt, rose the botchling in spectral form.

A Lubberkin.

It still had it’s grotesque features, but it was pure white and partially translucent. It floated in the air calmly, at peace. It almost looked beautiful.

The spirit looks at Philippa, and then Geralt expectantly.

“Lead the way.” Geralt said.

The Lubberkin turned in the air, and began to float out of the castle gate quickly.

“It’ll be more efficient if we go on foot. The Lubberkin might lead us places Roach can’t go.” Geralt stated. “I’ll try to go slow so you can keep up.”

Philippa frowned at the insinuation.

“Just worry about yourself, Witcher.” She said in a huff.

“Alright, let’s go, We’ve a lubberkin to catch.”
___________________________________________________________________

Philippa greatly regretted her cockiness.

They were chasing the lubberkin through the backwaters of Velen. Geralt was strides ahead of her, easily keeping up with the spirit, as Philippa trailed behind, lungs burning. This was the most strenuous exertion of her physical form she’d done in ages, at least outside the bedroom.

The Lubberkin led them to a small house, about a mile and a half away from Crow’s perch.

The Lubberkin stopped right in front of the door, indicating that it was interested in something inside. Geralt opened the door and looked inside. It was abandoned, sure, but only recently.

Geralt looked around the house. There wasn’t much there, but the lubberkin stopped there for a reason. From the corner of his eye, he saw a pile of clothes in the corner of the room.

‘Hm. 2 sets of womens clothes. Someone changed here. Anna and Tamara?” Geralt pondered. He went over and picked the clothes up. From them, fell a bracelet. One that looked strikingly similar to the one Anna had on in their family portrait. ‘Looks like we’re on the right track.’

As if hearing him, the lubberkin began to move again, flying down the road. Philippa had only just caught up to the house, panting with her hands on her knees.

“Come on. This way.” Geralt said, taking off down the road after the Lubberkin.

“Wait..” Philippa panted out, “we’ve only just- Oh to bloody hell with this.” She said, transforming into her owl form and flying after the Witcher and the ghost.

About another mile down the road, the Lubberkin stopped once more, this time over the horribly massacred body of a horse.

‘This carcass might be able to tell me something’

Geralt went over and knelt beside the torn apart animal, examining. Philippa caught up to the site, transforming back into her human form. She was just as exhausted flying instead of running.

“Why...are..you looking over a dead horse.” Philippa panted.

“The lubberkin stopped here. Must be one of their horses.” Geralt commented more to himself than to Philippa. “Bones have been here a while.Chewed on the saddle? Necrophages'll eat anything these days.”

“Necrophages?” Philippa questioned.

“Blanket term - monsters that lurk in graveyards, battlefield. They eat the remains of the recently dead. They’re land vultures. They’ve no qualms with putting bodies in the ground themselves either. And-”

Geralt stopped mid sentence again. Philippa picked up that that meant something horrid was coming. She readied her hands to cast spells.

“What is it? Who- ACK! What is that ghastly smell?” She said, nearly retching.

“Rotfiends” Geralt answered simply. From the tree line, came shuffling several horrid creatures. Rotfiends: skin so rotted and diseased that their off pink muscles were visible underneath. They were man-sized, and walked on two legs, but there was not an ounce of humanity in them.

They used to be a rare sight until the 2nd Northern War, and then their numbers skyrocketed. They had plenty of food with the battlefields littering bodies and razed villages. And Now with the 3rd war, the once pests ran rampant in the lands.

The Rotfiends shuffled forward with surprising speed, -that's how they caught many of their living meals.

“Skalny kolec!” Philippa yelled as they got close. She squatted down and pressed her palms into the dirt. The ground shook and several spikes of rock shot from the ground, impaling the Rotfiends before they could reach the pair.

“Impressive” Geralt commented.

“Hardly. These creature don’t seem like the most intelligent type she said, moving a bit closer to examine the withing, incapacitated monsters.

“Wouldn’t get too close.” Geralt warned.

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Best way to deal with Rotfiends is to burn them.” Geralt explained. When they experience blade or blunt force, they have the habit of exploding.”

“A habit of what?”

The rotfiends’ bodies began to shake, and their form changed, becoming bloated, and pulsating. Philippa scampered back just in time to avoid the worst of the monsters exploding, and getting their entrails everywhere.

“Oh, that’s just HORRIFIC!” Philippa said, absolutely appalled.

“Now you know.” He added. “Come on. The lubberkin is going this way. Get some fire spells at the ready. We’re bound to run into more rotfiends.”

And they certainly did. Dozens of them.

Velen must have been a feeding frenzy, because they couldn’t go 100 meters without running into another pack of rotfiends. Following his advice, Philippa and Geralt relied on fire magic, blasting creatures with flames as they got close. They couldn't stop, so they did what they could to clear a path for themselves as they ran after the Lubberkin.

“I shou;d have taken my chances in White Orchard.” Philippa complained as she burned another pair of rotfiends. “At least then I wouldn’t be doing horrid pest control in a backwoods swamp. For free I might add.”

“But you’re just so good at it.” Geralt teased as he threw some Dancing Star bombs he had, blowing 3 rotfiends to pieces.

“Bite me!”

“Maybe when this is over. We have a job to do”

After running another mile and a half, and through at least 30 rotfiends, the lubberkin stopped again, right outside of a shack.

Philippa nearly fell to her knees from over exertion. She looked at the lubberkin floating in front of them.

“Please...please tell me this is our destination.” She tried to reason with the spirit. “Tell me we’ll find Anna and Tamara safe and sound, and we can put this madness of a day behind us.”

The Lubberkin of course did not answer, and just flew closer to the door.

“Catch your breath and come on.” Geralt said, placing a gentle hand on Philippa’s back. “Let’s see this through.”

Philippa took another moment to catch her breath, before standing back up. “Come on then. Let’s get this over with.”

They were close to the river, south of the Inn at the Crossroads. The shack looked occupied. Geralt could hear people inside.

They walk up to the door, and knock. The door wasn’t opened immediately, but they heard shuffling inside. After a moment, the door swung inwards. Standing in front of them was a boy, no older than 9, in simple clothes with a shaved head.

“Who’re you?” The boy asked, eyes going a bit wide at their appearances. “What’s with those funny clothes? And why do you stink?”

“Blunt little thing, aren’t you?” Philippa commented dryly.

The boy's mother came behind him and pulled him back urgently.

“The Other room. Go on, now.” She told him, looking at the pair fearfully. There was a man as well, assumingly her husband. He stood from his seat at their table, looking just as fearfully. Philippa frowned. These people had no reason to fear them. She wanted to stress as much but then considered how they appeared. An armored, arm man with yellow eyes, gray hair and scars, and a woman with cloth covering her eyes, and feathers in her hair, both covered in crime.

Geralt was used to people fearing him.

“What ye seek here, sir. Ma’am? Our hut's out of the way, woeful. We 'as nothin', we knows nothin” The Man said nervously.

“Just need information. Looking for two women -- the Bloody Baron's wife and daughter.” Geralt said.

“Not a soul abeen here, sir.”

“Sure? Not even passing through? Daughter's medium height, about twenty, her mother's thin, about forty. Seen them?”

“That's her came at night, right, mummy?” The boy piped in.

“Quiet boy!” His mother chastised, grabbing his arm and pulling him back in the other room.

The honesty of children.

With all do respect sir,” Philippa said, stepping into the shack. “It has been a LONG day, and we’d very much like for it to be over. Your boy has said enough so there’s no use in continuing this facade.”

The man seemed to think, being caught in his lie. After a moment, he let out a sigh.

“Sorry, sir, ma’am, but ye don't look like ye work fer her father.”

“Because we don’t” Geralt informed, stepping inside alongside Philippa. “I'm looking for Tamara and her mother, we need to know if they're alive and safe.”

“Tamara is, aye. She's to my brother's place in Oxenfurt.” The man said, relaxing noticeably. “But Missus Anna -- that's another tale... Though anywhere's better than to Crow's Perch...with the baron.”

“Why?”

“I suspect if you made it this far, you know why. He beat her, sir. Beat Missus Anna, I means. Everyone knew! But not a one lifted a finger for to stop it”

“You some kind of hero?” Philippa asked skeptically. “The one man who stood while others sat?”

“Nay, I’m no hero. I wouldn’t have done anything myself had Tamara not came to me.” The man said with a bit of shame.

“Why’d you help them? Why put your family at risk?” Philippa pushed.

“Because I owed Miss Tamara a debt” The man explained. “Three moons past a fever gripped my boy. We thought he was done for. Tamara learnt it, brought food and salves. Nursed my boy back to health, saved his life. And she didn’t charge us a pence. I may not be a hero, but I repay a kindness witha kindness.”

“What happened to Tamara’s mother?” Geralt continued. The man let out another sigh, and offered the two to sit. The man sat at the table, leaning on his elbows, looking weary.

“I was awaitin' in the old smokehouse, with horses. Cold as hell and so dark, couldn't see past two ells in front of ye. Moon 'ad risen high, and still they hadn't come.” He explained. “ Began to fear some demon 'ad snatched 'em. But finally they came forth and we sets of towards the river. Suddenly, out of nowhere a gale arose. Thought it'd tear my head off! And those damned birds! Swarms of 'em coursin' o'er the woods, raisin' a racket to make your ears bleed! Missus Anna screamed, bent over into herself. Tamara knelt down, gripped her arms. 'Twere then I saw it -- fiery marks on her hands.”

“Fiery marks?” Philippa repeated.

“Aye.” The man confirmed. He looked around for a bit of chalk. He drew 3 spirals, all connected at a point in the center, enclosed within a triangle.

“Recognize this symbol?” Geralt asked Philippa.

“I was going to ask you that.” Philippa admitted. She turned her attention to the man. “Wait, what do you mean marks ON her hands.”

“They were burned in. Like someone branded her, but these weren’t black or scabbed over - they were pulsing and red.” The man said with a shudder.

“So what happened next.” Geralt continued.

“ Grew even darker, seemed someone 'ad put out the stars. Crickets all went silent of a sudden, and then, from the woods, a roar. Broke out in a cold sweat, and before I could catch my breath a beast jumped out o' the woods -- big as a barn, with horns and two burning coals for eyes!” The man said excitedly.

Philippa looked at Geralt, suspecting he was thinking of what the creature could be. He thought, accounting for the Man’s folly embellishments. Horns and with burning eyes - sounded like a Fiend. And if a Fiend was running wild in the area...well that was bad for everyone.

“I thought I was done for! Beast attacked Missus Anna's horse ripped its head off!”
That explained the mangled horse they had found.

“Carried her off into the woods! Our horses, mine and Tamara's, got spooked and tore off willy-nilly. 'Twere the only reason we escaped! The miss wanted to go back for her mother, but my wife pleaded, said she'd die out there alone. Miss Tamara agreed not to go. Then my brother came, and they rode for Oxenfurt”

“That’s it?” Geralt asked.

“Nothing more.” The man confirmed. Geralt let out a long breath. Well, they at least had a set location on the daughter. But the wife, taken away by a Fiend. That was just another unneeded complication. Geralt pushed himself back from the table and stood.

“Thanks for your help.” He said, trying to hide the tiredness in his voice. Philippa stood as well, and the moved toward the door.

“Wait!” The boy called out. Geralt and Philippa turned and looked at him. “The lady -- she'll be all right in the end, won't she?”

Philippa gave him her best smile. “We’ll do what we can to see that she is.”

They exit the shack, walking back to the main road. The Lubberkin waited for them there, levitating and looking at them inquisitively.

“So here our paths diverge. Thank you, Dea. Go in peace.” Geralt said gently. The Lubberkin spared them one last look, before turning and flying away. Philippa had to stop herself from waving goodbye.

“So...back to the castle then.” Philippa said. Geralt took note that she sounded just as tired as him. It was the wee hours of the early morning, and they had just ran all around the countryside on a scavenger hunt.

“This is the Troll Bridge area. The Inn at the Crossroad is not too far from here. We should head there for the night.” Geralt suggested.

Philippa raised an eyebrow at him.

“Won’t the Baron want to hear this news as soon as possible.” Philippa questioned.

“Of course he would. But he wasn’t the one who ran all around this damned land to find the pieces of where his family went.” Geralt grunted. Philippa certainly couldn’t argue that. “Tamara is safe in Oxenfurt, and there’s not much we can do about Anna right now. The Baron can wait. We need a warm bed, and an even warmer bath.”

Philippa couldn’t agree more
_________________________________________________________________________

The inkeep was half asleep at the bar. It was near 3am, and the drunken lingers all stumbled away about an hour ago. He considered going to bed himself, when his door creaked open, starling him awake.

“Welcome to- Oh. it’s you two.”

The inkeep looked at Geralt and Philippa as they shuffled into the inn.

“No offense...but you two look like you’ve been dragged through pig’s shit.” His nose wrinkled a bit. “Smell of it too.”

“What an astute observation.” Philippa said sarcastically.

“Find everything you two were looking for?”

“And then some.” Geralt answered.

“I suppose you two would like a room.”

“And a bath.” Philippa added on. Gods she wanted nothing more than a bath.

“Hmph. I’ll tell you what. For not causing a ruckus with the Baron’s boys yesterday, consider it on the house. You can take the room upstairs at the end of the hall. The room with a tub is right next to it. I’ll get it prepped for ya.”

Philippa nearly beamed.

Geralt went to the room, and stripped from his armor. When he threw it on the ground, he felt 100 pounds lighter. People assumed Witchers didn’t ache, but the truth is they ached all the time. They were just used to it. Accustomed to the constant soreness and strain on their muscles, joints and bones. Geralt craved these small moments of relaxation

Geralt took his undershirt off, and kicked off his boots. He went to the room with the tub, only to find Philippa already there, in nothing more than a towel.

“I see you got here before me.” He commented, casually letting his eyes fall over her body. Philippa smirked a bit at how he looked at her. “I’ll let you be. Let me know when you’re done.”

If Philippa had eyes, she’d roll them.

“Geralt, don’t be ridiculous. The water will only be warm for so long. Get in the tub.” She said.

“Hmp” Geralt grunted, but didn’t question the bossy witch. He stripped himself of his pants, his pale legs coming into view. Philippa always thought he could use some color, but his muscular legs, and magnificent cock were things of beauty to her. She was glad it was harder for her to be caught staring these days. Geralt carefully climbed in the bath. It was medium sized, fitting him pretty comfortably. Once he was settled in the warm water. Philippa dropped her towel, and climbed in after him, slotting herself right between his slightly opened legs, She leaned back so that her back was to his chest, and her head right under his chin. The tub definitely wasn’t made for two people with water overflowing from the top, but they made due.

“See, perfect fit.” She said a matter of factly.

“Like a glove.” Geralt added. Philippa let out a snort of laughter, which turned into a giggle. A regal, high-class giggle, but a giggle nonetheless. Geralt himself started laughing low in his throat. They laughed together, about nothing in particular, and about everything.

“So...what are we going to tell the Baron?” Philippa asked.

“The truth. That his daughter is in Oxenfurt.”

“And of his wife.”

“We’ll tell him what he needs to know. That they split up.”

So what’s OUR next step?”

Geralt thought for a moment.

“We need more context of what’s going on around here.” He stated. “That witch we read of in Hendrik’s journal, maybe she can lead us somewhere.”

“Anything to not have to deal with the Baron for much longer.” Philippa added disdainfully. Geralt gently rubbed her back.

“Let’s not think about that right now. Right now, let’s just get clean.”

They washed each other, enjoying the feeling of their hands over each other, comforting, washing the grime and filth off of each other. Then they just sat against each other, trying to wash the day from their minds. It was nice. Philippa could feel Geralt’s steady heartbeat on her back. Then she suddenly felt him stiffen, as if he was uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter?” She asked, turning her head to peak over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of his tight expression. He was looking for words.

“You have to know...I have to tell you, that I’d never do anything like the Baron. I’d fall on my own sword before I did.” He said, deathly serious. Philippa was a bit concerned by the shift in the mood, and tried to play it off.

“Oh, bold of you to assume that you’ll be with me in the distant future.” She said, trying to sound playful. Truth was, she didn’t know what the future looked like. She was so used to planning ahead, but for the last few days, she’d been looking ahead only a day at a time. And Geralt was always in those days. She felt Geralt's hand move to her stomach, and rub it affectionately.

“I swear it. I’ll never hurt either of you.” He whispered.

Philippa’s heart nearly melted in her chest. She hadn’t felt this close, this vulnerable in decades. She found herself placing her hand on top of his.

“Damn right.” She said breathlessly. “We’d kick your ass.”

She couldn’t fully see him, but she knew he was smiling. He bent his head forward, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. Philippa moaned at the feeling of his lips on her, and arched her back into. Geralt’s hands slipped from her stomach, up to the underside of her large breasts. He lifted and kneaded them, eliciting an even louder moan from the sorceress.

“Geralt..” She whimpered out, grinding herself back against him. She could feel his cock swell against her ass. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look upwards at him. He mashed his lips against hers, tongue pushing into her mouth as he continued to play with her tits with one hand, pinching at her right nipple. “Fuck Geralt.” She moaned into his mouth.

“That’s the idea.” He said cheekily. “Move to the other side of the tub, face me.”

Philippa obeyed, maneuvering in the cramped space. When she was in position, Geralt repositioned himself so that he was on his knees. Then he dove down under the bath water, moving forward, and latching his mouth on Philippa’s womanhood. She gasped loudly, hands automatically going into the water to his hair. Geralt lapped at her folds under the water, making sure to pay close attention to the pearl at the top.

Geralt was quite the generous lover. He had mastered the arts of eating pussy over the years.

Philippa was chanting his name, and grinding up greedily into his mouth.

“Geralt Geralt oh gods Geralt.”

She knew she sounded like a mewling virgin, but she didn’t care at the moment. His mouth felt WONDROUS. Not much time passed at all before he drove a screaming orgasm out of her - she clenched his hair at the root so hard, Geralt thought she might pull some out. Since he wasn’t part drowner, he DID eventually have to come up for air. He reemerged from the water, kissing his way up her stomach, her tits, her neck, and finally her lips. She tasted herself on him. Wouldn’t be the first time she kissed someone who had just been nose deep in her slit.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Philippa back, and lifted her so that she was sitting in his lap, cock pressed between their bodies. Philippa grinded against him, her cunt up and down the length of his manhood. He groaned into her mouth. He was always so vocal, and she loved that about him. The big bad wolf could howl. She reached down between them, grabbing his cock and lifting herself so that his cockhead was aligned with her entrance. She sank down on him, still loving the burn of the stretch his cock gave her. Geralt lowered his hand to her ass, taking a firm grip of it. It was too big, but supple and pert. It fit her.

With a firm grip, he began to rock her and his cock, grinding against her inner walls. Philippa placed her hands on his shoulders, aiding him in his motion and bouncing on his cock. Water spilled out from the side of the tub as they splashed about, fucking.

“Oh fuck, Oh Gods Geralt. You’re so..” She moaned, not sure what to say. ‘Amazing. Brilliant. The peak of man.’ She landed on just moaning louder, and increasing her bouncing on his length. Geralt brought his head down to lavish her breast with his mouth, licking the valley between them, and sucking a nipple into his mouth.

Their romp was intense, but less so than previous. It wasn’t a fight for dominance, but two bodies moving in unison, working in tandem to please each other.

In that moment, in the inn, connected together, the rest of the world faded away - Velen faded away. There darkness of the land couldn’t touch them.

It was just the two them
________________________________________________________________________

“Where the fuck have you two been!” The Baron roared.

Geralt and Philippa had returned to Baron in the morning. Evidently that was unacceptable to him.

“I was waiting all bloody night fer you two. Waiting for anything.” He said in anger. Philippa didn’t not like his tone

“You weren’t the one made to run around the whole bloody countryside looking for scraps of information.” Philippa shot back. “Now control yourself, because speak to me like that again, and information be damned, I’ll hex your tongue out.”

“I-I….aye you’re right. Sorry.” The Baron said, trying to collect himself. “Do you have anything for me.”

“Your daughter is in Oxenfurt.” Geralt told him. He looked genuinely surprised to hear that.

“What the blazes...?! She all right? In good health? Safe? Why haven't you brought her back?!” The Baron demanded.

“Never offered to do that.”

“How do you know she's safe? You see her at least?”

“No, but I talked to the man who helped her escape, and then took her in. Tamara is safe and sound. From what I gathered, she has no desire to see you again, no intention to return”

“I shan't trust some peasant dolt. I shan't trust whoever it is helped her! I need to know for certain she's safe! Go to her. You must be sure, see her yourself. I shan't believe anyone else.”

“I've done my part. You've dozens of men -- there's gotta be someone you can send.” Geralt said, folding his arms over his chest.

“You refuse to go?!”

“What do you expect me to do? Drag her back here kicking and screaming.” Geralt asked facetiously. “She’s in a fortified city. She’s not going anywhere.”

The Baron looked as if he wanted to argue further, but the logic of Gerlats words seemed to get to him

“Aye...alright. Wait, you’ve only mentioned Tamara. What of my Annie?”

“That’s a bit more complicated.” Geralt admitted. “Seems they split up. Anna is still an unknown.”

Geralt decided it was best to keep her being taken by a fiend, and the strange marking on her hands a secret at the moment.

“Then what are ye doing here? Go out and bloody well find her!”

“Look.” Geralt said sternly, sick of The Baron’s attitude. “The trails gone cold at the moment. We need to reevaluate things. Me and Philippa are going to head into Western Velen. There’s a witch there who might know somethings about the goings on around here. Might also have some info on Ciri.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” The Baron asked in shock. “You can’t just leave, and abandon the mission.

“We don’t owe you ANYTHING.” Philippa hissed/

“And we’re not abandoning anything. We’re playing the hand we were dealt. We’re not doing this out of the kindness of our hearts. We need information on Ciri. And I think it’s about time you told us the next part.”

The Baron looked between the two helplessly. Once he realized he wasn’t going to force the issue, he sighed in defeat.

“Alright. Alright, I’ll tell you what I know.”
____________________________________________________________________________

“Hmph. A basilisk huh.” Geralt commented after hearing his story. Ciri was bold as he was when he was young.

“Aye. Nearly shat myself at the sight of it.”

“Well you’re in one piece. What about Ciri.”

“You want to find out. You find my Anna. Only way I’ll tell you.”

Geralt sighed. Right, there was nothing else for them to do here.

“Then this is goodbye for the time being Baron. Philippa.”

Geralt and Philippa made for the exit, but the Baron called out to them.

“Wait...wait.” He said. He pulled something from his pocket. A letter. “If you do manage to get to Oxenfurt soon, please give this to my Tamara.”

Geralt took the letter, and put it in his pouch. There wasn’t much left to say to the Baron, so they took their leave.

Chapter Text

By the very talented KRWart

Chapter Text

Witch way to the which? Or is it Which to the Witch? I do tend to get confused.

As it happened, destiny decided that Geralt and Philippa seek out a witch, one who might have the answers they’re looking for in regards to the young Ciri. After dealing with the Baron, the presence of an old decrepit lady of the forest would be a nice change of pace.

Though not every witch in the woods of Velen is so hospitable.

At the moment though, Witches are the least of the concern of Geralt and Philippa.

___________________________________________________________________________

“YOU WRETCHED LITTLE THINGS! I’LL BLAST YOU! I’LL BLAST YOU TO PIECES!”

Geralt and Philippa were running.

Well more accurately, Geralt was running - Philippa was slung over his left shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

Nekkers - horrible little things; members of the ogre family of monsters. Short, grey, and ugly as sin, they’re smart enough to cover their crotches with lion clothes, and use rudimentary tools, but not much else. One would eat their own foot if it looked tasty enough. In fact, Nekkers alone weren’t much of a challenge. They were like a small, horrid looking child who wanted to bite a hole in your throat. 

But in numbers, they were a threat that plagued the Velen countryside. People never realized it until it's too late that they stumbled upon a Nekker nest. 5 Nekkers were deadly. 10 was a challenge for a Witcher to handle alone.

There were a dozen chasing after Geralt and Philippa.

“Run straighter!” Philippa ordered Geralt.” I want to turn these horrid little things to ash! Why are we running?!”

Philippa sent a blast of magic at the Nekkers chasing them. Nekkers were agile creatures, and easily jumped out of the way of her magic.

“Philippa, this is called a tactical retreat.” Geralt grunted as he continued to run. “And you can’t even stand.”

It was true. One of the Nekkers managed to sneak close enough to Philippa, and bite down on her ankle.

“Retreat my backside!” Philippa yelled, as she tried to blast another Nekker. “What happened to your Witcher powder? I thought it kept buggers like this away!”

“I didn’t think to put it down.” Geralt admitted as he leapt over a fallen branch. “Besides, all that screaming you were doing is probably what attracted them.”

Philippa’s libido was acting up again. It was only midday, and she insisted that they stop. Geralt was afraid she was sick again, until she basically pounced on him. In a matter of moments, they were rolling around in the grass, going at each other. Loud enough to attract monsters as it were.

“Well if you weren’t drilling into me like your cock would fall off if you didn’t use it-”

“You certainly weren’t complaining.”

“Ass!” 

“Save it for them, not me.”

Geralt continued running through the clearing, but he could hear water rushing ahead - they were coming upon a river, and there back would be to the water. They had to handle these pests.

“We need something to group these buggers together. Got a spell for that?” Geralt asked.

“Rudimentary spell, yes.”

“Well the moment I spin you around, cast it, and try not to miss.”

Whatever smart reply Philippa had was cut short, because Geralt almost immediately stopped on the spot. He slid her off of his shoulder, essentially cradling her in one arm. She spun around quickly, just as the Nekkers were getting uncomfortably close.

“Wiązać!” Philippa cast. As the first syllable left her mouth, Geralt reach to grab her outstretched wrist, and cast his own sign

“Yrden!”

The pair cast their respective spells melded together like alchemy. Philippa’s normally blue spell glowed purple as it soared through the air. The bolt of magic hit the Nekker in the front, before exploding in a reaction like a bomb. Suddenly, the swarm of Nekkers all began to act like magnets and their bodies flew through the air, sticking to the Nekker that was struck. Soon the dozen Nekkers that had been chasing them became a large ball of angry, wriggling little monsters. The ball of flesh rolled forward - Geralt simply side stepped it as it rolled and rolled, before rolling into the river.

“Can Nekkers swim?” Philippa asked.

“As well as a lead weight.” Geralt responded.

“Good. Serves the little shits right.”

Geralt carried Philippa bridal style back to where they made their camp. He was worried that the any remaining Nekkers might have hurt Roach, but when they got to their camp, Roach was fine. In fact, there were 2 dead Nekkers with their heads stomped in, proving what an Ornery old girl Roach was. Geralt set Philippa down to give Roach a proper inspection. Nothing but a few superficial scratches. It’ll add to her war stories.

“So the horse gets treated before the mother of your child?” Philippa asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“Roach isn’t a powerful sorceress. Probably as old as one, but studying spells never seemed to be her interest.”

Geralt walked back over to Philippa to check on her wound. She was barefoot from the romp, and the Nekker took a nice bite into her ankle and lower calf. Luckily Nekkers weren’t among the long list of monsters who were venomous or toxic - their mouths certainly weren’t clean but it was nothing most salve couldn’t fix in a snap. He went to his pouch and pulled out a small jar of green salve meant to disinfect wounds. He opened the lid, and scooped a generous amount on his fingers. He knelt down at Philippa’s feet and took ahold of her wounded foot.

“This might sting.” He admitted.

“I’ve literally had my eyes gouged out.” Philippa reminded the Witcher. “I hardly doubt a little cream will - OH SON OF A WHORE!”

Philippa hissed in pain as Geralt spread the salve over her wound. He smirked a bit at her discomfort before grabbing some bandages and wrapping her ankle.

“You did that on purpose.” She grumbled.

“Want me to kiss it to make it better?”

Philippa kicked at Geralt, but reeled back in pain. Frowning, she mumbled a spell, hand glowing green, and waved it over her ankle.

“What was that?”

“Numbing spell. Hand me my boots.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Better than walking around in pain all day.”

Geralt's point was made as Philippa tried to stand, and nearly toppled over on her numb foot. “Shut up.” She said, before he even said a word.

All things considered, they were all fine. However the Nekkers did a number on their gear. Roach’s side pouch carrying the majority of their supplies was completely chewed through, and the food they had saved was either eaten or wasted on the ground.

Looks like a contract was their next step before meeting their witch

______________________________________________________________________

Blackborough was a small village, not very far from Crow’s Perch. There couldn't be more than  2 dozen or so inhabitants in all of it, even before the war. It was on the road to Midcopse as it were, so it worked as a place to resupply and possibly pick up a contract. As Geralt and Philippa rode into town, they passed in front of a hut where a man and a woman stood next to each other by the door. The woman’s eyes grew a bit as she saw, trepidation clear. The man also looked surprised to see them, but he looked as if he wanted something. 

The man said something to the woman, and she shook her head adamantly. 

“No! They’re strangers!” The woman hissed quietly, not knowing Geralt could hear her.

“I have to!” The man responded. “I have to try any and everything.”

With that, he ran toward the pair, waving them down.

“Sir, ma’am” He greeted, walking next to Roach.

“I’m not not any kind of sir.” Geralt responded, looking down at him with an arched brow. 

“Right...sorry, it’s just...are you adventures of some kind? Been around the countryside?.” The villager asked.

“A Witcher and his companion. What interest is it of yours where we’ve been?”

“It’s just- That is to say.”

“This might go easier if you just tell us what you want.” Philippa cut in. The man sighed and nodded.

“Me name’s Niellen. I’m a hunter around these parts. My wife Hanna-” The man said despondently. “She’s gone missing. Been gone 5 days now. I’ve put up notices around other villages, hoping someone might come along with something useful - offered a reward. Nothing yet.”

“Hm. Maybe we should talk inside.” Geralt responded.

“Aye.”

Philippa and Geralt dismounted Roach, and followed Niellen inside his hut - a small family home. The three sat at the table in the center

“This is Hanna’s sister, Margrit.” Niellen introduced. Margrit was young, mid 20s perhaps, and a pretty gal; freckled round face wearing a simple dress and a straw hat. She nodded her head politely at the pair. “She's been helping me get through this. I’m worried sick to me stomach.”

“You said your wife’s been gone 5 days.” Geralt said. “Maybe she went to the next village. Forgot to tell you?”

Niellen went to speak, but Margrit cut him off

“Nay. My sister’s never been gone this long before. Asked around the village, and no one seen her go - she must have left whilst they were still sleep. I always told her time and again not to wander off on her own. She never listened.”

“Was everything okay with you and your wife?” Geralt followed up.

“Okay as could be.” Niellen answered.

“No fight? No forgotten anniversaries?” Philippa added. Niellen nodded his eyes, and his mouth went to a hard line. 

“She didn’t run off, if that’s what yer implyin’” He said gruffly. “She was as happy and smiling as one could be in these times.”

“Easy there.” Geralt placated, some warning in his voice. “No offense intended. We’re just covering all the possibilities.”

Niellen was silent for a moment, before sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just worried is all. It’s my wife. Me and some menfolk went lookin’ for her in the woods, and nothin’.”

“I’ll - look in the woods. You might have missed something.” said Geralt. “Ask around too. She have any friends.”

“Hanna kept - keeps to herself mostly.” The sister spoke. “Watches the blacksmith’s youngins at times. And in the village - Glenna, the butcher’s wife - she likes her best.”

“Thanks. We’ll try and find her, but no promises.”

“That’s all I ask.” Niellen sighed wearily. Geralt and Philippa left the hut, and walked through the village looking for their leads.

“You hesitated.” Philippa commented as they walked.

“Pardon?” Geralt asked, glancing at her.

“When you said we’ll look in the woods.” Philippa pointed out. “You hesitated.”

“Didn’t notice.”

“Oh you can’t bullshit me Witcher. You're not as stoic as you think you are. What is it?”

“...Velen is a dangerous place. We’ve seen that first hand. Nearly turned into Nekker stew earlier.” Geralt stated.

“Point?”

“Point is, a woman missing for 5 days, next village is several hours walking, in a war torn, monster infested woods - point is there might not be much left to look for.”

“You think she’s dead.” Philippa said rhetorically.

“Sister seemed to think so too.”

“Yes...she did, didn't she?” Philippa reckoned. “Then why did we take the job?”

“We need coin and supplies, don’t we?”

Philippa and Geralt walked through the village, until they got to a hut where a woman was plucking a half dozen birds of a variety in her backyard. 

“Greetings.” Geralt called out, getting her attention. “You Grenna?”

The woman stopped plucking the bird then wiped her hands on her skirt. She stood and walked toward him, looking back and forth between him and Philippa.

“Aye.” She affirmed. “The gristle and marrow is all I’m willing to sell, and you’ll have to wait until I’m done carving it.”

“We’re not here for bird parts.” Philippa said, wrinkling her nose a bit.

“No? Then what ya come for?” Grenna asked, looking at them a bit suspiciously now.

“Wanted to talk to you about Hanna.” Responded Geralt. “Heard you two were friendly.”

“And who you hear that from?”

“So, you two weren’t friendly?” Philippa pushed.

“Friendly enough I suppose.” Grenna confirmed. “She’d come by and we’d speak sometimes. Bit overly cheery. Not much to be happy about these days, but she was always smiling all the same. Guess you askin’ mean she aint come back.”

“No.” Geralt answered. 

“Shame. Guess overly cheery was better than none at all.” Grenna said, shaking her head. “If I had to guess, I’d say the wolves got to her.”

Philippa raised an eyebrow. “Wolves?”

“Aye. They howl all throughout the night.” Grenna nodded. “The Baron’s men aint no help neither, especially after one of them got mauled real bad. Hanna’s a nice girl, but not too bright. She must’ve gone to forage for mushrooms, strayed too deep.”

Geralt thought it was strange that Niellen didn’t mention wolves. That’s something of note. Geralt thanked the butcher’s wife, and he and Philippa went across the road. The house had a forge next to it, so they surmised that this must've been the home of the blacksmith. A boy and a girl sat by the forge as their father worked, shoveling coals into the fire. The children looked at the two in wonder.

“Woooow.” The boy said in awe. “My dad used to make swords like yours. Can I touch it?”

“It’s sharp. Better not.” Geralt answered.

“I like the feathers in your hair.” The girl said to Philippa.

“Oh...erm, thank you.” Philippa replied awkwardly, not expecting the complement. “I...like your hair too?”

The girl giggled, and a small smile spread across Geralt's face that would be a shit eating grin on any other man

“Can I help you with something?” The blacksmith questioned, putting down his shovel. “I’m not in the business of making swords anymore - just hoes and scythes now. If you want good arms, you need to go to Novigrad.”

“My swords are just fine. We’re actually here about something else. Wanted to ask you about Hanna, heard she looked after your children.”

“ Aunt Hanna?” The girl asked excitedly “Do you know where she is?”

“No, that’s why I’m here. She maybe tell you where she was going, or anything else?”

“She said turnips are healthy, and we ought eat them” The girl answered innocently.

“I saw her go to the forest with another lady.” The boy chimed in. “It was dawn almost.” 

“Oi, what were you doing up before dawn?” His father asked, hands on his hips. The boy seemed to realize he said too much, and began to stammer.

“Uh...I was...I…”

“Out with it.”

The boy looked down at his feet and fidgeted. “I was playing with a scythe” He mumbled quickly.

“Dammit boy, I’ve told you time and again that they’re-”

“-not toys” The boy said in unison with his father.

“I’ll deal with you later.” The blacksmith warned. “But if Hanna went into the forest, she’s done for.”

“Why?” asked Geralt.

“A huge pack roams the area.” The blacksmith explained. “None from the village dares go in the forest, cept’ Niellen, but he’s a hunter.”

“You get a good look at the other woman?” Geralt asked, turning to the boy.

“Nay. She walked in front of aunt Hanna.”.

“Anyone else reported missing from here?” Philippa queried. The blacksmith shook his head.

“No. Everyone is accounted for cept’ Hanna.”

“So two women enter the forest, and one comes back.” Philippa alluded. “Seems wolves aren’t the only thing this village has to worry about.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Geralt and Philippa rode into the heavily forested area immediately North of the village. It had been 5 days, and things are never static in the woods, so picking up a trail wasn’t an easy task. A pack of wolves rarely left scraps, and if the wolf problem was as bad as the villagers seemed to think - well there are rare instances where a person could truly disappear from this earth, but this would’ve been one of them. They rode a short while, until Geralt suddenly stopped Roach, and began to sniff the air.

“What is it?” Philippa asked, looking around.

“A kill.” He said, tensing up. “Close by. I can smell the blood in the air.”

Geralt dismounted Roach before helping Philippa down. 

“What do we do if the wolves notice us?” Philippa questioned.

“They noticed us 10 minutes ago.” Geralt pointed out. “They seem busy with a meal, which is the only reason they didn’t bound down on us.”

They walked slowly through a brush; waiting on the other side was a pack of wolves, 4 adults, and 2 pups. They were around the corpse of a dog, looked like a hunting dog. The wolves circled around the dog, picking at its flesh. The pack sentry alerted the rest to Geralt and Philippa, and they all turned their attention to the pair, teeth bared and growling. Philippa got her hands ready, prepared to blast the wolves to pieces, but Geralt held up his hand, stopping her.

“No need for that.” He said, before quickly signing AXII, and waving his hand in the direction of the wolves. The white aura of the sign enveloped the heads of the wolves, and immediately their aggression ceased. They relaxed, and looked at Geralt and Philippa as if they were just members of the pack. “Go.” Geralt said simply, waving his hand forward. After a moment, the wolves turned, and ran off into the woods

“Hm, why am I not surprised that you speak wolf.” Philippa commented wryly. 

“One of my many talents.” Geralt returned as he knelt down next to the dog corpse. His eyes scanned over it, looking for clues. Philippa looked over his shoulder at it and cringed.

“Wolves really did a number on the poor thing.” She lamented.

“Hm. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Well no, not maybe. Definitely not. This dog was dead before the Wolves got to it.”

Philippa furrowed her eyebrows, not following the Withcer. 

“The corpse is half rotted, even you can smell that.” Geralt continued. He was right, flies buzzed around the body, as it emanated an off-putting smell.

“So what? They killed it earlier, then decided to come back later to eat it?” Philippa questioned.

“Still doesn’t add up. Look at the kill wound.”

“I would rather not.”

“Just do it.”

Philippa frowned, but did as she was told, crouching down a bit to examine the dog. It’s entrails were split out of a large gash in it’s stomach.

“Notice anything strange.” Geralt asked.

“A dead dog.” Philippa answered smartly.

“The wounds aren’t consistent with a wolf attack.” Geralt pressed on. “Wolves attack in - if they did it, you’d see wounds everywhere: legs, ears, face. They’d overwhelm their prey. Plus the wounds would be bite marks. This looks as if one beast did it - slashed it across the stomach with one swoop.”

“What does that all mean?”

“Means this got more complicated.” Geralt figured. He stood back to his full height and looked over to a tall bush. “And I’m guessing this is only going to make it more so. You can come out now.”

Geralt called out to beyond the bushes. A moment passed before they rustled, and Margrit stepped through them.

“How do you know I was there?” She asked, sounding a bit surprised.

“Witcher.” Geralt replied simply. “You’ve been following us for a while now. Why? 

“I came to tell you...you neednt look for Hanna.” She said quickly. “She’d have returned long past were she alive. I’ll pay ya twice Niellen’s pledge. Just tell the man his Hanna’s dead.”

 Geralt gave her a strange look, while Philippa kept her face passive. Seems things were getting more interesting.

“Don’t want to know what happened to her?” Geralt asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“I have no illusions Withcer.” Margrit sighed. “In Velen you’re gone as long as she’s been, you don’t come back. Hanna’s dead for certain. Niellen ought to accept his loss - move on with his life.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes, searching the young woman’s face. “Strange, People usually prefer to know the fate of their loved ones, whatever the cost.”

“And what good would that do? I’ll not get my sister back, and Niellen’s all I got left. I can’t lose him too!”

“You care alot about him.” Philippa stated. Margrit turned and looked at her, eyebrows furrowing.

“Of course I do.” She replied, offended seemingly offended by the statement. “We grew up together in this village, all of us. He’s as much family as Hanna.”

“Then why not give him the proper closure.” Geralt pushed. Margrit just smiled sadly

“You don’t know him like I do.” She whispered. “He’s a...passionate man. There will be no closure for him. He’ll not rest until he avenges his Hanna, finds whoever did it - even if it eats him. He deserves better than that.”

Geralt didn’t reply, simply glancing over at Philippa. 

“Think about it.” Margrit said. “You know it to be the right thing to do.”

With that, she turned back towards the village and left. Geralt and Philippa gave a moment to make sure she was gone before they spoke again.

“What do you think?” Philippa asked, breaking the silence.

“I think we’re not getting paid enough for this.” Geralt grunted. “Always something under the cut.”

“There’s some logic to her words.” Philippa admitted. “You said it yourself, we’d be lucky to find remains.”

“Maybe...But there’s something else.”

“And what’s that.”

“She said whoever killed Hanna... not whatever .”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she knows more than she’s letting on.” Geralt hypothesized. “Meaning our job’s not done yet.”

Geralt turned away from Philippa, and began to sniff the air like a dog. He caught wind of something.

“There’s another body- Nearby.” He said. 

“What, another dog?”

“No… follow me.”

Geralt began walking, following his nose and the invisible trail. After about 10 minutes, they arrived at their destination.

To call what they saw a corpse would be a misrepresentation: they were just looking at a mess. A scattered pile of limbs and pink and red viscera. It was as if someone’s stew spilt out of their pot, chunks of meat and flesh on the red stained grass. Philippa covered her nose and reeled at the sight of it.

“Is that-”

“Hanna...what’s left of her that is.”

“By magic, what did this to her?”

Geralt looked around at the surroundings. He walked to a nearby tree, and ran his hands over a set of deep claw marks embedded in the bark.

“This looks like a werewolf to me.” He said. He looked around and noticed similar indentations in the grass, leading west.

“A werewolf?”

“Every had to deal with one?”

“Not personally, no, but there’ve been a fair share of outbreaks during my time in Redania. Put a few of your predecessors to work” Philippa confessed. “I guess it makes sense though. It’d explain Margrit’s behavior-”

“I know what you’re getting at, and no, it’s not her.” Geralt interrupted.

“You know that how?”

“Women can’t become werewolves.” 

“That...can’t possibly be true.”

“Have you ever heard of one?”

“Well...no.”

“In my years, I’ve fought dozens of werewolves, and not one had turned out to be a woman. “Don’t really know why - maybe it has something to do with testosterone.”

“Well if it’s not her, then who could it be?” Philippa huffed. Geralt shrugged. That wasn’t as important as finding the beast in the moment. They had a trail to follow.

“Let’s go find out.” Said Geralt. He whistled for Roach, and they were off - moving slowly through the woods, Geralt looking out for any and all clues: prints, tufts of fur, the scent of blood. Eventually the trail led them to an isolated shack - looked as if it was hastily built.

“A shack away from everything.” Geralt commented. “You’d have to be looking to find it.”

They dismounted Roach, and went to the door. Geralt listened for if anyone was inside. It was empty. Slowly, he opened the door, and they stepped inside. Despite the outside, the interior was rather clean and orderly - obviously someone was at least trying to live comfortably. In the corner was a pile of torn clothes which Geralt could only assume was from the remnants of a transformation.

“Trail ends here.” Geralt said, but it didn’t seem right to him.

“Well this hardly looks like the dwellings of a bloodthirsty beast.” Philippa stated.

“Hm. It doesn't, does it?” Geralt agreed. Geralt sniffed the air again, and looked around, before stepping back outside. He walked a few paces so that he could see the full of the shack. Rubbing his chin, he walked to the side of it, on a hunch. The house was built on the hill, so he decided to see that was on the other side.

“You find anything?” Philippa asked, coming out the shack a moment after him. “Geralt?”

“Down here.” He called from the other side of the hill. “You’re going to want to see this.”

Philippa followed his voice around the side of the shack and down the hill. On the other side, she was surprised to see the hill side had been carved out, with stone and wood supports holding the house up. Geralt was standing by a pathway, covered by large planks of wood, satisfied look on his face.

“What is this?” Philippa asked.

“Looks like some sort of entrance to me, a mine most likely..” Geralt guessed. “Long dilapidated...and the perfect liar for a werewolf. I can smell the remnants of one leading down there.”

“So what now? We head down there?”

“Not yet. There’s some preparations to be had, and it’s unlikely he’d be in there during the day. For now, we head back to Blackborough and wait until night fall…”

“And then?”

“Then we earn our coin.”

____________________________________________________________________________

The pair waited just outside of town until night overtook Velen. Geralt took stock of what he had to go toe to toe with a Werewolf. He applied cursed oil to his silver blade and crossbow bolts, it’d help slow down the beast if he managed to land a hit. He also had two moon dusts - small bombs filled with silver shavings, very irritable to Werewolves. It wasn’t much on short notice, but it would have to do.

They rode back to the shack, and went to the entrance of the mine. The pieces of wood covering the entrance were in a different position telling them that something was in there.

The entered and descended town the cavern. It was a large mineshaft, with a high ceiling, and deep gashes in the walls. They obviously were pulling something valuable from it in the past. They continued walking until the mineshaft transitioned into a natural underground cave; damp with tepid air, stalagmites and stalactites adorning the ceilings and floors.

Suddenly, a pained howl echoed through the cave. 

Seems they were close. Geralt drew his sword, and looked back at Philippa.

“Ready?” He asked.

“As I’m going to be.” She answered honestly.  Slowly they continued walking until they arrived into a large cavern. Geralt could sense the beast, and it could no doubt sense them. 

“What...what are you doing here?” A horribly deep voice called out from the far corner. A horrible mass of fur and grey flesh rose from the floor of the cave. It was hard to describe the uncanniness of a werewolf; some monsters had humanoid forms, but a werewolf was more beastiely than man - a massive body of fur and wolflike, with its body broken and shifted to stand like a man. The creature's jaundiced yellow eyes pierced across the room, staring at Geralt and Philippa, unblinking. It stood to its full height, well over 8 feet tall. “NOBODY IS SUPPOSED TO BE HERE”

Philippa took a half step back at the boom of the wolf’s voice, but Geralt just matched it’s gaze.

“I’m here to do my job.” Geralt said simply. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small vial of red liquid. A mutagen. He quickly popped the cork and downed it in one gulp. The effects were immediate, Geralt’s chest tightening, his heart beat rapidly beating. The veins in his neck and face strained, and looked blackened, and his eyes darkened until the white was completely gone. It ALWAYS hurt, but Geralt was used to it. Shaking it off, he gripped the handle of his sword tightly. “Shall we begin.”

The werewolf roared, loud enough where Philippa found her ears ringing. The beast leapt forward, clearing nearly half the room in the single bound. Geralt also moved forward, Sword held in a low guard. He’d never match the speed of the wolf, but the mutagen decreased the deficit substantially. The Withcer’s advantage was the fullness of his mind - while Werewolves could very well maintain their consciousness, when their hearts began to race, and their blood pumping, the bloodlust and instinct of their lycan form kicked in. They slashed wildy, without thinking about their attacks. That was too The Witcher’s advantage. While one slash could take his head clean off of his shoulders, they were heavily telegraphed.

Geralt was able to duck under the beast's initial attack, slashing it’s massive claws at Geralt’s throat. The Witcher rolled forward and spun quickly, slashing at the werewolf’s back, tip of his sword just connecting. It’s skin was thick, but Geralt was able to make a 5 inch gash in it. The beast roared and spun it’s large hand back into Geralt’s chest - this time he wasn’t lucky enough to dodge it. He was flung back several yards, crashing through a stalagmite 

Philippa attempted to assist, casting a spell of magical chains to try and hold the beast in place for Geralt. What she didn’t know however was magic was near useless on werewolves - their curse had that advantage. Her magic bounced off it ineffectually, but it did draw it’s attention. Philippa gasped out loud as the horrible mass bounded at her. She never moved so fast in her life - and likely never would again - she dove out of the way before the wolf could pounce on her. She landed hard on her side on the stone floor of the cave, disorienting herself. She rolled to her back to see the Werewolf moving toward her, mouth open showing off it’s horrible teeth. Philippa scurried backward, throwing any spell she could think to stop the beast’s advance. She found fire seemed to hurt it, but also just made it angrier. She put all her magic behind blasting fire out of her palms to keep the werewolf at bay, but it moved through the flames, looming over her.

“Oh Gods-” She gasped as it raised a claw to her. Before it could strike, Geralt ran at it full speed, using his shoulder to turn himself into a javelin and knock the beast over. The Witcher and the wolf rolled in a heap, his gear scattering about. They rolled several feet ending with the beast mounted on Geralt. The Witcher held his blade horizontally, using it to defend himself against the rabid wolf snapping its jaws and slashing at him. Geralt was strong, but the weight and the force of something the size of a Werewolf pushed his strength to the limit. His harms shook and strained as he tried to hold the beast back. 

Philippa scrambled to her feet, trying to think of some way, anyway she could help. She looked down and saw one of the bombs Geralt had brought laying at her feet. She scooped it up into her hands and lit it before throwing it in an arc to land next to the struggle. The werewolf took its eyes off Geralt for a moment, turning its head to look at the hissing bomb. It exploded a moment later, a fine silver mist filling the dispersing into the air. The beast howled, it’s eyes, nose and skin burning as the small particles of silver came into contact. It took its claws off of Geralt in an attempt to rub its face, trying to wipe away the contaminants. 

This was the moment Geralt needed. He quickly rolled to his feet, and swung his sword heavily across the chest of the wolf. The beast howled as the silver blade cut him, stumbling backwards on it’s large feet. 

Geralt needed to end this quickly. Philippa’s presence offered a complication, her magic not being of much use, but her being a target of the angry monster. He needed to incapacitate the Werewolf.

Gripping his sword handle overhand like a spear, he raised the blade level with his head, tip pointed and the reeling monster.

Then with all his might, He threw his blade straight as an arrow. He yelled “Aard!” right as the blade left his hand, sending a strong wave of telekinetic force behind. His sword soared through the air like it was fired from a ballista, striking the Werewolf in the shoulder with such force that it was taken clear of his feet and driven backwards into the stone wall of the cave, sword embedded into the rock, and pinning it there. It howled in agony, unable to move.

“No! Stop!” A voice shrieked out. Geralt turned to see none other than Margrit running toward them. She threw herself in front of Geralt, protecting the Werewolf. “Don’t hurt him!” 

Geralt for one, was sick of whatever the hells it was going on. Too many lies and secrets for one day. Geralt moved forward, gripping the hilt of his sword and pulled hard, freeing it from the stone and the flesh of the beast. The Werewolf fell forward onto its hands and knees. MArgrit immediately crouched down and held it protectively.

“I think we need to talk.” Geralt growled. 

“I-it’s Niellen.” Margrit cried. Geralt arched an eyebrow and looked at the monster. The tattered clothes hanging to his body did match what Niellen had been wearing earlier, his green and brown tunic and tan pants.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s a curse, and I have to finish this.” Geralt said, gripping his sword.

“I love him!” Margrit replied adamantly. “Everything was fine until you two came along! Go away, leave us be!”

“Will someone please explain to me what in the hells is going on?” Philippa said, managing to walk over to the scene.

“I-I’ve always loved him.” Margit admitted. “Even after I learned his secret.”

“You knew?” Niellen spoke.”Did you know I shut meself in here to wait out me change?”

“Of course I knew, and I didn’t mind...but you chose Hanna...I wanted her to see you, I wanted her to fear you. She not have stayed. Then we could be together!”

“You brought here here - that night.” Niellen said slowly. When one changed into their wolf form, they tended to lose expression in their face beyond bestial fury. But Geralt could see clear as day the pure anguish overwashing him. “It was the reason I had the taste of blood in my mouth come morn.”

“You sent your sister here to die?” Philippa asked. It wasn’t really a question. All the pieces were adding up. A tale as old as time. Jealousy.

“No, NO!” Margrit pleaded. “She was only supposed to see the turn, nothing more! You have to believe me. You all have to believe me!”

“I do.” Niellen said, voice low. He pushed himself off the ground, standing back to his full height. “And I’ll still kill you willingly...First time for that in fact.”

Margrit stepped back in horror.

“Please...please I love you.” She begged. “I did it for us-”

Her pleads fell on deaf ears, as he stepped toward her. Geralt shifted his body between them, looking up at the beast - the man whose face was in agony and cold fury.

“Step aside Witcher.” Niellen demanded. “This is none of your business anymore. This is a familial matter.

“I’m a Withcer. Monsters are my business.”

“Then you strike down the woman behind you.”

“Last chance. Back off now. I can’t let you do this. It’d go against my code. It doesn’t have to end this way”

“Aye. But it has to end.”

Niellen was bleeding heavily from the wound on his abdomen and shoulder. Even with his increased healing, Philippa foresaw Geralt slaying Niellen without much effort. But as Philippa looked at the two wolves standing off, and at the mewling quim cowering in the back, she felt a silent rage fill her stomach. Such a petty thing between two sisters, and now one of them was dead, torn to pieces in a desolate wood. She knew Geralt could not let the monster strike her down in such a manner, but she just couldn’t let Margit escape consequence. She just couldn’t. As Geralt gripped his sword tightly, and Niellen bared his teeth, Philippa decided to step in, literally - moving herself between Geralt and Niellen. Geralt’s eyes widened at her action, brazenly facing a werewolf.

“Philippa, step away!” Geralt barked, but Philippa ignored him, looking Niellen in the face.

“We can’t let you kill Margrit.” She reiterated.

“She turned me into a murderer!” Niellen growled.

“No. You were just the tool. She’s the murderer.” Philippa insisted.

“More the reason to kill her!”

“I said we can’t let you kill her...but I never said she wouldn’t be punished.”

Philippa suddenly spun around, shooting a spell from her hand over Geralt’s shoulder, striking Margrit in the chest. The young woman’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t move. In fact, she couldn't.

“W-what did you do to me?” Margrit panicked, face confused and scared. 

“Basic paralysis spell.” Philippa offered simply. “Can’t have you doing something silly like making a run for it.

“Philippa, what is this?” Geralt asked, confusion evident on his face. Philippa ignored him, and spoke directly to Niellen.

“You know I’ve always been sub par at memory magic.” She explained. “It’s a difficult field that very few have mastered. One miscalculation and you can simply - erase someone. That’s what I offer you. If you kill her, you’d just be the mindless monster that killed your wife. I can offer you justice of a kind. I’ll wipe her of herself; he memories, her personhood, her very being/ She’d simple be a blank slate for you to...do as you will”

Philippa let the implication hang in the air.

Niellen began to consider. He lowered his claws, and stood there thinking.

“That won’t bring Hanna back.” He said quietly after a moment. Philippa gave him a bit of a sympathetic smile.

“No. Nothing will. But I can guarantee you that the woman who led her to her death will be GONE.”

Margrit’s eyes looked back and forth in sheer terror.

“W-wait!” She begged. “You can’t do this, please! You can’t do this to me! Witcher, you can’t sit there and allow this. Y-you fight monsters right? Stop them!”

Geralt looked at the pleading woman, and couldn’t find it in himself to have sympathy for her. She led an innocent woman to her death - her own sister. Turned an already tortured man into a killer, robbing him of his wife and his peace.She wasted their time, lied to their faces to hide her own guilt. And now here she was begging him to raise his sword against the man she supposedly loved.

“I deal with monsters of all kinds.” Geralt simply stated. His meaning was clear. Philippa looked at Niellen, waiting for his response. The Werewolf looked at the ground and let out a weary breath.

“Do it.” He said.

“NO! NO! It’s not fair! It’s not right!” Margrit yelled as Philippa turned to her and placed her hand on the girl’s forehead. Margrit tried to wrench her head back, but the paralysis spell made sure she didn’t get far. “You can’t do this to me!”

“You did this to yourself.” Philippa countered, before saying the spell “ czysta karta”

Her hand glowed a pale yellow against Margrit’s skin. The girl let out a least scream, before her face went completely slack, eyes rolling into her head. Margrit was being stripped away.

Philippa held her hand to her head for several more seconds, before pulling back.Margrit fell down to her knees, head slumped forward. After a moment, she lifted her head, blinking rapidly. She looked around at the Witcher, the Werewolf, and The Sorceress without a hint of fear. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know what she was. She knelt there, blank as a newborn.

“It’s done.” Niellen said. He moved toward Margrit and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder. She didn’t fight him or even respond to being lifted. “I’ll...be leaving now. I cannot return to Blackborough, not to the home of me wife. Go to my house, take what you will. It has no meaning to me anymore.

With that, he bounded out the cave, taking Margrit with him.Geralt watched them go, unsure of how to feel.

“Maybe it would've been better to kill him. Or let him complete his revenge.” Geralt said after a moment. “Might’ve been more merciful that way.”

“Mercy doesn’t exist in Velen.” Philippa said. Geralt couldn’t argue with her there. “Come on. Let’s go get our payment.

________________________________________________________________________

Niellen had a bit of gold and supplies in his house, more to make up for what they had lost to the Nekkers. They also had a free bed for the night, and after the day they had, Philippa needed it. She sat on the small bed, contemplating.

“What is it?” Gerlat asked, taking notice.

“Nothing.” Philippa said, a bit curtly.

“You’ve lost your touch, because I don’t believe that lie one bit.” Geralt snorted. Philippa frowned at him a moment, and then sighed.

“I was useless there.” Philippa mumbled. “All my magic was useless - nearly became a snack of a werewolf.” 

Philippa tucked her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Geralt sat next to her on the bed, placing his hand on one of her knees.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen.” He said.

“That isn’t the point, you ass!” Philippa said, throwing her arms in the air. “I’m a witch of hundreds of years experience! And I all that was nearly ended by some fucking beast!”

Geralt watched her frustration, and tried not to smile. She didn’t very much appreciate that. 

“And what the fuck are you smiling at?” She demanded.

“Nothing - just nice to know I have job security.” He responded. Philippa threw a pillow at him, which he dodged easily. “Withcering is a tailored business, Philippa. Do you think we’d exist if people could just send out mages and sorceresses to clear out monsters. You wouldn’t know where to start. I was made for this - changed for it. Took me years to get as good as I am, and I was pretty piss poor to start. I don’t expect you to know what you’re doing.” 

Philippa wanted to snap at him, but she considered his words 

“We’re you really bad at it in the beginning?” She asked. Geralt snorted laughter.

“My first official contract was against a succubus, I had been looking for work for 2 months, and took the first contract I could get.” Geralt explained. “I found her easily enough, but her...wiles got the best of me. Long story short, I woke up the next day stripped down to my bare ass, all my gear gone, on top of some poor man’s farm house scaring the blazes out of his 3 kids.”

Philippa covered her mouth to try and hide her laughter, before quickly caving and laughing out loud.

“Oh, funny is that?” Geralt threatened playfully. He pushed Philippa onto her back, and pinned her wrist to the side of her head.

“You smell like a wet dog.” She said, smile still on her face.

“So do you, but you don’t see me complaining.” He responded before capturing her lips in a kiss. He pulled back to look at her with a smirk.”

“We’ll make a Witcher of you yet.”

Chapter Text

“This looks nothing like me!”

“Philippa please, be reasonable.”

“Don’t tell me to be reasonable Witcher! This-this caricature is just that!”

A wanted poster. A wanted poster of Philippa to be precise. They had found several posted to fences along the road they were traveling to Midcopse. Despite her objections, the poster resembled her greatly. It seemed Radovid was pushing outside the borders of his expanded empire to find Philippa.

“How many women do you think have covered eyes and feathers in their hair, Philippa?” Geralt sighed. Philippa frowned deeply, but didn’t answer. “Maybe if you keep frowning, your face will wrinkle and then the wanted poster won’t look like you”

This time she responded by sending a stinging hex to the side of Geralt’s neck.

“Look.” Geralt tried. “We’re so close to our next lead here. Last thing we need is to lose any more time or ground on the off chance someone recognizes you.”

Philippa folded her hands over her chest and looked away impetuously. She didn’t want to admit Geralt was right. In fact, she outright refused to say the words. But he had a point. She couldn’t risk being recognized. Truth be told, she was just growing re-accustomed to not having to hide her true appearance after moments of hiding and paranoia. 

“Fine.” She grumbled, before morphing into ‘Tomira’. “Happy?”

“I’m happy if you’re happy.” Geralt said with a smirk. “Though nothing compares to your natural beauty of course.”

“Kiss my ass, Witcher.” Philippa said, narrowing her new formed eyes at Geralt.

“Promises, promises.” Geralt said, letting his eyes fall down to her widened hips. 

“Keep it up, and I’ll strike you blind.” Philippa threatened, though it lacked any real venom.

They were only about an hour out from Midcopse, and aside from the discovery of the wanted poster, their spirits were higher than they’d been in days. Another lead was just over the hillside. Hopefully this ‘witch’ wouldn’t be too hard to find or disagreeable.

Misdcopse was a bustling little village - it was almost refreshing to see in Velen. People went about their business, chatted and lived their little lives. As Geralt and Philippa rode into town, they got the suspicious glares they’ve grown accustomed to over the last several days.

“Anyone here look particularly ‘witchy’ to you?.” Philippa asked, looking around at the villagers.

“Doubt this witch would’ve lasted so long if she let herself be known so openly” Geralt said. “I’m sure you could relate.”

The pair tied off Roach, and went on foot. There was a pair of women spinning yarn, both literally and figuratively, in a yard. They were as good of a place as any to start. The duo walked over to them. The two women seemed startled by their presence, stopping their work and conversation as they got close.

“Good morning ladies.” Geralt greeted politely.

“Morn.” The women greeted back flatly.

“We were wondering if you could help us with something. Tell us about a witch of this village.” Geralt queried. The women looked at each other nervously.

“Witch? Erm, we’ve heard nothing of a witch.” One woman said.

“Yes, heard nothing at all.” The other woman agreed. Geralt raised an eyebrow at them. The two weren’t exactly expert liars.

“You sure? We just-”

“We really must get back to this work. This yarn won’t spin itself.” 

The women went back to spinning their yarn in silence, doing their best to look anywhere but Geralt and Philippa’s direction. Geralt looked at Philippa, who just shrugged her shoulders. The two let the women be, walking up the road.

“Strange reaction.” Philippa commented.

“Hm.” Geralt grunted in agreement. “Let’s try someone else.

They went to a man feeding some chickens.

“Witch? Nay, nothing like that round here. Just simple folk and simple things.”

Then to a woman drying some clothes on a line.

“Witch? Oh, uhm, no. Perhaps you’re thinking of another village? Maybe in Benek?”

Then a man sitting looking grumpy in his front yard

“Why you buggin me? Leave me be. Only witch here is me wife - put a curse on me the moment I married her.

These people seemed to have no interest in talking to either of them about a supposed witch. In fact they seemed very set on getting them out of the village as quickly as they could.

“Something has these people spooked.” Geralt said.

“Maybe this Witch isn’t as benevolent as we’ve been led to believe.” Philippa hypothesized. 

Suddenly, Geralt twitched, and moved before Philippa realized what happened. The back of his hand went directly in front of her face. Stopping her.

“Geralt, what in the devil are you-”

Philippa was silenced when Geralt showed her his open palm. In it was a mid-sized rock. Someone had thrown a rock at them. Geralt looked at his hand, and then straight ahead from whence the rock came. Several yards away, off the side of the road, was a very shocked and guilty looking boy. Geralt narrowed his eyes at him, and that was enough to set him off running into the woods. Geralt was about to chase after him, but Philippa simply waved her hand in the air. Suddenly, the boy tripped over some invisible force, landing hard on his stomach. Geralt gave Philippa a slightly disapproving look, before they went over to the boy. Geralt grabbed him by the color before he could scamper away, and lifted him off the ground. The boy kicked at Geralt childishly - which he was; he couldn’t have been older than 9. 

“Lemme go!” The boy struggled. 

“You threw a rock at my companion. Why?” Geralt asked, holding the boy up with one arm.

“You twose don’t belong here!” The boy said with a scowl.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that, so you’re gonna need to be a  little more specific.” Geralt drawled.

“Yer here for our witch. You been asking everyone in the village!!” The boy yelled. “You can’t have her! She done nothin’ wrong. She helped me sister and my mum feel better. She helps loads of people.”

Philippa arched an eyebrow at the boy and then looked at Geralt, who looked equally confused.

“What exactly do you think we want with your witch?” Philippa asked, leaning forward to look the boy in his eyes. This seemed to unnerve the boy a bit, who’s demeanor changed.

“Y-yer Witch Hunters. You take witches far far away.” The boy said sheepishly.

Well, that explained their cold reception.

The villagers thought they were witch hunters, there to do harm to their precious witch. Philippa almost found it inspiring that the simple people of the village were doing what they could to defend their witch from persecution. Something very rare in these times. 

“Set the boy down Geralt.” Philippa said softly. The Witcher compiled after a moment, making sure to give the boy a glare warning him not to try anything else. “We’re not Witch Hunters”

“Yer not?” The boy asked, rather shocked. Philippa shook her head.

“No. In fact, my companion here wants to see the witch himself.” Philippa explained. 

“What's wrong with im’?”

“Uhm, he has a rather nasty rash.”

Gerlat narrowed her eyes at the sorceress, wondering why he had to be the punchline of her little white lie.

“Oh, the witch has treated  tons of rashes. I had one right on me-”

“Yes, yes, we really must hurry. Wouldn't want it to spread. Where is your witch located.”

“She’s down the road a bit.” The boy said. “There’s a big ol rock that shows yer close. Go round’ that into the woods, and you’ll be there in no time.”

“Thanks. And word of advice-” Philippa said, lowering herself again to be on eye level with the boy. “Next time you throw something, make sure you hit your target. Otherwise they might throw something even more unpleasant back.”

The boy gulped at Philippas thinly veiled threat and nodded quickly. Philippa tilted her head telling the boy to be on his way. He quickly scampered back to the center of the village.

“Well, let’s go get you a remedy.” Philippa smirked.

__________________________________________________________________________

The pair followed the boys instructions, walking up the road until they found the aforementioned rock. They weren’t far as Geralt could hear a group of people not far out. Soon they came upon a dozen or so people standing outside a shack, all talking over each other. Looks as if they found their witch

“Heal me foot! I been walking with a limp for 3 days-”

“My stomach been acting wrong! I can’t go an hour without needing a sh-”

“Me husband’s pecker stopped workin-”

“ Please everyone, please!” A woman’s voice called out from in front of the crowd. Geralt and Philippa couldn’t quite see her from where they were standing. “One at a time. Branson, please speak.”

“Miss... Cow's a-wheezin', won't rise from the barn floor. Pus streams from her snout.” Branson said.

“Do I look like a dairy maid to you?” The witch said, sounding annoyed.

“No, miss, but you know things. 'Tis our last cow, none other left in the village…” Branson’s wife interjected.

“Rest died of hunger, or soldiers lead 'em off. Oh...we're as good as dead without her.” Branson finished explaining. The witch sighed.

A sigh that was all too familiar to Philippa. 

“I shall give you herbs. Mix them with water drawn from the spring at midnight, then make the cow drink them.” The witch instructed. “But first you must clean out your barn. Thoroughly, is that clear?”

It couldn’t be, Philippa thought. 

“Thank you, miss! A thousand thanks!” The woman thanked graciously. She moved forward, grasping the witch’s hand with both of hers, shaking it adamantly. The witch snatched it away, and made a minor sound of disgust. Something that both Geralt and Philippa heard before.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Geralt chuckled. “It’s-”

“Keira.” Philippa gasped. The Carrerain sorceress. But it wasn’t Keira as Philippa last saw her. The blonde sorceress was a high-class urbanite through and through, always in the latest fashion and jewelry. Yet here was Keira in the countryside of Velen, In a simple tank dress with a riding hood tied around her waist. She looked tanner, as if she worked in the sun all day, and on her waist was a small ritualistic knife. She wore strange looking arm bands and bracelets and a crown of flowers and twigs in her hair. This was Keira alright, but also a countryside witch.

Philippa hadn’t known what happened to Keira after Loc Muinne. She knew she wasn’t apart of the immediate casualties as Keira was handling local matters in Temaria after King Foltest’s death, but with the witch hunts and war, she could’ve fallen victim to any number of calamities over the last several months. Philippa felt her chest tighten, from both relief and anxiety at seeing the young sorceress. When she heard no responses to her attempts at contacting members of the Lodge, deep down she assumed the worst outcomes.  

But seeing Keira there…well it gave her some hope that the others were alright. Hope was a dangerous thing in Philippa’s experience.

Geralt took notice of Philippa's reaction - she realized she must have been staring hard. 

“Philippa.” He said gently. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine.” She lied.

“Your face says otherwise.” Geralt stated. Philippa's face was scrunched awkwardly, as if she was trying to hold back tears - if she had the ability to cry anymore that is. “It’s okay to be happy to see her. You know.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how I feel.” snapped Philippa. Geralt knew better than to push the issue. By now Keira looked in their direction and had noticed them. She looked surprised to see Geralt, and confused to see a woman she didn’t recognize.

“Enough! I've had my fill for the day -- go home!” Keira boomed to the crowd. The villagers quickly dispersed, not wanting to anger their witch. Once the villagers were gone, Keira looked at Geralt and Philippa expectantly.

“Well, are you two just going to stand there, or are you going to come inside?” She said, before turning and entering her hut. Geralt looked at Philippa who was already in mid stride towards Keira’s hut. Geralt followed quickly behind. They entered the shack, and Philippa was reminded of how she lived for the last few months - ingredients and small concoctions everywhere. It was a little more spacious than her accommodations, but she didn't care about that at the moment.

Keira stood there, leaning against a desk, a small smile on her face.

“Geralt of Rivia.” She said dryly. “You certainly have a habit of showing up when people least expect it. What’s it been, 4 years?”

“Five.” He corrected, knowing that Keira knew what. Keira was always a hard read for Geralt. He found the woman easy to talk to, but did not trust her very much. She wasn’t someone who’d outright lie to you, rather trail you along in little games of hers. They were generally harmless. Generally.

“And who’s your friend here?” She asked, looking over at ‘Tomira.’ Philippa didn’t trust the emotion not to escape from her voice, so she just stood there silently, looking. “Does Yennefer know you have yourself a little friend? Must say she’s a bit more on the homely side.”

Again, Philippa stood there, trying to maintain her stoicism.

“Well don’t be rude?” Keira huffed to Philippa. “Introduce yourself.”

Keira walked forward, and offered her hand. 

‘ Oh to hell with stoicism.’ Philippa thought. 

She dispelled her disguise. Keira’s eyes widened.

“Phili-PA!”

Keira was only able to get out half her name before Philippa stepped forward and enveloped the young sorceress into a hug. It took Keira a second to register what had happened, before she wrapped her own arms around Philippa, and pulled her in tight. Geralt smiled a bit at the reunion. He’d give Philippa an “I told you so.” later. For now he’d let them have their moment.

“Philippa!” The straw haired woman squealed, rocking with Philippa in her arms. “You’re okay!”

“I’ve missed you Kerry.” Philippa said earnestly. 

“You haven’t called me Kerrry in years, and you were NEVER much of a hugger.” Keira snorted. 

“And you were never a country girl.” Philippa commented. “What the blazes do you have on?”

“Oh this?” Keira said, looking down at her rustic clothing. “I think it helps me blend in. Rally adds to the rural wise woman veneer. Lots of old magic in these hills, and how does the saying go? ‘When in Velen-’”

She pulled back and beamed at Philippa before looking at Geralt. “How did you get here? Why?” 

“It’s…a long story.” Philippa said.

“Then let's get started on it.” Keira smiled. “But not here. I don’t want some villager walking in on us.”

“There another room here?” Geralt asked, looking around. 

“Geralt, still as simple as ever.” She said, finally letting go of Philippa. She walked across her shack, to a shelf hosting a skull. It had strange rune marks carved into it.

“Friend of yours?” Geralt asked.

“Something like that?” She said. The sorceress simply touched the skull with her index finger, and instantaneously a portal opened in the corner. 

“Come along.” Keira said, walking over and then through the portal.

“Hrm.” Geralt grunted, looking at it suspiciously.

“Right, you and portals.” Philippa noted.

“We don’t even know where it goes.”

“Well wherever it goes, I’ll be.” She stated, before quickly making her way through. Geralt hesitated a moment, before sighing and walking through the portal himself.

He came out on the other side, running into Philippa’s back. He wondered why she had stopped, until he realized where they were. They were inside a cavern of some sort, but instead of stone and rock, there was a lush forest complete with deer, rabbits and birds sipping around.

“You did this?” Philippa asked, looking at Keira.

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.” Keira huffed.

“But how? A generated space of this size would require instruments of the finest quality.”

“Quite, I had to stop at several lodge safehouses to get enough precious stones to pull this off.”

“You did WHAT?” Philippa snapped. 

“Oh calm down. It’s not as if anyone was using them.” Keira dismissed offhandedly. 

Philippa had missed Keira, but she didn’t miss her glib, nonchalant attitude. Keira rarely took things seriously, or at least she rarely showed it. Philippa was angry because those jewels could’ve been needed by other members of the Lodge. Further, she was angry that SHE didn’t think of it herself.

“Come now, let’s not fight.” Keira sighed. “We haven't seen each other in ages.”

Philippa pursed her lips together, before nodding. “You’re right. You thought fast, and did what you had to.”

“Learned it from the best.” Keira remarked slyly. “Now if you don’t mind, I need a bath. I feel like a farm animal. This way.”

The three walked towards a flight of stairs that led to an elevated platform where a large bath was installed. Hot water was already waiting for Keira when she got to the top.

Philippa REALLY wished she had thought of this.

As if Philippa and Geralt weren’t there, Keira started stripping, taking off all her accessories and peeling her dress down her shoulders. Geralt raised an eyebrow, and Philippa crossed her arms over her chest. Keira was always provocative in nature, she thought. Philippa caught Geralt appraising her muscled bottom and had to stop herself from slinging a hex the Witcher’s way. Keira climbed into the water, sighing in relief as it came into contact with her skin.

“Self heating.” She said as she settled comfortably in the bath. Philippa thought she was just rubbing it in at that point. “So now that we’re all comfortable, mind telling me what you’re both doing here in Velen?”

“That question is more appropriate for you.” Geralt said. “I thought you hated the countryside.”

“I assure you, I still do.” She answered as she gingerly washed herself. “Now more than ever. But I can say friendly faces being here now makes it halfway bearable.”

She gave Geralt a saucy smile as one of her hands washed over her breasts. This time Philippa had to stop herself from raising the temperature of the water to a boil.

“You’ve been hiding her as a witch.” Philippa said. “I preferred a herbalist myself”

“Is that what that form of yours was? And here I thought polymorphing into an owl was impressive enough. You had a whole woman in there as well.”

“I’ve found it always helps to have something your enemies know you for - makes it easier then to do the opposite.”

“Secrets on top of secrets. But you still didn’t answer my question. What are the BOTH of you doing in Velen? Didn’t think you two could even stand each other.”

“I’ve had worse company.” Geralt commented. “I once traveled with a doppler that kept trying to run off with my identity.”

“I’m sure he would’ve added to your reputation.” Philippa commented dryly.

Keira watched the two of them. This was certainly not how she expected them to interact. To say their paths and interests conflicted would’ve been an understatement - at the present they seemed almost ‘chummy’.. She stood from her bath, unabashed that her sex was showing. Geralt had the decency to look away before Philippa struck him blind. With a wave of her hand, Keira was dry and dressed, not in her rural attire, but in an elegant blue dress with yellow accents.

“It’s just that I expected you to be in the company of another sorceress.” Keira stated. 

“Speaking of, have you heard from anyone else? Anything at all?” Philippa interjected. Keira just smiled sadly at her.

“Not a whisper.” She said, “Perhaps it’s best that way - can’t know too much about each other these days. Safer in case one of us get’s-”

Keira let her words taper off. Philippa frowned at the thought of one of her sisters in the hands of witch hunters. A cruel lot who now had state power. She wouldn’t wish their company even on her enemies, vast as that list might've been.

“Us being in the same place as each other is a risk in itself.” She continued. “Not that I’m not ecstatic to see you, but you especially being here compromises things.” 

Philippa wanted to argue, but she knew Keira was right. She saw the wanted poster earlier, and the price on her head. She was public enemy number one as far as Redania and Radovid were concerned.

“We were looking for a witch who had a run-in with someone we’re tracking.” Geralt offered. “We didn’t know that witch would be you.”

“What kind of run-in?” Keira questioned.

“Not the pleasant kind.”

“Well then I can’t help you there. The girls around here are to stupid to quarrel with me.”

“She's not from here.” 

“You're up to something, Geralt. If I'm to help you, you must tell me what's going on. Who are you looking for?”

“Keira-” Philippa said seriously. “It’s Cirilla.”

Keira’s eyes widened in genuine shock. 

“Ciri?” Keira whispered. “ Well...now I understand the secrecy, not to mention the brooding, the furled brow. And you say she had some sort of problem with a witch?”

“Not you as it turns out.” Geralt said in a frustrated sigh. Two steps forward-

“And you think she’s been through Velen?” Keira pushed.

“We know she has.” Philippa said.

“And you’re looking for her…together?” Keira asked skeptically. “Gerlat, and no offense Philippa, but are you certain that Philippa doesn’t have you under some sort of mind spell.”

Philippa would’ve been offended if it weren’t a fair question.

“I’m immune.” Geralt said.

“Besides, if I were to mind control someone, I could do better than him.” Philippa said snappily. Geralt just rolled his eyes.

“Circumstance put us together on this journey.” Geralt said simply. “One we thought would move forward once we found a witch. Looks like we were wrong.”

“Now hold on a minute. I may not have been fortunate to run into Ciri herself, but you’ve given context to something strange that happened a few weeks ago. Follow me.”

Keira led the pair down the stairs towards the opposite side of the cavern. There she had a small elegant looking house, something else to make Philippa jealous. The inside was enchanted to be bigger as well, decorated elegantly much to Keira’s style.

“Here, in my lab.” Keira said, pointing to a set of stairs leading to a basement. The trio walked down the stairs to see Kiera's set up. There was an alchemy station, against the wall next to a shelf full of magical texts - which she also got from the Lodge safehouses no doubt. There was a desk littered with papers and notes as well; Keira had been busy for a simple country witch. She walked to the table, and rummaged around, looking for something. “I know I left it - ah, here it is!”

In her hands was a small booklet, much like Geralt's Journal. She flipped through it until she got to her desired page.”

“What are you trying to show us?” Philippa asked.

“A while ago I was visited by an elf.” Keira informed her. “It was an elf -- this individual asking about Cirilla. No flea-bitten Scoia'tael slob, either, but an elven mage.”

“An elven mage?” Philippa scoffed derisively. 

“Didn’t know you were prejudiced.” Geralt said, looking at her.”

“I’m not, I’m just realistic.” Philippa dismissed. “An elven mage is near unheard of. Why would one be in Velen?”

“Evidently the same reason a Witcher and a wanted Sorceress.” Keira commented. “And skepticisms granted, I could feel the magic radiating off of him.”

“He say what his name was?” Geralt questioned.

“He didn't. And he wore a mask. Very secretive all around, but...I liked him. He was intelligent and composed. Here.”

Keira showed them the book, where she had sketched out a picture of her visitor. From the rough sketch the elf seemed to be an elegant man, well dressed. Neither recognized the man.

“So now someone else is after Ciri too.” Geralt said. “Just what I needed.” 

“It may not count for much, but I don’t think the elf intends to harm Ciri.” Keira stated.

“Yeah, well that’s how it always starts, isn’t it.” Geralt grumbled.

“Cirilla is a special girl.” Keira reminded him. “Consider you may not be the only one who cares about her.”

As Geralt and Keira spoke, Philippa let herself wander closer to Keria’s desk. The Sorceress obviously had a superior set up over these last few months, so Philippa’s curiosity got the best of her - maybe the Carrerain got up to something interesting. A quick scan of the papers and notes on the table revealed a common pattern, the Catriona plague - a little import from Nilfgaard. Seems Keira was interested in the plague that was ravaging the North. Mages were immune to most serious diseases, so Philippa didn’t worry about it too much personally, but she had several people during her stay in White Orchard come to her, hoping she had some special cure, some treatment to the infliction. Philippa could do nothing for them besides try and give them something for the pain and fever. They never came back for a follow up.

She scanned the desk some more, until something caught her eye.

Something that looked familiar. She picked it up, and looked at it

“Elven ruins huh?” Geralt said. “What do you think Philippa?”

Philippa didn’t answer, she just continued to look at the paper.

“Philippa?” Geralt tried again, looking at her curiously. Philippa again didn’t respond, in fact she wasn’t even looking at him, rather staring intently at Keira.

“Phil, have you suddenly been struck deaf? What are you-” Keira began, until she saw what Philippa held in her hand. She visibly stiffened. “Oh.”

Geralt looked between the two women. He didn’t understand what was happening, but it was clear that the mood in the room changed drastically. Philippa’s face didn’t look angry, her lips were pressed in a straight line, and her brow only slightly knitted downward. But Geralt could almost feel the waves of negativity rolling off of her.

“Geralt.” Philippa said after a moment. “Would you give us the room please?”

Philippa’s voice was calm, but it was pure ice. Geralt didn’t know what would happen if he left the two.

“I don’t think-”

“It’s alright Geralt.” Keira interrupted. “It’s alright. Let the girls catch up for a minute.”

Geralt thought about arguing, but decided against it. 

“I’ll be right outside.” He said, before descending up the stairs.

The women fell silent again, Philippa somehow boring holes into the other woman even without eyes. Keira looked contrite, but stood her ground in front of Philippa.

“Phil-” Keira began, only to be interrupted by the deadly iciness of Philippa’s voice.

“You heartless little bitch.” Philippa seethed, her voice low.

“Phil, there’s no need for that.” Keira tried.

“No need- NO NEED?!” Philippa said, voice beginning to rise. Her magic crackled against her skin, and some papers around her began to levitate. “You got my letter - you got them and you IGNORED them.”

She threw the paper on the table, revealing Philippa’s coded message.To any one else, it’d be gibberish, but to Lodge members it was clear as common speech. Philippa had sent out messages to all the Lodge members, to their last known location, trying to track their magical signature. She never heard back from anyone. She had figured they had failed to reach their targets. But here were her words, her pleas, sitting on Keira’s desk like some discarded note.

Keira didn’t bother to try and deny it. She simply nodded her head and said “Yes.”

“Why?” Philippa said, voice pained and demanding. She was hurt, she was livid. Worst yet, she was confused. 

“What would you have had me done Philippa?” Keira said wearily, sitting down at the table. “I couldn’t even guarantee you were on the other side of those letters.”

“Don’t give me that horsehit.” Philippa seethed. “My code was unbreakable. Tell me you couldn’t feel my magic off of it.”

Keira frowned, but didn’t deny Philippa points. That only served to make her angrier. 

“I reached out-” She continued. “I reached out to anyone who might have listened, anyone who could’ve been there. Do you know how many nights I spent thinking I might’ve been the only one of us left, the only one of us not in Radovid’s clutches? Do you know how that weighed on me. I was stranded and alone, and you were but a few days' ride away, living in comfort.

“You think any of this has been easy for me?” Keira asked, her own voice rising. 

:Oh yes, you’ve done just horribly for yourself.” Philippa spat, gesturing wildly to the room. 

“That’s always been your problem Philippa, you could never see past your perspective - your line of reason.” Keira shot back, standing again. “You think I’m happy here? You think any of this stuff means anything? I have to play witch doctor to ingrates and yokels. I had to watch my home get burned by Witch Hunters, watched as people who were my neighbors cheered.”

“We could’ve helped each other.” Philippa pushed, taking a step forward. “We could’ve pooled our resources, planned. Together we could’ve found the other members of the Lodge, and out plans-”

“Plans, plans - you and your fucking plans and schemes.” Keira barked, pointing at Philippa. “That’s the reason we’re all in this situation in the first place.”

Philippa was caught off-guard by that, and frowned miserably. “You can’t blame me for this.”

“Can’t I?” Keira laughed humorlessly. “You started the Lodge. The assassinations were your brainchild.”

“You weren’t complaining at the time. You never voiced objections.”

“Would you have listened? Would my objections have mattered in the grand scheme of things. Would my objections kept you from killing your king? Kept Radovid’s wrath from falling upon all of us, because of YOUR fucking plans.”

“You believed as much as any of us-” Philippa said, the fire from her voice dying as the implications of Keira’s words sank in. “That what we did was for the good of all magic

“I did.” Keira said sadly. Her voice was weary again”  But that doesn’t change the fact that all of this, what’s happening to magic users is simple cause and effect. It’s on you. It’s on us. As I watched my house burn, the men laughing, saying how much easier it would’ve been if I was inside as the flames engulfed it. I hated them, I hated Radovid, and I hated YOU.”

Guilt washed over Philippa like a wave. She didn’t think she ever saw Keira like this, so sad, so downtrodden. 

“I hated what you brought down on us.” Keira continued. “I hated that I followed you. Hated that I didn’t know if any of my friends were alive. I - I couldn’t respond to your letters. It just couldn’t. I wanted nothing to do with you-”

If Philippa could cry, she’d be bawling. Keira’s words rang true. She knew Radovid’s wrath was directed at her, that all those suffering across the North were because Radovid couldn’t have her. She wasn’t free of that guilt, she just became good at masking it.”

“-But then I saw you.” Keira whispered. “You were before me here, and when you wrapped your arms around me, all that hate melted away. I was so relieved, like a dark cloud above me was banished. You’re okay, and that means the others might be okay too.”

Keira’s voice was wavering, and full of emotion. Philippa hadn’t even noticed she took another two steps forward before she wrapped her arms around the straw-haired woman again. This embrace wasn’t frantic and excited as their reunion. It was slow and comforting. Their foreheads rested against each other, and neither said a word for a long time.

“Two hugs in less than an hour.” Keira commented softly. “That’s likely more than you’ve given in a decade.”

“Don’t ruin this moment.” Philippa said gently.

“I’m sorry, you know I can’t help myself.” Keira said with a smile. “I am glad you’re here, Philippa, everything that happened and all.”

“I- none of this was supposed to happen this way.” Philippa replied softly.

“I know.” Keira said as the two women disentangled from each other. She looked at Philippa, more specifically at the wrap around her eyes. “I had heard about what happened, what Radovid did. I assumed the stories were…exaggerated.

“The king made sure to be thorough,” Philippa replied bitterly.

“Does…does it hurt?”

“It did at first - some days were unbearable before they ‘healed’.” Philippa told the other woman. “Now they just ache sometimes.” 

“Gods, you were injured, and helpless.” Keira began, guilt seeping into her voice.

“I was NOT, not will I ever be helpless, and I-” Philippa shot back adamantly. “And don’t feel guilty now. It won’t do either of us any good.”

“Sorry, momentary insanity.” Keira said with a small smile. “...So are you gonna tell me how you came to be in the company of Geralt. You two never got along really.”

Despite herself, Philippa cheeks pinkened, much to Keira’s interest.

“He…saved my life.” Philippa admitted. “Multiple times now. He saved me from a mob in White Orchard. He saved me from the Emperor-”

“The Emperor?” Keira said in surprise. “Of Nilfgaard?”

“I’ll…explain later.” Philippa dismissed. Keira didn’t look satisfied with that answer but didn’t push the topic. “Yennefer’s back, got a lead on where Ciri might be, but the Wild Hunt is after them both, and Yennefer can’t risk leading them to Ciri.

“So that’s where you and Geralt come in.” Keira surmised.

“Yes. We’ve been traveling through this hell hole of a countryside after leads, and now we’re here, chasing another.”

Keira appraised Philippa as she processed what she’s been told, but something on her face was skeptical.

“What?” Philippa asked.

“You’re leaving something out.” Keira accused. “Something in regards to our intrepid Witcher”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Face going even more scarlet.

“Come now. We’ve just reunited, and the secrets begin again.”

“I-”

“Phil…”

“Fine.” Philippa sighed. “We…might have slept together…Several times”

Keira’s eyebrows shot to her hairline a moment.

And then she laughed, LOUDLY.

“Oh fuck me.” Keira laughed, holding her sides.

“Alright-” Philippa said, annoyed sneer on her face.

“I didn’t even think you liked men.”

“I don’t! It’s just - I. This is different and-”

Philippa internally chastised herself as she babbled like a maid.

“Oh relax.” Keira said, getting her laughter under control. “Fucking Geralt is like a rite of passage for sorceresses on the continent. Hells, I might’ve myself if he ever had come back for me on Thanedd.”

Philippa frowned at that, much to Keira’s amusement. 

“No need to get territorial.” Keira said, putting her hands up in mock surrender. “Just surprised there’s a man capable of maintaining your…attention.

“It’s…been a complicated time.” Philippa said, folding her arms over her chest. 

“Is he as good as they say in bed?”

“If I admit that he is, will you please allow us to get on with finding Cirilla?

“Fine, fine. Be no fun” Keira acquiesce. “We can get Geralt and get ready.”

“Alright, just…give me a moment to get myself together.” Philippa requested. These last few moments had been emotional and enlightening. She didn’t need the Witcher seeing her wear her heart on her sleeve. Keira just smiled knowingly and gave Philippa her space. After a few minutes, Philippa took a deep breath, and the woman climbed the stairs.

Geralt was waiting outside, casually feeding a deer. When the sorceresses walked out of the house the deer ran off, and Geralt turned to them, eying them both.

“Everything alright?” He asked.

“Never better.” Keira said. He looked to Philippa for confirmation. She just nodded. 

“So these ruins, they nearby?” Geralt asked.

“Only on the edge of town.” Keira said. “If we go now we’ll get there before the sun even moves to set.”

“Well, let’s go then.”

“Before we leave, Geralt come here for a moment.” Philippa said. Geralt obeyed without really thinking about it, used to Philippa’s bossiness.

“Ye-”

Geralt wasn’t able to finish his word, as Philippa grabbed him by his collar, and pulled him down into an open mouth kiss, much to both his and Keira’s surprise. She held her mouth to his for a long while, as he made no move to pull back, even opening his mouth for hers.

Philippa just wanted to make sure that Keira understood the nature of their relationship.

After a while longer, Philippa let go of the Witcher, slight trail of saliva between them as he pulled back.

“I, erm-” Geralt began, caught off guard for the first time in a while.

“Come now you two.” Philippa said with a smirk. “We’ve an elf to find.”

Chapter Text

The Elven ruins were only a short while away from Midcopse, to the south in an area locally referred to as The Mire. The Mire was essentially a large lake, Lake Wyndamer, and the various islands, swamplands and peninsula surrounding it. Even by Velen standards it was rather hard living, with many villages having to contend with possibly sinking into a bog, and water creatures like drowners trying to turn them into food.

Keira changed back into her witchly attire - she didn’t want to get her fine clothes dirty. Once they were on the path south, it took them less than an hour to arrive at their destination, which Keira complained about the whole walk.

“What are we looking for exactly?” Geralt asked.

“We’ll know it when we see it.” Keira simply replied. Wasn’t particularly the answer Geralt wanted to hear, but it turned out to be an accurate one.Of the dirt road, there were faint remnants of a stone path leading into the woods. Following it for a bit, led to the remains of a grand staircase built into the hillside and rock. At the top of the stairs was a platform made of stone and brick, and under that was an ovular entranceway, slightly overgrown with vines. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the bogland of the Mire.

“We’ll know it when we see it.” Geralt repeated

“Quite.” Keira added.

“This place could be thousands of years old.” Philippa said, sounding a bit impressed. “Do these people even know they have history in their backyards?”

“I’ve come to the understanding that the people of Velen don’t very much see beyond the perimeter of their villages.” Keira commented dismissively. “If they did ever know about this place, they’d probably try and destroy it.

“Been here before?” Geralt asked.

Keira shook her head twice, “No. I was hoping the elf would return as he'd promised, or else his  waif would appear. At any rate, I've no idea what to expect from this place.” She admitted.

“Well, no point in waiting around.” Philippa said. 

The three entered the ruins, Geralt in front, followed Philippa and Keira. It didn’t take long for the natural light from outside to disappear. Keira cast a luminescence spell, making the three of them glow slightly, and brighten their path. They walked down a seemingly never ending flight of stairs, going deeper into the bowls of the cavern and ruins.

“Why did they build down instead of up and outwards?” Keira questioned, nose wrinkling in displeasure as they moved down deeper.

“Likely to contain some powerful magic.” Philippa hypothesized sagely “Aen Seidhe magic was once the dominant form after all - they had a few thousand years head start on humanity. 

“Didn’t know you were an expert.” Geralt noted

This is BASIC magical history, Geralt.They could do things we’re still scratching the surface of. Now - well with few exceptions, their magical community and prowess have diminished to near extinction.”

“Well, we might soon be able to empathize if the witch hunters have their way.” Keira said grimly. Philippa frowned, but didn’t comment. They continued down the stairs, until they got to the opening of a chamber of some sort, ruined pillars, arches and brick everywhere, and a bridge cleaved in half over a large pit and gray water.

And on the other side of the bridge stood the unmistakable large armored forms of the Wild Hunt.

“The Wild Hunt.” Geralt said, voice icy. Keira and Philippa froze. 

“Phantom Riders…” Keira said, letting fear seep into her voice. “I-I never thought they existed.”

“You thought I was lying?” Philippa asked defensively. 

“I-it wouldn’t be the first time.” Keira muttered. Honestly Philippa couldn’t really blame Keira for her skepticism. Philippa herself had never seen the Wild Hunt - she figured they were at least a fanciful exaggeration. But there they stood in the horrid flesh, in their black jagged armor.

“They have a navigator.” Geralt stated, walking toward the destroyed bridge. “We need to get to the other side.”

“We NEED to go home.” Keira said in a panic. “Do you really intend to follow them?” 

Geralt answered her question by continuing to march towards the bridge. 

“Philippa, surely you see the lunacy in all of this?” Keira tried.

“Yes - but lunacy or not, we need to get to whatever they’re looking for first.” Philippa responded, following behind Geralt. Keira gave Philippa a look of disbelief, that she would go into something like this so foolheartedly. The Witcher was rubbing off on her.

“I hate to say it, but we need a portal to the other side.” Geralt said. Philippa nodded, and raised her hands to cast the spell.

“Oh, allow me.” Keira said, brushing past Philippa in a huff. “For the record, I think this is a foolish idea, but I won’t be dead weight here.”

Keira cast the spell, summoning a large blue portal at the bridge’s edge. Geralt wasted no time going through it, followed by Keira. Philippa had a strange feeling, but followed through the portal herself.

________________________________________________________________________

The moment she stepped through the portal, Philippa knew something was amiss. Portals were in theory simple magic, especially when you could see your destination, but they weren’t without dangerous consequences if cast incorrectly. People torn asunder by their matter being instantaneously in two places at once.

Luckily, that didn’t seem to be the case here. Philippa found herself in a dark cavern, went and dank, a strong odor within. 

“EEEPP!” she heard come from behind her, immediately followed by a splash. It was Keria - she also lucky was not torn into by the portal, rather dropped from several feet in the are into a large puddle. Philippa quickly ran over to her.

“Keira? Are you alright?” She asked as she knelt down to check on her friend.

“Am I alright? AM I ALRIGHT?” Keira screeched as she sat in the puddle, splashing her arms in defeat. “Look at me!”

“Nothing but a little water and a bruised ego.” Philippa said curtly. “Have you let your magic lapse so much that you can’t cast a simple portal?”

“Piss off!” Keira said furiously as she stood from the puddle, dripping murky water. “There’s obviously something wrong with this place! All the reason we shouldn’t be-”

“Sh!” Philippa suddenly shushed, going rigid and head snapping to a far corner of the cavern.

“Don’t you shush me you stuck up-”

“Keira, be quiet, and listen.” Philippa said urgently. Keira glared at the side of Philippa's head, but did as instructed, stopping her rant mid sentence, and listening. Beyond the decrepit sounds of the cave and ruins, a low growling could be herard.

“What is that?” Keira asked, looking around for the source of the sound. Philippa turned her head and looked into a dark corner of the cave.

“Drowners.”

Philippa raised her hand above her head, and a ball of light shot from it toward the ceiling of the cave. When the ball hit the ceiling, light spread across the room, illuminating what was hidden. At the corners of the cave, lurking in the shadows were five drowners, all looking the way of the sorceresses. The sudden light surprised them, and the creatures hissed.

“What in the devil are those things?!” Keira screamed, eyes widening in horror. Her reaction was all that was needed to drive the creatures forward, and they bounded toward them. Philippa reacted instantly, lifting her hands offensively to the two beats coming closest to her.

“Grać w kości!” She chanted. From her hands, it appeared as if nothing but a gust of wind came from them, but as the spell hit the approaching Drowners, they came apart as if hit with blades on all sides, landing in nothing but chunks a few feet in front of her.

The three other Drowners hurdled toward Keira, sensing she’d be easier prey. Keira admittedly was not a sorceress who was regularally battle tested like Triss or Yennefer, or even compared to Philippa for that matter - however she was a very powerful practitioner of telekinesis. 

“Stay away from me!” Keira yelled as she closed her eyes and blindly swept with her hands in front of her. A power blast of telekinetic magic followed sweeping across the area in front of her. Two of the drowners managed to duck under the wave of energy, but the last one took it full force, immediately being sent flying across the room and crashing into a decrepit pillar.

The two unharmed Drowners hissed and continued to bound toward Keira. The sorceress's eyes widened in horror and she panicked, stumbling backwards to put some distance between her and the monsters. The creatures leapt for her, horrid webbed claws extended. Keira thought she was dead in that moment, destined to be a corpse in some elven ruin in the middle of fucking nowhere. That was until Philippa crashed into her, knocking her out of the way. The two sorceresses rolled and landed in a heap a few meters away as the Drowners landed where Keira had been standing. The two monsters hissed and turned to them, ready to attack again.

Philippa pushed herself to her knees, scowling at the beasts.

“I’m over this.” She said flatly. With one finger, she pointed to the feet of the drowners, in the same puddle that the Keira landed in. 

“Zaszokować”

From her finger shot a single bolt of lighting, striking the small pool of water. The effect was immediate - the Drowners went completely rigid as the electricity coursed through their body, instantly cooking them from the inside. A moment later, they fell over, smoking from their mouths and ears. 

“Wretched things.” Philippa said, as she pushed herself to her feet. She looked around, making sure there were no more surprises in the immediate area. When she was satisfied they were alone, she took a moment to appreciate the short work she made of those drowners.

‘Eat your heart out, Witcher’ She thought in self-satisfaction. She glanced down at Keira, who was still sitting on the ground, still in shock at how quickly everything had happened. 

“Keira.” Philippa offered softly, along with her hand. 

“I- yes, thank you.” Keira thanked, taking her friend’s hand and being helped to her feet. “Thank you.” She repeated, both for her assistance up, and for saving her life.

“Of course.” Philippa responded with a small smile. “Now, we have to get moving.”

“Right.” Keira agreed, nodding her head. “ We need to get back to the entrance-”

“-find the the elf.”

Philippa’s discordant response shook Keira from her state of shock, and she looked at her friend like she was crazy.

“Find the elf?” Keira repeated. “We need to get out of here now Philippa! Between a group of ghostly warriors, and horrid monsters, I think this place has well established itself as inhospitable, and you want to go deeper down?”

“We came here for a reason.” Philippa responded simply.

“I came to get what the elf promised me! I’ve decided it’s not worth it - let’s go!”

“And what of Geralt?”

“He’s probably at the entrance waiting for us?”

“And leave here without a clue to where Ciri is? While the hunt is on the trail?” Philippa asked incredulously. “He’d sooner fall on his own sword than do that.”

“Look, we can find you someone else to screw. A nice lady perhaps.”

“Enough.” Philippa declared, striding past Keira to where she could see some sort of exit. “I’m going to find Geralt, and we’re going to get what we came for. If you want to leave - fine.”

“I…but…you can’t-” Keria sputtered. Philippa just kept walking with purpose. Soon she heard the sound of Keira’s footsteps behind her. “We’ve only just reunited, I’m not going to leave you to go wandering in the dark.”

Philippa smiled to herself, glad that her bluff wasn’t called, and glad that her friend stood beside her. “Thank you Keira.”

“Just know that I still think this is a horrid idea and will end with us in the stomach of some foul beast.”

“Noted.”

The two walked out of the immediate cavern, following the tunnels and ruins ahead of them. They had no destination, no point of reference to where they were going, but pressed on anyway.

“So-” Keira began. “Is that what you’ve been doing while you’ve been in hiding? Training to be some badass monster slayer? You sure made quick enough work of those creatures.”

Philippa laughed, “Hardly. That I just picked up since traveling with the Witcher. Overblown profession if you ask me. Im White Orchard I was-”

Philippa stopped herself, realizing she said too much. The magic she was attempting to regenerate her eyes was frowned upon, she knew that. Keira, for all her brashness and self serving attitude was a sorceress on the lighter side of things, rarely delving into the deep, the dark, or the ancient.

“You were what?” Keira pushed.

“Nothing.” Philippa tried to dismiss. “Nothing that matters at this point.”

“You can’t leave a girl hanging like that!”

“Drop it Keira.”

“Hmph. Well I supposed you have to keep SOME secrets don’t you, or you wouldn’t be Philippa.”

“Helps keep things interesting.”

“Will you at least tell me how you got onto the trail of Ciri? How does Nilfgaard play into all of this?” Keira huffed. Philippa thought about it - she supposed she could offer that much, especially if she wanted further assistance after they made it out of the ruins.

“This is just a theory…but I believe the Emperor has it in his mind that he’s going to abdicate the throne to Ciri.” Philippa said.

Keira quickly wheeled around Philippa, turning to look her in the face.

“What?” She asked in genuine shock.

It WAS just a theory. But one that made perfect sense given the circumstances. The research documents the saw in Vizima, the efforts of Emhyr to find his daughter. 

“As I said, just a theory.” Philippa repeated.

“If that’s true…she’d be everything we ever wanted in Kovir” Keira realized.

“Now do you see the importance in finding whatever it is that’s down here? To find Ciri before the Hunt can get their hands on her?” Philippa chastised before continuing to walk. Keira sped up to walk along beside her.

“Does Geralt know this?” Keira asked, sounding innocent enough. Philippa faltered half a step, hoping that Keira didn’t see it. She did of course. “Oh Philippa, you naughty girl you.”

“Keira…” Philippa said in a warning tone. That just spurred Keira on more.

“Geralt wants to find his little surrogate daughter, and you want to find your queen in your real life game of chess.” Keira teased. Philippa just frowned and walked faster. “Would that make you the step-mother here? I suppose Yenn is the real step-mother, but Ciri could always use a wicked one.”

“I should have left you for the drowners.” Philippa mumbled.

Thoroughly annoyed, Philippa didn’t talk to Keira as they continued walking. Neither woman however realized how long that would be. They walked for an hour, deeper into the caverns and ruins, with no clear sign of Geralt or their destination. Philippa had to appreciate the sheer scale of the ruins - how powerful and advanced the elves of a millennia ago must have been. She wondered how much of the North had ruins like these buried beneath the earth.

“We’re lost.” Keira said, speaking up first.

“We’re not lost.” Philippa lied. Keira unsurprisingly didn’t buy it.

“Oh come off it Philippa!” Keira complained loudly. “We’ve been stumbling around for ages now, we don’t know where Geralt, the Hunt, or any elves are!”

Keira threw her hands in the air, and sat on some nearby rubble. to have a pout. They were in a small subsection in the ruins, an area where whatever roof was there had caved in and littered the floor. They had gotten turned around more than once, so perhaps it was a good time to rest and try and recollect themselves.

“I don’t remember you being this whiney.” Philippa stated.

“You’ve just never been in a position where you’ve had to stand by and listen.” Keira shot back. “You have me in some horrid cave, it’s dark, it smells, with no limit of things that can and want to kill me - I think I’ve the right to have a moan. If I wanted to be miserable, I could’ve stayed in my cabin, at least there I could.

‘Squeak’

Keira froze, going stiller than Philippa thought someone could be. Keira slowly turned her head, looking at the source of the squeak. By her hand sitting on its hind legs, was a rat, looking up at her curiously.

“Keira.” Philippa tried, hoping she could avoid what was about to happen.

‘Squeak’

‘Squeak - squeak’

Philippa looked around - more rats emerging from various places. She looked back at Keira, knowing that this was not about to end well.

Keira opened her mouth and let out an ungodly shriek, jumping up from her seated position. She lifted her hands out in front of her.

“Keira don’t-”

Keira heard none of it, blasting away with strong telekinetic blasts, any and every way with her eyes squeezed shut.

“Get away! Get away!” Keira rambled as she continued to blast around the room. Philippa actually had to duck and cover to avoid catching a stray blast. Keira HATED rats. Philippa didn’t love them herself, but her reaction to them is less…visceral.

“Keira, get a hold of yourself!” Philippa yelled, as she rolled out of the way of another psyonic blast. “You’ll bring this whole cave down on top of us!”

Keira of course wasn’t listening, ready to deliver the most powerful blast yet, until a hand suddenly grabbed her arm, stopping her. Keira whirled around, to see the dirty and very annoyed face of Geralt.

“Please stop that.” Geralt said gruffly.

“The rats! Kill them, get rid of them! Do something.” Keira shrieked, hopping back and forth on her feet trying to stay away from them. Geralt raised a white eyebrow, before sighing and letting Keira go. He quickly cast an Igni sign, scorching the rats in the immediate vicinity. He then walked over to what looked like the nest of the vermin; he pulled out a small bomb from his pouch, lit it and dropped it into the nest. After a moment the bomb exploded, casuing the nest to fall in upon itself. With the rats handled Geralt went to Philippa and helped her to her feet.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Philippa offered him a small smile.

“Despite Keira’s best efforts, yes.” She answered. Philippa looked Geralt up and down - he was damp, covered in mud and other grit, and smelled of mildew. 

“Where have you been?!” Keira demanded, marching over to the Withcer and poking him in the chest. “We’ve been lost, dealing with all kinds of vermin and monsters!”

Geralt’s eye twitched as he recalled how he spent the last hour and a half.

______________________________________________________________________

“Shit shit shit!” Geralt cursed as he was chased into a corner by 6 foggers that he landed in the middle of.

‘If I drown here, I’m going to be pissed.’ Geralt thought as he swam in an underground stream. He could hold his breath for a long time, but even he had limits

“Why is the room shaking?” Geralt asked, moments before having to jump out of the way of a falling stalactite.

___________________________________________________________________________

Geralt let out a deep sigh through his nose, before simply answering “I got held up.”

“The Hunt has a head start on us,” Philippa said. “If we hurry, we can catch up.”

“Right.” Geralt nodded.

“You two are insane.” Keira said in exasperation. “Maybe Yenn and Triss were never right for you. Clearly Phil is the one who shares your death wish.”

“Keira-” Philippa warned again.

“Oh stuff it you hag! I’m coming already.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Geralt took lead of their little expedition, which was fine with the sorceresses. He seemed to have a natural intuition when it came to delving into decrepit and monster infested ruins. 

“So - what happens if and when we run into the Hunt in all of this.” Keira asked. It wasn’t as if Geralt hadn’t thought about it, but truthfully he didn’t have a good answer. He knew what the Hunt was capable of firsthand. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Geralt answered.

“Lovely.” Keira sighed. 

The three continued walking until they were in a small chamber room. On the other side was a door that led to the next section, but next to that was a pedestal with seemingly nothing on it. That was until they got near to it and instantaneously they were looking at the spectral from of a man - or rather an elf.

 -Daughter of the Gull. Greetings. I await you, Daughter of the Gull-

“That's him! That's the elf!” Keira stated.

-Follow the sign of your sword-

With those last words, the pedestal was once again vacant. 

“What was that? An illusion?” Geralt asked.

“No.” Philippa answered. “A morphotic projection. Good for leaving behind messages.” 

“Message was definitely for Ciri. "Daughter of the Gull" -- Lara Dorren's heir.” Geralt surmised. 

“Indeed, it is what the elves would title Ciri. But what was the bit about the sign of her sword? A riddle?” Philippa wondered.

“Yeah, not a hard one, though. Not if you know Ciri named her sword Zireael -- Swallow.” Geralt said, almost wistfully.

“Now who besides you would know that?” Keira snorted.

“Might've been the point. Your elven mage secured the passage, hid it, so that only Ciri could find it.”

“But he didn’t account for someone like you showing up.” Philippa added.

“Nevertheless, I think he was expecting uninvited guests, made some preparations. Let's hope the Wild Hunt ran into some obstacles.” Geralt continued.

“Well let’s be on our way then.” Philippa urged. “Seems we have to follow the swallows.”

The three moved to the next section - a watery cavern with a high ceiling and what looked to be the remnants of a dock of some sort.

“An old elven...port?” Keira stated.

“Must have been how they got out by sea.” Philippa hypothesized.

“Wonder how long ago that was?”

They continued into the large cavern, wading through the shin high water, until Geralt held out his arm. “Hold on.”

“What?” Keira asked, looking around. Her question was answered moments later, as 3 Wraiths materialized from the ground, in their spectral horror. “Great. First horrible black eyed monsters, now ghosts.”

Geralt drew his silver sword, and cracked his neck. “Keira, you might want to hang back. Philippa?”

“Right.” The sorceress sighed.

Keira didn’t very much like being told to stay back like she was some helpless lass, but she did anyway, not particularly wanting to get involved with murderous specters. Besides, it gave her the ability to witness the sight of Philippa and Geralt working in tandem. She was surprised how well they worked together, how in sync they were - Geralt with his blade swinging, spinning and slashing - Philippa casting spells with the grace most other Sorceresses could only beg to have. It was almost as if they were dancing. In such a short amount of time, they seemed to time, they seemed to be as in tune as a pair that had fought together for years.

Keira was almost jealous.

Within minutes, the two had dispatched the wraiths with little effort on their part.

“Once again to the grave.” Philippa commented, brushing off her vest.

“Don’t have much specter oil left.” Geralt complained. “Any more specters might be a hassle.”

“Hardly. I can banish these things in my sleep.” Philippa dismissed primly.

“Might not be a wise business decision to keep you around.” Geralt responded, slight smirk on his face. “You’ll take all the good contracts.”

“They couldn’t afford me.”

‘Oh gods, they’re FLIRTING’ Keira thought, with a roll of her eyes.

“You coming, Keira?” Geralt asked, moving across to the other side along with Philippa.

“Yes, yes. Wait up.”

The followed the path of swallows scrawled on the walls - a proverbial breadcrumb trail left by the elf for Ciri. It was unlikely that the Hunt understood their significance, but their Navigators allowed them to teleport freely through the ruins without interference. They moved blindly, but freely. Following the swallows for a while, they reached a room similar to the one they were in previously, with another pedestal waiting in the corner, except in this room there was a large pit in the middle of the room with water at the bottom.. As they approached it, it once again activated and the projection of the elf was shown.

-Swallow, the obvious route is not always the best. Find Kelpie.-

With that simple but cryptic message, the projection once again disappeared.

“Kelpie?” Keira said in confusion. “Does he mean that sea monster?”

Geralt shook his head. “No. That's what Ciri named her mare. Horse could apparently gallop like a demon.”

“Hm, good name for a horse.”

“Certainly better than Roach.” Philippa commented snidely earning her a scowl from Geralt. “So we’re looking for this Kelpie?”

“This doesn’t make sense though. This chamber’s only entrance is the way we came in.” Keira pointed out. “There’s no way forward.”

“Hm.” Geralt grunted, scanning the room himself, before locking onto the pit in the middle of the room. He walked over to it, and looked down into it. “No way forward…but a way down.” 

Geralt then leapt over the parapet and into the water with a splash.”

“Geralt?!” Philippa exclaimed, rushing over to the pit and looking over into it. Geralt broke through the surface of the dark water, whipping his hair back and looking around. “Have you gone completely mad?”

“No madder than usual.” Geralt responded. “But I did find what I’m looking for.”

Geralt swam over to the wall of the pit, and surely enough, drawn on it was an image of a horse. When he touched it, it glowed slightly.

“Great, you found a horse. Now what?” Philippa questioned.

“Now, I see where this pool leads. I think there’s a flooded tunnel under here.”

“You can’t be serious? You’ve no idea how long it goes for!” Philippa tried to reason

“I have to try.” Geralt responded simply.

“I…just be careful.” Philippa sighed. Geralt gave her a small smile.

“Always am.”

The Witcher took a deep breath, and dove under the water and out of sight.

From the background, Keira watched, slightly amused. Philippa looked over her shoulder at her.

“What?” Philippa asked.

“Just be careful.” Keira mocked in a saccharine tone. “Heavens, you have it bad don’t you girl.”

Philippa frowned deeply, and felt her face redden. She was glad it was likely too dark for Keira to see it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I simply instructed him to be careful.”

“Philippa I don’t think I’ve EVER seen worry about a man’s well being.” Keira pointed out. “Pretty sure you’ve actively wished death on most men actually.”

“And that wish does not discriminate on gender.” Philippa growled, growing annoyed by this conversation. Keira just smiled at her, which only served to annoy her further.

“Oh you’re all bluster. We both know I’ll be invited to the wedding.” 

Before Philippa could respond with something scathing, the wall in front of them began to shift. Brick by brick it began to split, opening up a clear passage. 

“Well look at that.” Keria commented. “Whatever he did worked.”

A few moments later, Geralt reappeared from a hidden tunnel just above the pedestal. He dropped down back to the ground, and shook off the excess water on him like a dog. 

“Charming.” Keira said, using her hand to shield herself. 

“Careful enough for you?” Geralt said, smirking at Philippa. She wished she could roll her eyes.

“Oh, let’s go already.” She huffed, walking through the newfound entrance.

Then they walked.

And walked. It seemed that the expansiveness of these ruins could not be understated - it seemingly had an unending number of different subsections and chambers. Keira made sure Geralt and Philippa knew how miserable she was the whole time. More than two hours had passed before they reached something that felt like progression - a small room with not much of note, but on the wall was an archway drawn in chalk, with elvish inscriptions, and drawings of swallows around it. An inactive portal

“Well, now I know what distorted my effort at teleportation. This very portal.” Keira stated.

“Hrm. Let’s figure out how to activate it and-”

“Now hold on just a minute.” Keira interrupted. “We’ve been at this for hours, walking through this hell-hole of ruins!”

“You’ve made your displeasure noted.” Geralt drawled with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m TIRED. Witcher. Tired and hungry. I have no intention of going through some portal headlong into more unseen dangers and more WALKING without a proper rest.” Keira complained, folding her arms over her chest.

“We don’t have time for this. The Hunt-”

“I’m with Keira on this Geralt.” Philippa chimed in. Her body ached, and she was famished as well. “The Hunt has a head start, but they don’t know what they’re looking for. No use in facing the next challenges exhausted.”

Geralt looked between the two sorceresses in annoyance, before huffing out a loud sigh. “Fine. No more than six hours.”

“Finally!” Keira exclaimed, sitting dramatically on a piece of rubble. “Have you anything to eat?”

“I have some dried fruit and nuts. Should be enough for all of us.” Geralt said, opening his side pouch to root through it. “Might be a bit wet.”

“...Have anything else?” Keira said, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, If you insist, I can catch a few rats and we can roast those. Pretty decent eating”

Keira turned a lovely shade of green before fainting.

____________________________________________________________________________

After they resuscitated Keira and ate their small meal, the three decided to make full use of their rest. It was hardly the most welcoming conditions, but with some heating spells, and spells to soften the stone floor, it would make due for the exhausted trio. Despite her complaints about discomfort, Keira was the first to sleep, snoring lightly. 

Still, she found herself waking multiple times and having to readjust to get a semblance of comfort. 

“Philippa, Keira is right there.” She heard the hushed voice of Geralt say. Keira’s eyes blinked open. She had her back to Philippa and Geralt - she couldn’t see them but she could hear them.

“She’s sleep.” She heard Philippa reply just as quietly. Curiosity got the best of her, and Keira pretended to snore to add to the illusion. “I-it’s happening again. I NEED this.”

Happening? What was happening?

“Philippa-”

“PLEASE.”

PLEASE. Philippa must have been in some kind of bad way. Keira nearly rolled over to see what was wrong, to inquire if Philippa needed help - that was until she heard the unmistakable sound of the subtle shift in clothing. A moment later, she heard Philippa let out a breathy gasp.

“You need to be quiet.” Geralt whispered.

“I’m sorry - just keep going.” Philippa near begged. There were more sounds of shuffling, before a slow but rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, each punctuated with a small moan from Philippa.

‘Oh gods, they’re FUCKING’ Keira realized in utter disbelief. She knew Philippa’s sexual tendencies were near of legend, but she’d think the older sorceress could go a night with out sex. Perhaps it was just Geralt, who’s sexual exploits were almost nearly as well known. The two of them together made for an interesting combination in libido. Once again, Keira almost found herself jealous - having no one who’d hop into the sack with her in the middle of a dark decrepit ruin.

Eventually the slapping of skin got faster, and Philippa’s moans louder, and more haggard. 

“You’ll….wake Keira.” Geralt grunted, but the sound of flesh meeting didn’t get any slower, if anything it increased in speed. Philippa’s moans became muffled - either she or Geralt was covering her mouth. Keira bit her lip - it wasn’t as if she was frigid herself. Keira thought perhaps if they made it out of all of this, she’d have to find a Witcher herself; anti-social tendencies aside they seemed to make up for it in other avenues. The sound of their romp reached a fever pitch, and it was almost as if they weren’t even trying to stay quite, the sound of their fucking echoing lowly in the room. Geralt was grunting softly, and Philippa’s muffled moans were rapid and broken. 

With a particularly audible meeting of skin, Geralt grunted, and Philippa let out a sound akin to a long whine, before their movements ceased. Keira could hear their low breathing, and the sound of shuffling. 

“Thank you.” Philippa sighed breathlessly.

“Think we got carried away.” It was more of a statement than a question. 

“You worry too much. She hasn’t even stirred.” Philippa assured.

“Hm.” Geralt simply grunted.

Keira laid on the other side of the room, grinning near ear to ear. She wasn’t sleeping anytime soon.

____________________________________________________________________________

The three got up early, and prepared themselves for what lay ahead.

“Hope the accommodations weren’t too far from your standards.” Geralt said sarcastically, as he stretched.

“Leave her be Geralt.” Philippa chided. 

“I’ve certainly had better.” Keira stated. “Certainly could’ve done without the…noisy neighbors.”

Geralt halted his stretches, and turned fully to stare at Keira, while Philippa’s mouth dropped open slightly. Keira smiled slyly.

“Um-” Geralt said dumbly.

“Well, let's not waste anymore time.” Keira said, clapping her hands together, and looking back and forth between Geralt and Philippa with a smile on her face. Philippa’s face went a bit red and she cleared her throat.

“Right.” She said, trying to act as if she wasn’t absolutely mortified. “Let’s see what lies ahead.”

Chapter Text

“Any - oof - time now ladies!”

Geralt, Philippa, and Keira were fighting a golem.

Well, more specifically Geralt was fighting a golem, while Keira and Philippa dug through his pouch trying to find Elementa oil.

“We’re trying!” Philippa cried, as they sorted through his many vials.

Golems were a pain and a half to deal with. Strong as all hells, massive and made of stone and rock, and created by magic to have one goal in mind - kill intruders. They weren’t particularly intelligent beings, being made from magic their linear goals made them predictable to someone skilled. There were a few ways to deal with them. If one had a massive amount of dimeritium, they could use it to disrupt the magic that binds a Golem together, leaving them to fall apart into pieces. But the amount of dimertium needed was something that wasn’t feasible for most people, so there was the next best thing, and go to for Witchers.

Elementa oil. 

Acidic in nature, and suited for dispatching of Elementa beasts, and the only thing that was going to get Geralt’s weird through the hard skin of the Golem. Issue was that at present Geralt’s pouch was lying on the other side of the room - managed to slip loose from his hip as he tried not to get crushed by the Golem’s spike covered arms. So all he could do at the moment was hang onto the Golem’s back, trying to keep it distracted as Keira and Philippa searched for the right vial. 

“Try faster please!” Geralt yelled as the Golem bucked and swung him all around.

“There’s more than a dozen vials in here!: Keira noted.

“It’s *grunt* the blue one!” Geralt instructed, nearly losing his grip on the Golem

“There are 5 blue ones!” Keira pointed out.

“Dark blue!”

“You’re going to need to be more specific!.” Philippa shouted. Geralt climbed up onto the shoulders of the Golem, thighs going around its neck to hold on as it tried to shake him off.

“Tissaia de Vries’ favorite color!” Geralt stated.

“Oooohhhh!” the two sorceresses realized in unison. Philippa grabbed the vial, a deep blue, with ever the hint of green. She threw it to Geralt, who caught it with one hand. He quickly popped open the vial, and spread the contents over his sword.

“Zireael not recognized.” The Golem’s voice roared. “Intruders. Destroy the intruders.”

“Sure thing big guy.” Geralt countered, lifting his sword, and plunging it hard through the top of the Golem's jagged head. The Elementa oil did it’s job, Geralt’s sword piercing through the hard rock as if he was cutting into a man. The Golem faltered, staggering on it’s large feet.

“Intruders.” It said, voice growing quieter and magical runes on its skin losing its glow. “Intru-”

The Golem fell to its knees, cracks forming on it’s skin, before falling forward and breaking up into pieces. Geralt landed on his feet, yanking his sword from the monster’s head. 

“Hate Golems.” Gerlat grumbled. He then looked at Philippa and Keira with a scowl.

“Oh don’t give us that look.” Keira said. “You should’ve led with the Tissaia description. Would’ve saved us a lot of time.”

“Hopefully that’s the worst of the surprises.” Philippa sighed.

“You know if you say that out loud, it never ends up being the case.” Keira commented. 

The three continued forward, continuing through the dark ruins, prepared for any other hostilities they might face.

“So…” Keira started after a period of silence. “Once you finally find Ciri, what will you do? Any plans?”

Geralt glanced to his side at Philippa before he spoke. Philippa very much didn’t appreciate his look. “Depends what she wants.”

“Imagined it -- how it will...transpire? What will she say? What will she  look like?” Keira continued.

“No.” Geralt said gruffly, with a bit more bite than he had meant. Keira was reminding him of just how long it had been since he saw his Ciri.

His Ciri.

“I'm sorry.” Keira apologized, picking up on his discomfort. For getting ahead of myself. At times I forget...we hardly know each other, certainly not enough to discuss personal matters. Some of us haven’t had the time to get to know you.”

Philippa knew that was directed at her, and bit her tongue to not curse the blonde. Geralt noted her reaction and smiled a bit.

“Not to worry. We'll get there.”

Now that REALLY annoyed Philippa. 

They continued on until they reached a small room. On the far wall was another outline of a door, with drawings of swallows around it.

“Another teleporter.” Geralt said.

“Let’s activate it quickly, I have the feeling another Golem is about to surprise us.” Keira rushed.

“Would’ve been useful for the first one.” Geralt mumbled. He went to the portal and placed his hand on the swallow symbol next to it. Like the one before, the portal hummed, before opening a passageway.

They three walked through, prepared for what they might face on the other side. When they emerged, they weren’t in any immediate danger. In fact, on further inspection they realized- 

“Wait, this is where we saw the Wild Hunt.” Keira noted.

“All that, just to cross a bridge.” Philippa added grimly.

“Which means the Hunt is a full day ahead of us.” Geralt voiced in aggravation.

“Don’t be so sure.” Keira countered, trying to be the voice of positivity for the three. “The Hunt likely ran into the same kind of puzzles we have - the difference is they have a navigator, but we have a Geralt. Ciri expert. There’s a chance they lost their lead trying to figure out the elf’s mysteries and security measures.” 

“Let’s hope. Come on.” Geralt urged. The three quickly followed the Hunt’s trail into the next chambers. The next room, there were several Golems - well what was left of them, frozen and in pieces.

“They destroyed the elf’s sentries.” Philippa stated.

“Clearly they’re not here for a friendly conversation with the elf.” Keira said sarcastically.

“Meaning you ever thought they might've?” said Geralt. 

The three kept moving, climbing a set of stairs before another large cavern. As they got closer, the air got cold. Sure sign of-

The Hunt. There they stood, on the far side of the large room. Their mage looked to be doing some kind of spellwork, trying to open a passageway of some kind.

“Shaar'az!” The mage cast, blowing a hole in the rock, leading into another passage. The other Hunt member noticed the three, and they began to speak in old elvish to each other.

“They got held up here.” Geralt said. “Let’s get over there.”

“And what are we going to do once we’re over there?” Philippa questioned cautiously.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

The three began to cross the room. It was large and open besides the remnants of pillars and rubble on the ground. The Hunt continued to speak to each other for a moment, and then, the others left through the hole in the wall, leaving only the Navigator. The Navigator lifted his arms, scepter in one hand and glowing.

“Shaent tah'vir!” The Navigator bellowed in his raspy voice, waving his arms as he cast his spell. Immediately several portals opened in the middle of the room, and from it came a stream of wind, snow and ice, almost so forceful it knocked the trio over. The Navigator then walked through the hole behind him, before sealing it off with an icy blockage.

“What is this?!” Keira asked, shouting to be heard over the wind snapping past their ears. She wrapped her arms around herself, never feeling cold like this before 

“The White Frost! Mage from the Hunt summoned it! Can either of you seal those cracks it's blowing through?!” Geralt shouted.

“They’re too far!” Philippa pointed out. “We need to get closer!”

“Demetia Crest's Surge!” cast Keira. “I can use it to get us close enough to the portals! Come on before we freeze to death. Da'arian annoi!”

“Cold won’t be the only thing coming from those portals. “Philippa, we’ll have to cover her.” Geralt informed. Philippa nodded her head and prepared herself.

Keira’s spell cast a large protective barrier around the three of them, shielding them from the cold and ice. 

“Ready! Stay close!” Keira announced. They began to walk, they couldn’t move too fast or risk disrupting the shield and their only protection. They moved to the first and closest portal. Keira maintained the shield with one hand, and with her other, began to try and close the portal.

“Should I do it?” Philippa offered.

“No, I’ll handle it!” Keira said adamantly. “Just keep me covered.”

No sooner than she spoke, did creatures begin to emerge from the portals. 

Hunt Hound. Horrid creatures - ice brought to life with viciousness and spite. Closest things to companions beings like the Wild Hunt could have, and representative of their masters, they were ugly, cold, and deadly.

“Hunt Hounds!” Geralt called, drawing his silver sword. “They're made of ice. Use fire spells on them.”

“Right.” Philippa nodded, setting her palms ablaze, ready for a fight. Geralt and Philippa played defense for Keira as she tried to close the portal. Any time a hound got close, Philippa would blast it, or Geralt would slash at it with his sword. The Hounds weren’t particularly cunning beasts, but they made up for it with numbers and sheer reckless abandon, throwing themselves at the trio as Keira worked to close the portals.

As they progressed and moved through the room, the Hounds came at them from all sides, doing their best to do damage.

“Blasted things!” Philippa hissed as she sent another hound to pieces with her fire, while Geralt cut off one's head. “Can we hurry this up Keira!”

“This…isn’t as easy as it looks!” Keira said, trying to concentrate. 

“You have the easy jo-AGH!”

In her chastising of Keira, Philippa let her guard down. For just a moment, but long enough for a Hunt Hound to slip in and slash the back of her calf with its claws. Typically when one is cut, they immediately feel warmth as their blood spills onto their skin. But Philippa felt nothing but cold on her leg, like her wound had been filled with ice.

“Philippa!” Geralt shouted, dispatching the offending hound with an igni. Philippa hopped on one foot, the other leg freezing and in pain. Geralt went to her, letting her lean on him for balance. “Are you okay?”

“No. I’m absolutely fucking livid.” She seethed angry and embarrassed she got caught off guard. They three kept moving, Geralt holding up Philippa as she blasted at approaching hounds with renewed vigor and intensity. Slowly, but surely, they made it through the room, closing each portal one by one. Once the portals were closed and the room was no longer a frigid tundra, Geralt and Philippa dispatched of the remaining hounds, before settling down for a moment to collect themselves. Philippa fell to her bottom, and brought her hands to her calf, rubbing it frantically.

“Cold..cold.” She repeated.

“Are you alright?” Geralt checked again. 

“It feels as if my leg is encased in ice.” Philippa admitted, teeth nearly chattering. She cast a warming spell on her cut to alleviate the pain and discomfort.

“Will you be able to stand?” Geralt asked in worry, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll be fine.” Philippa bit sharply, not wanting to be coddled. She cast a healing spell on her leg, and while it still hurt like all hells, she was able to stand on her own. “Just a scratch. And- Keira?”

“Hm?” Said the straw haired sorceress. She sounded airy, like she was in a daze

“Your nose is bleeding.”

Keira pressed her fingers to the underside of her nose, and examined the blood.”

“Oh. would you look at…that….”

Keira swayed on her feet, and her eyes rolled upwards. She began to collapse, but Geralt's reflexes kicked in and he was to Keira in half a step, cradling her head and lowering her to the ground.

“Keira?!” Philippa asked in worry, not caring about her aching leg as she moved to kneel by them. “Keira, are you all right?”

“It'll pass... That took...a great deal of power - more than I've used in a while.” Keira said hoarsely. Philippa’s stomach filled with guilt at rushing her.

“Just don’t faint on us.” Geralt said gently. 

“Geralt, if she can’t go on-” Philippa began to panic.

“You can't leave me here!” Keira said urgently, grabbing Philippa’s wrist. Philippa’s mouth gaped a bit, offended and horrified that Keira thought she might be left behind.

“Never Kirry.” Philippa assured, stroking Keira's hair.

Geralt cleared his. “I’d like to say we have time to recuperate here, but-”

“I know, I know. The show must go on.” Keira said, attempting to sit up.

“Here.” Philippa offered, giving Keira her hand and helping her to her feet. “Lean on me if you have to.”

“No matter how much you’ve tried, you’re not my mother Philippa.” Keira said smartly. “I’ll be fine. Let’s just get this entrance unblocked so we can continue.” 

As if to prove that she was fine, Keira quickly blew apart the ice blocking their way. “Come. We might still catch them.”

Keira began to try and walk through the door, but Geralt placed his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. Keira looked at him with a confused brow.

“Thanks for your help.” Geralt said gruffly, but sincerely. “I know you’d rather be anywhere else right now, and you could be, but you stuck by us. Thank you.”

Keira gave him a genuine smile. “Oh don’t be getting sentimental on me now, Witcher. Admit it, you and Philippa would have hardly made it this far without me.”

“Of course.” Philippa agreed facetiously 

“Now, let’s be on our way.” Keira said, pulling away from Geralt’s touch. “Let’s meet these phantom riders.”

The three made their way through the passage. It was a straight line, with the only direction they could go being forward. That made things simple. They felt the familiar cold as they continued, a warning of their guests. They emerged into the next chamber: It was large and open like the last - almost as if it was a ballroom. Standing in the middle of the room, waiting, was a member of the hun in all his horror.”

“Nithral.” Geralt said, immediately drawing his sword.

“You know him by name?” Philippa asked in shock.

“I rode with the Hunt for nearly a year.” Geralt said gravely. He got acquainted with them more than he would have cared to admit during his time as a rider/hostage.

Philippa and Keira looked at him in shock. Philippa knew he had a history with them - but she didn’t know it was so…personal. She’d have to question him about it later when they made it out of there. If they did.

“You are stubborn, dh'oine.” The elf spoke, pulling his own weapon from his back - a great axe, with a head nearly as big as Geralt’s torso. “And I see you’ve brought ‘sorceresses’ to assist you.”

Nithral almost sounded amused in his deep raspy voice, seemingly amplified by his skull adorned great helm. Despite having Witcher, and two of the continent's finest sorceresses in front of him, the elf stood unconcerned and waiting. His dark grey, jagged armor - made of metals not of this world covered him from head to toe. He was a full head and a half taller than Geralt, towering over the three, and his armor only made him seem larger. Geralt rode with him. He knew what he was - he was a savage and a sadist, even by the Wild Hunt’s standards. Geralt had seen him tear a man down the middle, not cleaved - TORN.

Nithral stood there waiting for them to make the first move. Geralt looked to his sides at Philippa and Keira. Though the two sorceresses would never admit it, they were unnerved. The Hunt had that effect on people.

“Geralt, we shall help you.” Philippa said, taking an offensive stance. She sounded like she was more trying to convince herself than anything. Keira nodded in agreement, but Geralt could see how unsure she was. Her energy was still depleted from shielding from the frost and closing the portals, and Geralt could see Philippa was clearly favoring one leg.

“Step back.” Geralt said, as he began to walk toward the armored elf.

“Stop telling us what to do.” said Keira, walking alongside him, hands glowing. Philippa walked on his other side, also ready.

“Aha!” Laughed Nithral. “I love it when they fight! I wonder how long you’ll last.” 

The elf gripped his axe tightly, raising it to chest level. It had to be near 20 pounds, but the Huntsman lifted it with ease. Geralt circled to the elf’s left side, while Keira and Philippa circled to his left. Nithral still stood waiting.

Philippa was the one to try and take initiative, throwing the first strike - a powerful bolt of lighting. Keira followed suit, with her own blast of lighting. Both bolts hit the elf square in the helmet. The bolts of lighting bounced off his helmet, being redirected around him, and nearly hitting Geralt.

“You presume to use such rudimentary magic against me?” Nithral growled, head turning to look at the stunned sorceresses. “It was my people who brought it to this world!” 

Taking the moment of distraction as an opening, Geralt charged at Nithral, hoping to catch him off-guard. Geralt was never that lucky, and Nithral parried Geralt’s thrust with his axe. He turned his body fully toward Geralt, slashing at the Witcher with a horizontal swipe at shoulder level. Geralt jumped backwards, avoiding the blow. The Huntsman lifted his axe above his head to try and deliver a downward blow, but Keira and Philippa intercepted it from behind.

“lina, która wiąże!” They said in unison. From their hands shot magical tethers, like lassos, wrapping around the blade and forearms of Nithral, stopping his downward swing. They dug their feet into the ground, bodies and magic straining to hold him.

“Now would be a good time to attack Ge-AHHH!” Keira began. She was cut short by Nithral suddenly bringing his axe down hard, cracking the stone as it made contact with the ground. Geralt had dodged it easily with the extra time allotted to him by the sorceresses, but they didn’t dissipate their spells in time. The might in which Nithral brought his axe down didn’t break the tether - instead it took Philippa and Keira clear off their feet, sending them flying head over heels across the room, landing behind Geralt with violent thuds.

“Philippa! Keira!” Geralt yelled, looking behind him. The sorceresses groaned in pain, landing hard on the unforgiving stone.

“Worry about your fate before theirs!” Nithral barked. He spun, swinging his axe high at Geralt’s head. The Witcher ducked under it, and went on the defensive.

Nithral swung wildly at Geralt with his axe. He didn’t have much form nor grace, but one didn’t need it when you had a giant axe and the strength to cleave a horse in two in one swing. Geralt parried and dodged the strikes - it would’ve been a fool's errand to block any of them head on. The elf’s superior strength and the weight of his blade would’ve likely ended with his sword knocked from his hand, or a broken wrist. So Geralt stayed out of range - He was faster than Nithral, not by much, but enough to keep from coming into contact with the business side of an axe. 

Geralt bided his time. It would be useless to swing wildly - he wasn’t getting through the Huntsman armor, enhanced strength or not. He had to wait for the perfect opportunity. 

That opportunity came when Nithral swung his axe overhead again. The blade came hurtling down, and Geralt leapt out the way, but not before quickly signing Yrden where he was standing. The elf’s axehead crashed into the ground, and into the purple runes of the sign. The sign did it’s job, and Nithral was unable to leave the axehead from the ground. This was Geralt’s moment to deliver his own offense. Geralt leapt forward, striking out with a sidekick to Nithral’s head. The elf barely moved, grunting as Geralt’s boot came into contact with his helmet. Geralt went to deliver another kick, but Nithral quickly let go of the handle of his axe to capture Geralt’s foot and calf  in his arms. 

“Pest!” Nithral growled. He turned, jerking and twisting his body suddenly. He spun, using his grip on Geralt’s lower leg to throw the Witcher several yards behind him. Gerlat landed hard on his side, quickly rolling to his back. With a hard yank, Nithral was able to break the sign, and free his blade. He spun around, and jumped in the air, higher than any man or elf should’ve been able to do, especially in armor. His axe raised high in the air, he came down like a ballista intending to turn Geralt into a stain within the ruins.

Thinking fast, Geralt held out his arm to the left side. “ AARD! ” He yells. The force of  telekinetic blast pushes Geralt out of the way of the oncoming attack. Quickly he rolls to his feet, and Nithral is on him again, not giving him a moment of rest. Nithral’s axe was coming close, too close. 

“ Quen .” Geralt signed quickly, right before Nithral’s axe came into contact with his chest. The sign absorbed the cut, but not the full force of the attack. Geralt was sent flying backwards, landing on one knee. He tasted metal as blood filled his mouth. He inhaled deeply, assessing the damage. 

Three. cracked ribs. One digging into a lung - not puncturing yet.

“Don’t worry Geralt.” Nithral taunted as he sauntered over, slinging his blade over one shoulder “Surrender now, and I’ll take you alive. You’re much more useful as bait for the Daughter of the Gull than as a corpse.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and spat out a glob of blood.

“You talk too much.” He said, standing to his feet and readying himself. Gerlat swore he could tell Nithral was smiling under his helmet.

“You’re right. More fun this way.” The elf laughed, before starting another barrage of attacks.

Across the room, Philippa stirred. She groaned as she rolled to her side. Her body hurt, almost as bad as her pride. 

“Keira?” She said, looking at her friend next to her. The blonde didn’t move, simply groaning when shaken. Philippa looked up, seeing Geralt and Nithral engaged in battle. Philippa could tell Geralt was hurt, his movements were a bit slower, a bit less precise. It was time for her to pull her weight.

She pushed herself to her feet.

Lifting her hands, she pointed them at the Huntsman. 

“Żyj w kamieniu!” She shouted. 

Nithral took a step toward Geralt, only to realize he couldn’t move his foot. He looked down to see that his right foot had been encased in stone, growing out from the ground and holding him in place - stone that was moving up his body.

“What?!” He yelled in confusion as the stone moved up his body, encasing more and more of him. “No! N-”

The elf was cut off by being fully encased in a stone pillar.

“Looked like you needed the help.” Philippa said, walking over to Geralt.

“You kidding? I had him exactly where I wanted him.” Geralt said, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” Philippa asked, becoming serious as she saw the trickle of blood coming from the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

“Just a few broken ribs.” Geralt stated. “Is Keira okay?”

“She’s still unconscious. I can revive her and we can find what we need and get out of this hell-hole.”

“Right. We need to-” 

Geralt stopped his sentence short, and his ears perked up.

“Geralt?”

Suddenly, an urgent look spread on his face.

“Philippa! Move now!”

Geralt tried to step towards her, but it was too late. The only warning they got was the sound of stone cracking, before Nithral’s stone imprisonment exploded into hundreds of pieces, sending shards of rocks and dust flying. Philippa was knocked off of her feet. Gerlat was able put his body in front of the worst of it, but Philippa didn’t go unscathed - tiny pieces of stone zipped through the air, cutting her cheeks and arms. 

The dust made it hard to see, the sound of the explosion made Geralt’s ears ring. He needed a moment to collect himself, but he knew he didn’t have one. 

*crack*

“Que-” Geralt began, trying to get the sign incantation past his lips. But he was a millisecond too late. Geralt tried to shift himself backwards, but he couldn’t move fast enough as Nithral’s axe slashed through the dust and air, connecting with his side, right above his hip. The Gambeson of his armor did what it could, but it wasn’t enough. 

Geralt felt the unnatural cold of the Huntsman’s weapon come into contact with his skin, slicing into him, followed by a searing, yet freezing pain. Geralt tried to bring his sword up to offer some form of retaliation, but he felt like his limbs weighed 1000 pounds. Next thing Geralt felt was a boot come into contact with his chest, kicking him squarely, and putting him on his back.

There was the puncture.

The dust began to settle, and Nithral was the only one standing in the end. He looked at Geralt’s unmoving form and scoffed. He then turned his attention to Philippa.

“Witch!” He boomed, stomping toward her, armor clanking menacingly as he did. Philippa tried to crawl on her back, putting any amount of distance she could between her and the Huntsman. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and dread filled her stomach as Nithral got within striking range. The elf lifted his axe high over his head, like a horrid moon.

Philippa didn’t know why - she didn’t bring her hands up to shield her face, or outward in some form of feeble defense.

Instead, her arms crossed protectively over her stomach.

Nithral’s axe came down, and Philippa figured she’d be dead the very next moment, that this was a pathetic place to die.

But much to her surprise, she didn’t die. A light blue barrier came around her, and Nithral’s axe bounced off of it.

“Wha-?” Philippa began in confusion. She tilted her head back to see none other than Keira, protecting them with a shield spell.

“Bah!” Nithral yelled, striking the shield once more. Keira struggled to maintain the shield, her energy still drained, and possibly a concussion on top of that.

“Philippa.” Keira rasped out. “I don’t know how long I can hold this shield. We need *grunt* to think of something.”

Philippa tried to make a fist with her right hand, but all she got was a twitch and a lot of pain.

“I think my forearm is broken.” Philippa admitted. “I’m not sure what I can do.”

Nithral struck Keira’s shield again, causing her to fall to one knee.”

“Well you better think of something fast.”

Behind Nithral, Geralt stirred. The cut on his side was deep, pooling at his hip. His pants were stained maroon, and his skin was growing pale - paler than it already was. With great effort, he sat up, brain barely registering where he was. Then he saw Philippa. On her back, pleading from her face and arms, as Nithral lorded over her. He saw Keira, fighting a losing battle to protect the two of them.

The three of them.

Then he saw red.

Geralt was back on his feet before he realized it. He picked up his sword upside down, griping it tightly by the blade. Then he moved. He closed the gap between himself and Nithral faster than he thought he could, especially in his condition. Before the elf could react to Geralt being behind him, Geralt already made his move. He lifted the hilt of his sword over his shoulder, and brought it down diagonally across the side of Nithral’s head as hard as he could. The Huntsman grunted in pain and surprise - armor or not, being hit full force with the hilt of a blade was going to have an effect. The elf stumbled half a step, before Geralt lifted his sword and hit him again. And again. Each strike somehow harder than the last, the sound of metal on metal echoing in the room. Geralt beat Nithral down to a knee, then to his hands and knees, repeatedly cracking him over the head with his pommel and hilt, beating him into the ground. 

Keira and Philippa watched in shock as Geralt silently beat Huntsman, who not a few seconds ago was a terrifying figure, like he was nothing more than a child.

Geralt lifted his blade far above his head, and brought it down one last time, connecting with the back of the elf’s head as he was on his hands and knees. The strike hit with such force that his blade shaped in two. Nithral laid on the ground, groaning and moaning in pain. Philippa managed to push herself back up to her feet. Slowly she began to walk towards Nithral’s prone body.

“Philippa, what are you doing?” Keira asked, trying to stop her, but Philippa pulled away from her grasp.

“Step aside Geralt.” Philippa ordered, voice flat. Geralt looked at her, eyes still wild, but obeyed without a word. He stepped back and allowed Philippa to stand where he was over Nithral. The elf groaned, and rolled to his back, looking up at the sorceress. 

Philippa didn’t say a word at first. She simply lifted her left hand, palm facing upwards, fingers splayed. Then she spoke the words -

“ Wice”

Immediately Nithral’s body went rigid. He struggled to move, but all he could do was move his head from side to side.

Slowly, Philippa began to curl her fingers inwards to her palm, as if she was crumpling a piece of paper. The sound of metal scraping could be heard as Nithral’s armor began to transform, coming in upon itself. Nithral’s limbs twisted, his chest plate grew tighter and tighter as his armor was becoming his downfall. Soon the sounds of bone cracking and breaking was heard, along with Nithral’s screams. His screams didn’t last long as soon he was too constricted to even breathe in, and the only thing coming out of his mouth was gurgles and blood.

Keira watched eyes wide, as a Philippa she hadn’t seen in years remerged.

 Red seeped through his helmet’s eyes and his struggles ended with an extra loud crack as his spine went. The once mighty Huntsman laid there in a heap of mangled limbs and metal. 

The only sound for a moment was the sound of Philippa’s breathing. 

“Wow.” Geralt spoke after a while, smiling at her slightly. “You really are something.”

With those words, he promptly collapsed.

____________________________________________________________________________

For the next half hour, Keira and Philippa worked to stabilize Geralt. 

Witcher were hardy, but he had lost a lot of blood, and every breath he took his lungs were doing their best to drown him in what remained in his body. The two sorceresses performed every healing spell they knew on him to try and help him. Philippa dug through his back to force him to swallow some of his mutagens, anything to keep him with them.

Once Geralt was breathing on his own - or at least not spitting up blood every time he did - the two sorceresses sat down across from each other on either side of Geralt. Bruised, battered and drained. Neither spoke for a long time. 

“Philippa.” Keira said carefully.

“Yes?” Philippa answered wearily.

“...you’re pregnant.”

Philippa didn’t feel like lying. She was too tired. So she just answered with a short, but honest. “Yes.”

Keira had been the one to ask, but she still seemed shocked upon hearing it. She knew she was. They way she protected her belly above anything else. It was so subtle, but as clear as day.

“I…How did this happen?” Keira continued. Shifting to her knees and leaning forward. 

“Well, when a man and a woman.”

“Philippa, I’m serious.” 

She was. More serious than she had been in a long time.

“I don’t know.” Philippa whispered.

“This isn’t…this isn’t something you can keep from me Phil!” Keira said, looking hurt. Philippa realized Keira thought she was lying. She didn’t really blame her. “Now is not the time for secrecy!”

“It’s not a secret. I really don’t know. It was a mistake.” Philippa admitted.

“A mistake?” Repeated Keira frowning. She wasn’t satisfied with Philippa’s vague responses.

I…I was working on a potion. I was trying to regrow my eyes.”

“Like-”

“I swear on my magic if you say ‘like Vilgefortz’ I will cave in the ruins on top of all of us.”

“Sorry. Continue.”

So she continued. She explained. Explained everything. Her potion. Geralt’s arrival. The means in which it became compromised, their travels, Nilfgaard. Everything. Keira sat there and allowed Philippa to talk, unjudging and attentive.

-And that brings us to now, in these damn ruins.” Philippa finished. Keira just looked at her, and she waited for a reaction of some kind.

And then Keira laughed.

“I’m sorry.” Keira said, trying to stifle her laughter, and failing “Goodness me.”

Her laugh grew, from her typical giggle, to a full on guffaw. Laughter echoing in the gave. Philippa didn’t know whether she should be in disbelief or angry.

“I spill my heart out to you, and you laugh at me?” Philippa seethed

“I’m sorry.” Keira said, wiping a tear from her eye. “It’s just - well this certainly couldn’t have happened to two better people.

“I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

“No! I’m glad you told me. This is…Philippa this is amazing. Do you know how many others have searched for the cure to our infertility for years? Hells, Yennefer-”

“Don’t mention her.” Philippa snapped suddenly. 

“So…what does that make the two of you?” Keira asked, eyes bouncing between her and Geralt.

“It doesn’t make us anything. Just two people caught by circumstance.” Philippa dismissed.

“Come now, you’re not as callous and dumb as all that.” Keira said with a slight smile, which in turn made Philippa frown. 

“I don’t know.” Philippa admitted quietly. “None of this…none of this is how I expected it to be.

Philippa hadn’t noticed she was gently stroking Geralt's hair as she spoke. Keira did though. The straw-haired sorceress just smiled. She thought Philippa could be very gentle when she wanted to.

“It never is, is it?”

Chapter Text

The radishes were coming in nicely.

Geralt pushed himself up from the dirt, wiping his hands on his slacks. Geralt always liked Radishes. Simple vegetable, you can bite right into them - Geralt remembered spending many days with nothing but a sack full of radishes to eat, back on the trail. 

Even in retirement old habits were hard to kick. 

Still - he wouldn’t have it any other way. He looked back at his home, a little hut, just big enough for a family to be comfortable. In Kaedwen of all places because even once it was all over, Geralt couldn’t help but be close to Kaer Morhen, the place he called home for so long . Smoke was coming from the chimney. That meant dinner was being made.

He entered his home, the one he built with his own two hands - and saw the love of his life, stirring a pot over the fireplace.  It was a small hut, with light furnishings, but Geralt had always been rather spartan when it came to interior design. It was homely - a place Geralt would’ve liked to have grown up if it wasn’t for the Witcher life. Geralt took a deep inhale, smelling his dinner.

Beef and cabbage stew. One of his favorites.

He looked over to the corner at the crib he had built, the soft cooings coming from it. 

Their little miracle.

Geralt smiled, and walked up behind his wife, appreciating her long raven hair. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and buried his nose into her hair.

“Smells nice.” He said, talking both about the stew and her perfume.

Yennefer. The love he thought he would never fully have, there, cooking for him and his child. The riches of the world couldn’t make him give this up.

“Dinner will be ready soon.”

Wait-

That wasn’t Yennefer’s voice.

Geralt took a step back in confusion. He sniffed again. That wasn’t Yennefer’s smell.

The woman in front of him turned around, and the silhouette of long Raven black hair transformed before him, into a pair of pigtails, topped with feathers. And instead of Yennfer’s long face and violet eyes, Geralt saw the round freckled face of Philippa Eilhart, eye sockets filled with nothing but white.

Gerlat opened his mouth, but nothing came out. 

“Geralt?” Phillipa said, arching an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Did you not want stew?”

Once again, Geralt’s mouth opened, attempting to say anything, but it was like his vocal cords were taken from him.

“What’s wrong daddy?”

Geralt’s head whipped around to the crib, where the infant was now standing, head just peaking over the edge of the crib, hair white and in pigtails, a summation of Geralt and Philippa.

“What the fuck?” Geralt’s voice managed to finally creak out.

“Hey, not in front of the baby!” Philippa chided.

“Yeah!” The baby’s voice squeaked in agreement

Suddenly, the front door burst open behind him. He spun around, and realized he was staring straight at a horn, as a unicorn’s head hung through the door.

“Children are very impressionable.” The unicorn spoke.

“What the fu-”

____________________________________________________________________________

Geralt jolted upward in bed, gasping out loudly. An action he immediately regretted, as his side began to ache fiercely. He brought his hand to the pained area and looked down at it, realizing it was bandaged as the events of the last two days came back to him.

‘Sloppy Geralt. Too sloppy.’ Geralt thought as he looked at his bandaged side. His next thought was that he was in a rather large bed that seemed to have too many pillows. It didn’t take much brain power to piece together that it was Keira’s bed. 

Gerlat felt stirring at his feet, and realized he wasn’t alone. At the foot of the bed sitting on a chair and leaning over on the mattress was a sleeping Philippa. Least she was asleep until Geralt’s movements woke her up. She sat up groggily, shaking the sleep from her head. It took her a moment to realize she was looking at a very conscious Geralt.

“You’re awake!” She exclaimed suddenly.

“So are you apparently.” He responded. Philippa didn’t say anything to that. Instead she frowned deeply, distressed look on her face

“Philippa-” He began, but before he could get another word in, Philippa was on her feet, and on the bed, moving faster than he thought she could move. She was quickly straddling, pressing her ample chest to his bare one, arms around his neck.

“You idiot!” She cried out. “You could have died - you almost did!”

Geralt snorted a bit at the particular neediness he heard in her voice, and let one arm lazily wrap around her back. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Hardly will be the last.”

Phillipa pulled back a bit so she could look him in the face, giving him an eyeless glare. “Really, that’s all you have to say after almost dying?”

“Not much to say.”

They just looked at each other for a moment, before their minds seemed to link, and they both moved forward, crashing their lips to each other. Geralt’s hands went to the small of her back, pulling her in possessively as Philippa rubbed her chest against him deliciously, and ground down into his lap. Geralt found after a near death experience, he was always particularly randy. As for Philippa, well with her hormones as volatile as they were, having Geralt out of commission only allowed it to build within her, making her antsy, horny, and all around an annoyance for Keira in general. Philippa was even surprised by her forwardness and abject neediness at the moment, but she didn’t care to think on it, rather deeping her kiss with Geralt.

Speaking of Keira-

“I leave you two alone for 15 minutes, and you two are already all over each other, in MY bed of all things.” The blond sorceress said as she entered the room, a potion and some water in her hands.” Despite her words, Keira had a large smile plastered on her face at the sight, which aggravated Philippa a bit. “Though I suppose with the prospect of single motherhood, Phil must be ecstatic that you’re alright.

Geralt’s eyes widened a bit, and he looked back and forth between Philippa and Keira.

“You told her?” He asked.

“Oh give me some credit Witcher.” Keira said, setting the potion and water down on the nightstand. “I figured it out myself. And don’t worry, I won’t grill you with a thousand questions. I already did that to Philippa.

Philippa groaned, and regretfully slid off Geralt’s lap. Keira just smiled at them even more.

“You two are certainly something, aren’t you.?” She said, shaking her head a bit.

“How long was I out?” Geralt said quickly, wanting to change the subject.

“About two days.” Keira said, pushing the water towards Geralt. He took it from the table and downed it quickly, not even realizing how thirsty he was. “Don’t know what magic was in that Huntsman’s axe, but it did a number on your side.”

“Yeah, I can certainly feel it.” Geralt commented, feeling the dull ache pulse again. Then a thought crossed his mind. “Wait - you two carried me out of the cave?”

“We’re not laborers.” Philippa scoffed, seemingly offended by the idea of it. “We levitated you out. Seems once the Hunt left, portals were working again. We brought you straight here.”

“And Roach? She-”

“We got your stead.” Keira assured

“What about the clues about Ciri?” Geralt asked, sitting more upright. He was working himself up. Philippa gently placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back down to the bed.

“Us sorceresses are perfectly capable at our own bit of detective work.” Philippa commented. “We listened to the Elf’s final message.”

“And?” Geralt prodded impatiently. 

“Admittedly it was as cryptic as his other messages.” Philippa explained. “Seemed he knew the ruins weren’t safe. Knew that the Hunt was on him. Told Ciri to meet him in the place where they were last together.”

“And with Ciri, that could mean anywhere.” Geralt sighed in frustration, leaning against the headboard.

“Maybe that’s for the best. Means the Hunt doesn’t know where she is either.” Keira offered. Geralt just grumbled. 

“There was another part.” Philippa continued. “Mentioned some witches - a warning to keep away from them. The Witches of Crookback Swamp-”

“Crookback Bog.” Keira corrected. 

Geralt’s eyes flashed to Keira, and the blonde sorceress internally kicked herself at her slip. Before Philippa could say anything else, Geralt had swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood quickly, looming over Keira.

“Keira! If you're hiding something-” He growled. Keira took a half step back, eyes flashing wide.

“But -- I didn't say…” She tried, only to be cut off by Geralt.

“Why didn't you say anything earlier? I told you Ciri had a run in with a witch.” Geralt demanded.

“I had no idea you meant them... If I'd told you something, you would  have rushed off to find them... But we needed first to confirm that Ciri was here, right? I shall tell you everything now, of course.”

“Now, after I safely lead you through the cave?”

“Oh, leave her be Geralt.” Philippa said, moving in to step between them. It wasn’t as if Philippa herself wasn’t cross at Keira, but she could sympathize with the utility of withholding information until convenient. And even if she was cross with Keira, at the end of the day, sorceresses bound together. “It all worked out in the end, didn’t it.”

“Yes, I’m sure you and Keira enjoyed rifling through the Elf’s lab.”

“Geralt-” Philippa said in warning. She squared her shoulders to the Witcher and lifted her chin, almost as if daring him to say something else. Gerlat narrowed his eyes at the short woman, jaw working back and forth. “Even if Keira had told you about these witches, you know you would’ve found your way to those ruins regardless, and without Keira, we might not have made it, just barely as is - so please stop being so dramatic.”

Gerlat’s eyebrows arched up a bit at that, He hated to admit that she had a point, so instead he just mumbled “I’m not dramatic.”

“Of course not.” Philippa said, with a small smirk.

Geralt sighed. He was tired, he was sore, and he was sick of Velen. Looking over Philippa’s shoulder at Keira, who at least looked a BIT contrite, he asked, “You know these witches?”

“I've never met them, but I've read of them.” Keira explained. “In an old manuscript I found in one of the huts in the village. Witches venturing into Crookback Bog at times -- to liaise between the villagers in the Crones, the Ladies of the Wood. The Crones appear to be intolerant of outsiders, but they help the local folk. Apparently, they stopped the spread of the plague in Velen.”

“And do you believe that?” Geralt questioned.

Keira took a moment before answering.

“I'd love to shrug it off as the nattering of so many old women,  yet... Throughout my first fortnight in Velen, I had horrible nightmares. Something was calling me out into the swamps. One night I decided to enter the dream consciously, render it lucid. I confronted the...thing directly. It broke contact at once. Peaceful nights ever since.”

Philippa stiffened a bit, thinking back to the dreams and moments of dread that plagued her when they first arrived in Velen as well. Seems whoever these witches were, they’re influence was far reaching.

Gerlat scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t particularly want to go galavanting through some bog to find some witches that may or may not be there, but it seemed that’s where the trail, if you could even call it that, was leading.

“Alright.” Geralt said a bit wearily. “Let’s go.”

Philippa arched an eyebrow, and Keira looked in a bit of disbelief.

“What? Just like that?” Keira asked. 

“Just like that.” Geralt nodded. “These witches have information on Ciri. That means I need to find them.”

“Your side is barely healed.” Keira tried to reason. She wasn’t wrong. His side ached like all hell, but it wouldn’t be the first nor last time he traveled hurt.

“I’m fine.” Geralt said, moving toward the door of the bedroom.

“Plan to head out without a shirt?” Philippa commented smartly.

Geralt looked down at his bare chest, remembering he was in fact without a shirt. “Where’s my armor?”

“Wrecked.” Keira answered “You can’t go off all half assed Witcher. You don’t even know where you’re going. Crookback Bog is huge. You’d be looking for a needle in a…well a swamp.”

“I’m sure that book you found might have some details.” Geralt said, turning to face Keira.

“Yes, it might…but I might not be in the mood to part with it.”

“Keira-” Geralt began sternly.

“I need your help.” Keira said, cutting him off. “Assistance with something.”

“I suppose leading you through those ruins so you could get to the elf’s lab didn’t count?”

“Didn’t know you considered me such deadweight. I guess shielding you from hellish frost, keeping the mother of your child from being cleaved in two, and allowing you to recover in my bed was just a courtesy.”

Geralt frowned. He understood not having efforts appreciated, but he didn’t have time for this. The Hunt could be anywhere, moving in on Ciri. Sure they might not have figured it out yet - but it was only a matter of time. 

“I’m not saying I don’t appreciate what you’ve done for us, but-”

“Witchy lady? Are you comin’ back? I can’t stand ere’ all day” I voice called out from outside the bedroom. The voice of a man - not normal however. The timber of his voice seemed lacking yet it seemed to echo unnaturally. 

“Keira, what was…is someone out there?” Philippa asked in confusion. She had been so hyper-focused on the recovering Geralt, she hadn’t really paid any attention to what Keira had been up to in the spare time - she’d never let Geralt know that though.

“I-” Keira began, but Philippa took initiative before the sorceress could come up with an excuse, moving past Keira out the door, followed promptly by Geralt. 

When they moved into the next room, into Keira’s study,  the pair’s eyes immediately went to the green glow illuminating from the corner. A lantern, a lamp, was situated on the floor - pointed at the conjunction of the wall. Philippa recognized it as the lamp Keira took from the Elf’s lab. She was vague about what it did at the time. All she told her was she had traded the elf a powerful potion for it, one to stave off memory loss. Philippa’s curiosity was answered by what the lamp was illuminating. Within the light stood a man - well the essence of one - a man of intangible shadows, but still a man. Even in his form, the outline of his face and clothes could be made out; he looked the simple type. A villager. At where his feet would’ve been was a blackened skull.

By now, Keira had walked into the room herself, shaking her head. 

“Well, seems this cat is out of the bag.” She sighed, before moving to the lantern and shutting it off. The shadowy figure gave her a sparing glance, before disappearing into nothingness.

“Keira, didn’t know you were interested in that kind of magic.” Philippa admonished.

“Don’t be a hypocrite Phil.” Keira countered. “You’re the one who always told me dark magic was a nebulous term. All about intent.”

“And what exactly is the intent of this?” Gerlat asked.

“Well, this is actually what I need assistance with in fact. The cursed isle on Lake Wyndamer -- you've heard of it, I'm sure.” They hadn’t, but Keira pushed on regardless. “The local peasants mumble incessantly  about it, about the wraiths that haunt it. They claim none who  go there return.”

“Cursed island. Can’t say I haven’t dealt with those before.” Geralt noted. “How’d it come to be cursed?”

“That's what I don't know! I must break this spell, yet I've been unable to identify its source.”

Philippa pursed her lips at Keira. Something wasn’t adding up. “Why?” She asked.

“Why?” Keira repeated.

“You said it yourself that you despise this place and its inhabitants, and now you’re trying to break curses for them?” 

“I fail to lift the curse and they could conclude that their great and powerful witch isn’t so great.” Keira explained. “Not enough to conceal me from the witch hunters and risk getting sent to the gallows themselves.”

Philippa crossed her arms over her chest. The answer seemed plausible enough, but she felt as if Keira wasn’t telling them something. She was an expert on that matter after all.

“Keira, we don’t have time for this.” Geralt reiterated.

“If you want the book you do.” Keira stated. “Look, you’re a Witcher. You break curses like farmers plow fields. It wouldn’t even take more than a day.”

“That a fact?”

“The more time you spend arguing with me, the more time you’re wasting.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. He really needed to stop hanging around sorceresses.

“Fine.” He finally sighed after a moment. Keira smiled in satisfaction. 

“Splendid.”

“Great, going to a cursed island - lovely addition to our adventure.” Philippa stated dryly.

“Oh, I’m sure you two are dying to be alone after spending all this time with me.” Keira said with a wide grin. “A little family time.”

Philippa went red in the face, and opened her mouth to sputter out some sort of insult, but luckily Geralt saved her from the embarrassment.

“I’m going to need something to wear.”

“Ah yes, I’ve handled that.” Keira stated. “One of the villagers thought himself an adventurer in his younger days. Had an old outfit - he was about your size before he put on some weight. It’s back in the bedroom on the dresser.”

Geralt nodded, and went back into the bedroom to change. After a moment, he called out “THIS is it?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers Geralt.” Keira replied. Geralt grumbled some reply under his breath, but otherwise didn’t respond. Phillippa gave Keira a confused look, who in turn returned with a wink. Philippa thought she was missing something, until Geralt stepped back into the study. 

Seems that whoever donated the clothes obviously didn’t get into anything that was too dangerous. Geralt was given a cotton shirt as an underlayer - short-sleeved. The outfit also came with Navy blue pants of leather and wool. Geralt didn’t find them terribly comfortable. The only protective aspect of the get up was the deep navy brigandine vest that he wore over the shirt. Geralt felt a bit exposed - under armored. In his younger days he might have got on wearing light attire, sometimes unusual. He remembered the spiked jacket of leather he used to wear, back when his hair was short and he wore that ridiculous circlet. But he had grown accustomed to wearing full covering - especially in the war years.

Philippa however didn’t mind his new attire at all. The short sleeves were doing marvelous things for his arms - muscled and scarred. Nearly swoon worthy, but she’d never admit that Despite her efforts, she found herself grinning as she took in his appearance; Keira was as well.

“Would you two stop gawking at me.” Geralt said irritably, folding his arms over his chest, only showing them off more ironically.

“Oh let us girls have a little eye candy.” Keira teased.

“We don’t have time for this.” Geralt grumbled. “Island - details.”

“Alright alright.” Keira said, moving to her work station on her map of Velen. “The island is here.” She pointed out on the map “Fyke Isle. The temporary home of the former lord of Velen, Vserad.”

“Temporary?” Philippa questioned.

“Well - it wasn’t his home for long. He’s dead, along with a dozen villagers. Least that’s what the villagers say. Some went to the island to beg for food. It turned into a massacre.” 

“A massacre? So the peasants who went to the island for food -- this lord had them murdered?” Geralt asked.

“The villagers say he had them poisoned.” Keira replied with a shrug.

“A real gentleman.” Philippa noted.

“Hm... I never met him, but he didn't seem such a cruel man judging by what a mage from the isle told me.” Keira said. 

“A mage lived on the island? Would I have known him?” Philippa asked. 

“No - he was a local mage. We became friends during my time here.” Keira said, sounding a bit sad, but there was something else in her voice. Something that made Philippa wonder. “We were friends. Sadly, he died that day as well. Very few survived. Yet even those who escaped the island suffered agonizing deaths. Strangely, they did not seem to have been poisoned.”

“So dead villagers, a dead lord and a dead mage.” Geralt counted. “Sounds like we’ll have an interesting time.”

“Before you two go, take this.” Keira grabbed a small device from her desk. A Metlaic octagon that fit in the palm of her hand - with a set of metallic lips sticking out from it.

“A xenovox - nab that from the Lodge’s supply as well?” Philippa asked. 

“No, no - these came from the Elf’s lab as well. Nabbed a pair while you were fretting over Geralt.”

“I was not fret-”

“You two should be off now.” Keira interrupted. “I’ve a skiff you can use to reach the isle - at the edge of the water just east of here. Follow the channel south and go to the center of the lake. You’ll see the tower. It’s impossible to miss. Oh, and you’ll need the lamp of course. There likely won’t be anyone alive on the island - but the dead shall guide you.”.

_________________________________________________________________________

Geralt and Philippa rode to the channel west of the village. As she said, Keira had a boat waiting for them - Philippa wondered where she had gotten herself a boat. Geralt didn’t have much sailing experience, but he could handle the small single sail skiff. They sailed south, down the channel to the large lake. Lake Wyndamer was the bread and butter for most people in Velen - providing fish and freshwater, however with the war ravaging the land, and allowing the monster population to be unchecked, drowners, rotfiends and various other monsters threatened it’s shores, making unfortunate victims of the populace. 

It would take a few hours to reach the isle - the lake was that big. Luckily they had the wind on their side, so that sped up things. Outside of Keira’s description based on the rumors of villagers, neither knew what to expect from the isle, though as they drew closer, a dull headache came upon Philippa - small and niggling at first, but steadily growing as they sailed. Geralt looked back from the mast, seeing Philippa rub her temple.

“You okay?” He asked.

“I’m- fine.” Philippa said slowly. “Think I figured out why Keira didn’t just come and handle this herself. The magic this place is letting off - I feel like someone is tap dancing on my skull.”

“Hm - my amulet has been vibrating for the past 15 minutes.” Geralt noted. “Do we need to turn back?”

“Please - I’m made of sterner stuff than Keira. I’ll be fine...” Philippa insisted.

“But-” Geralt asked, sensing there was something else.

“...but there’s clearly something Keira isn’t telling us about all of this.” Philippa alleged. “Her aspirations might not be the highest of most sorceresses, but staying in the graces of a bunch of peasants? Keira hates the countryside more than I do. She wouldn’t do something that would extend her time here. She’s up to something.”

“You don’t seem to put a lot of trust in your friends.” Geralt commented. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Geralt. I trust Keira with my life - I just don’t trust her with her own.”

“Geralt? Philippa? Can you two hear me?” Keira’s voice projected from the xenovox tied Geralt’s belt. “Have you reached the island yet?”

“Speak of the devil.” Philippa said quietly.

“Keira, we hear you. We’ll be there soon.” Geralt told Keira.

“Splendid. I’ll contact you again soon.”

“Wait Keira, we need.-”

“She can’t hear you, Geralt. The xenovox only works one way. She can contact us, but once she ends her call, we can’t contact her back.” Philippa explained.

“Great.” Geralt sighed.

They sailed for another hour or so before reaching the shores of the isle, and by then the headache Philippa had was nearly making her grind her teeth. The magic there was…unpleasant. Full of hate and despair.

“Come on - let’s get this over with so I can get off this island before my head explodes.” Philippa complained.

“H*-ve you t- ma-*” The xenovox crackled, Keira’s voice coming through garbled.

“What? I can't hear... Great, broke already. Sheesh. Short-lived, this magic..” Geralt remarked.

“Looks like we’re on our own.” 

Geralt looked around, his ears perking back. “Not quite.” 

Suddenly, the clicks and growls that Philippa could say she had become all too familiar with. Seemed the drowners at the shore were waiting underwater until Geralt and Philippa docked - they preferred to attack on land, despite their amphibious nature. 4 of them emerged from the water, just as ugly as the last time the pair saw them. 

Geralt reached back for his silver sword - before remembering that it wasn’t there. Broken in half off the skull of Nithral. 

“Bugger” He cursed, drawing his steel sword instead. It wasn’t idle- but it was all he had at the moment. Philippa took note of this, and to Geralt’s surprise, actually SMIRKED.

“Perhaps you should fall back, Geralt. You’re not currently equipped for this.” Philippa drawled.

“Shut up, Philippa.” Geralt said, greatly irritated. 

“Oh it’s not your fault. Just stand there and look handsome while I get this done.” 

“You’re just loving this, aren’t you?”

The sorceress made short work of the drowners - blasting them to bits with fires. Philippa had grown rather adept at fighting these types of monsters during her travels with Geralt. She saw them as more of a bother, pests, than actual threats at this point. 

They two moved inland, running into more monsters as they went - seemed the island was completely overrun with drowners and rotfiends. Geralt felt a bit useless with Philippa taking point with her magic, setting the necrophages ablaze, sending them flying with telekinetic spells, and a variety of other offensive magic that turned them into ash and pieces. Well Geralt wasn’t COMPLETELY useless - he made goot bait, distracting the monsters while Philippa went to work with her spells.

It infuriated Geralt to no end, almost as much as it turned him on to see Philippa so confidently and effortlessly fight monsters. Once upon a time he would’ve doubted Philippa would even want to get her boots dirty, but here she was, doing Withcer’s work and only complaining a bit. He couldn’t voice any of that though - he didn’t think Philippa’s ego needed to get any bigger at present.

After working their way through a dozen or so monsters, they reached a tree line that the trail they were on cut through. Geralt checked if there were any more monsters in the immediate are - they were in the clear for the moment.

“Quite the workout.” Philippa said, panting a little. She actually managed to work up a sweat.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Geralt grumbled.

“Never.”

“Hrm. Alright, since we’re more or less on our own here - we need a place to start looking. ‘The dead shall guide us.’ Geralt said, repeating Keira’s words.

“So we’re looking for remains.”

“Sounds about right.” Geralt nodded. He began to look for tracks - any remnants of people being on the island. They’re hard to make out with the number of rotfiend and drowner tracks crisscrossing the dirt and mud, but he spots what looks like 3 sets of human footprints. He takes a deep inhale, and even though the stink of monsters and the swampland flood his senses he manages to pick up the faintest scent of human remains.

Geralt inclines his head, indicating to Philippa to follow him. She stays close by his flank, just in case she needs to incinerate some more beasts for him. They kept moving inland, toward the castle until they reached the outer palisades - mostly in ruins. There were various shacks and huts built around the tall standing tower - on stilts as Geralt and Philippa had to wade through knee high water to get close. 

“Looks like the former lord was worried about Nilfgaard eventually coming for him.” Philippa stated, taking note of the various fortifications and barricades all in various stages of disrepair. “Think the man might have had an inflated image of himself.”

“Lotta good all this protection did him.” 

“Yes - when peasants get an idea and a foul mood amongst themselves, they can make or break just about anything.” Philippa said primly. “And - Geralt, you’re glowing.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow at Philippa before looking down at his hip and realizing he was in fact glowing green - the magic lamp tied to his hip slowly pulsated a dull light. The Witcher looked around for a moment, before pointing at the ground several feet away.

“There.” He said. Where Geralt was pointing was a pile of bones - not much left of them. Drowners barely left scraps, but it was enough for the lamp to detect. Geralt took the lamp from his hip and the pair walked closer. When they came within a few feet, the lamp lit up bright green, projecting over the remains. Like back at Keira’s house, a shadowy figure of a man appeared, two of them.

“Millie!” One shadow spoke, body looking rigid and urgent “we gotta flee! Quick now! Millie? Millie, what's with ye?”

The shadow named Millie dropped to its knees, grasping its head. “I dunno... So hot...burnin' -- agh!”

The shadow of the man still standing looked around in fear at a long gone enemy. “What? No, no, stay back!” He screamed.

“Don't...leave me! Millie yelled, before evaporating as soon as he appeared. Unfortunate last words as far as they went.

“What do you think got to them.” Philippa asked?

“Not sure.” Geralt admitted. “Thousand things can kill you here, and that’s before introducing an escaped noble and a mage. Whatever the answer is - we gotta see what’s in this tower.

The pair moved around to the front of the tower towards the entrance. They moved towards the door, but a stab of pain went through Philippa’s head, one intense enough to almost make her buckle. Geralt notice immediately, and grabbed her by the shoulder to keep her from falling.

“Are you okay?” He asked urgently.

“It feels as if the tower just fell on my head.” Philippa groaned. “W-whatever’s in there is deeply troubling.”

“Do you need to wait outside?”

“And leave you one sword down with a powerful magical being?” Philippa scoffed. She brushed Geralt’s hand off her shoulder and stood up straight, powering through the pain. “I think not. Now, let’s see what this tower holds.”

Chapter Text

Rats.

Geralt give a little smirk, before doing as he was told.

Chapter Text

There was a saying that Vesemir always used to say.