Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“If life could grant me but one blessing it would be to take you off of my hands!” 

Hateful spat words, undeserved even in the face of such great anger. Jaskier had long since known that he could be grating. Especially to those who did not necessarily enjoy his prattling on. Even so he hadn’t ever braced himself for the way Geralt had turned on him, golden eyes flashing in the dim light. He hadn’t prepared his heart for the vile poison that was aimed directly at it. He had faced so much in the nearly two decades that he had been following his- not his, never his, poor unwanted Jaskier- the Witcher, but nothing like utter heartbreak. 

Borch didn’t stop him as he stomped down the mountain, rather the old dragon just watched him go. Jaskier wasn’t sure what he would have said anyway, not when the fangs filling his mouth were driven into his own tongue to keep himself from sobbing. He barely hesitated at Roach’s side, grabbing only what he needed in order to survive before fleeing into the falling night. It physically hurt to leave his precious lute behind, still strapped to the back of Roach’s saddle where he only left it when he absolutely had to. But it smelled like Geralt, like silver and steel and ash, all overlaid with the faint smell of Jaskier’s perfumes. Leaving it behind was just one extra crack in his already cleaved heart. If Jaskier were to return to Oxenfurt then he could get himself another one. 

One that didn’t remind him of the heart he was leaving behind. 

Maybe on any other day Jaskier would have been paying more attention. Maybe not, because the Bard did tend to get into plenty of trouble, but the tears blurring his eyes did more than hide the path. Jaskier walked up the mountain nursing a bruised ego and following after the man he loved. He was dragged off the mountain unconscious and bleeding, with no one to realize that he was gone. 

~~~

It has been a year and three months since Geralt lost two of the most important people in his life. Yennefer, bless her chaos given tits, had fought Destiny tooth and nail to avoid being drug back into his presence. When she was forced to be near she avoided meeting his eyes, spat venom like a viper, kept herself guarded and closed off. Not even the introduction of Ciri and their decision to split the girl between them warmed her heart. He didn’t blame her, but damnation if it didn’t hurt. As for Jaskier… 

There hadn’t even been a whisper of the bard's name in any of the towns Geralt traveled through. Before even when they were separated Geralt would know of his passing. It was in the songs on peoples lips, it was in the traces of sulfur and lemon perfume left in the air, it was whispers of ‘the white wolf’ instead of Butcher. These days he hadn’t heard a new song in months, not even when they had passed close enough to Oxenfurt that only Ciri kept Geralt from entering the city. His little lion cub was in enough danger as it was with the Nilfgaardian soldiers that dogged their every move. 

At Vesemirs discretion they had cut her hair short and dyed it a ruddy brown, they cast away her royal clothing and dressed her as a boy, they started the rumour of the Witchers taking new allocytes once again, anything and everything to make people have to take a second look at the child that now dogged his footsteps. It was nearing the end of summer now, almost time for Ciri to go to Yennefer for the second time. He would winter at Kaer Morhen with the rest of his brothers and wait for the fairer weather that was more kind to once princesses. For the first time in a long handful of decades all four of the Wolves were together on the Path, on the hunt for reports of a Nilfgaardian troop not even a day's ride from the mountain. 

They had brought Ciri along against Geralt’s better judgement but it was either that or leave her alone at the Keep. As the Witchers settled in for the night Geralt was showing Ciri the best way to hold a scraggly snow hair over the fire to burn the fur off it’s hide. Slowly but surely he was teaching her the ways of the Path, though as of yet he had not stopped wishing that he wasn’t the only one teaching her. Jaskier had started out useless, but over their two decades he had learned and improved. Enough so that over the past three years Geralt had taken the bard with them to the Keep for winter. Ciri would have loved him, and the gentleness the man brought to the Witchers lifestyle. 

There was no use of thinking about it though. Not even as Geralt finally took his portion of rest on their watch cycle and he wished for the sounds of singing to send him away. Besides, what he woke up to was infinitely worse. Lambert shouting wasn’t that unusual, the youngest of them tended to be the loudest as well. What was strange was the note of pain in his voice, and how he was calling for them to wake. Geralt fought against the darkness clinging to his mind with greedy fingers, managing to peel one eye open to look about their camp. 

His head ached, and there was definitely blood in his eye. He blearily looked around watching the dancing shadows writhe and lash out at each other without realizing what was really happening. At least until a hand grabbed him but the collar and jerked him upright. Geralt snarled through the nausea and pain that spiked, twisting to try and snap at the person. Distant dread filled his belly at the sight of Nilfguuardian armour. He struggled weakly but could do nothing against the fist that swung for his eye and pushed him firmly back into unconsciousness. 

When Geralt managed to wake again it was nearly midday. Not the late night he felt it should have been. He had been flung face first onto something wooden, and could feel it rocking underneath him. His eyes slid shut about the same time as a horse whinnied angrily, and he could hear someone scream. When he woke for the third time it was to unfamiliar hands throwing him into the ground. Geral growled weakly, trying to shove onto his elbows and fighting the magic that shoved its way down his throat. 

“A beautiful showing of the Witcher!” a male voice boomed. 

Geralt’s head lolled to the side, peering up at a man standing a few paces away from him. The armor and coloration clearly pointed at him being from Nilfguuard, but Geralt didn’t recognize him. Not that it seemed to faze the man who just kept talking. 

“Agdalaid is a spectacular mage, but you and your brethren have really put him through his paces!” 

It was magic keeping him down. Geralt forced himself to rise onto his elbows, then his knees, and finally to his feet swaying the whole way. He glanced around, gathering all of the details of the huge war camp that he found himself in. The others were gathered around him, short stretches of silver chains linking all of their ankles together in one line. The chains were where the magic was coming from as well, though it was starting to fade away now. 

“Who the fuck are you.” he growled. 

“Ah!” the man laughed, gesturing for one of the other soldiers to advance, “apologies for my manners. I am Conhairm.” 

Geralt just blinked at him, not recognizing the name. The other soldier carried a large corkscrewed post, and sat about to quickly driving it into the ground. Geralt wanted to lunge at him but he was still having a hard enough time standing. As it was he was the only one standing, though he would be eternally grateful to see Ciri chained with them by Vesemir. The camp had been split into two halves, with the Witchers settled at one end of an unusually wide path through the tents. Directly at the other end was what could only be the Command tent, giving a clear view. 

And that was a whole ass Wyvern bucking and screaming as it was dragged over. Someone clearly had at least a little knowledge of the species and had it muzzled, its deadly tail wrapped in heavy cloth, and ropes tied to its horns to keep some measure of control. Geralt pushed Ciri into the center of them, seeing the others fall in around her. If they intended for the Witchers to be fed to a beast in some form of Karmic justice then Geralt would just have to be sure that he got stuck in the things maw. 

Three men held the ropes on either side of the Wyvern's head, but even then that wasn’t enough to keep the beast from thrashing. It kept making a lowing noise, like a rockslide in the winter. Conhairm stopped right in front of the trapped Witchers and gave them a slimy smile. The other soldier finished with the post and quickly connected their chains to it before darting away as the last of the magic keeping them sick and weak faded away. 

“I’m sure you won’t mind the Beast, like calls to like and all.” 

Geralt growled, baring his teeth with his anger. But finally the Wyvern seemed to notice where it was being dragged, noise and movement freezing all at once. The thing stared at them, great lung heaving in whuffs of air. Slowly it moved forward, dragging the men holding it without a struggle. It halted right behind Conhairm, slit pupils pulled to needle thinness as it looked the Witchers over. Geralt held in a string of filthy curses as soon as he saw the marking of a royal wyvern. Not just one of the beastly counterparts, but something with at least a little intelligence. Enough to rumble a low growl when Conhairm reached up to thread his fingers through the metal of its muzzle and yanked it’s head down to his shoulder level. 

“Play nice beasty. Or don’t, but leave them alive.” 

The Wyvern grumbled, but didn’t fight when Conhairm patted it roughly right under its eye. The same soldier stepped up, quickly driving a new corkscrewed silver post deep into the ground. The Wyvern didn’t fight as the man hitched it to the post and tightened the straps to the things muzzle until it grunted and tried to tug away. Conhairm watched the proceedings smugly, tossing out insults that didn’t make any of them so much as twitch. He really wasn’t all that creative, the Witchers had heard much worse over their time on the Path. Or at least Geralt had. 

Lambert at least was holding a hand over Ciri’s mouth, muffling the girl's shrill anger and trying to keep the troops' eyes off of her. It likely wouldn’t last long, the second any of them were separated it would be clear that not all was as it seemed with the little princess. But for however long it would last they would do what they could. Including standing stock still when one of the guards slung a handful of rotted slop directly into Geralt's face. His brow ticked in restrained anger, the slimy feeling of the disgusting mess sliding off of his jaw enough to make him growl. Conhairm laughed but turned away, calling in that ugly language of theirs and taking the other soldiers with him. 

They only left one guard to watch the group of four Witchers, which would be their downfall. They fell in together, each of them facing a different direction with Ciri held protectively at their backs. As the hours passed and the sun slowly crept over the sky the Wyvern started a low rumbling call. Geralt had heard that sound a few times before, from young Wyverns after he had killed their parents and no one had come with food. But this Wyvern was clearly an adult, not quite an Elder based on its size, but not a hatchling either. Which likely meant the thing had been stolen from its nest young. 

“Why’s it making that noise?” Ciri asked quietly. 

Said noise cut off abruptly, the Wyverns snake like head whipping around from where it had been staring after Conhairm. Geralt snarled loudly as the thing drifted it’s head over them and turned to peer directly at Ciri with one massive cornflower blue eye. The others covered her with their bodies but the Wyvern just huffed and nudged at them with it’s covered snout. Lambert lashed out, hitting the thing solidly in the side of the head hard enough that it jerked out of their space. It glared and hissed, toxic drool leaking out from it’s partially open mouth. 

The moment hung in the air like a thrown blade, until gravity kicked back in and everything came crashing down. The Wyvern jerked against the ropes connected to its horns, once, twice, three times before they finally snapped. Ciri squeaked in concern, but the beast did not lunge at them the way Geralt expected. It simply tossed it’s head proudly before stretching slowly. It would have been almost non threatening if it wasn’t for the massive talons ripping into the ground underneath it as it rose up. The Wyvern kept one careful eye locked on them as it circled the small group a few times. 

Geralt quite literally held his breath as it finally settled again, circling them in its bulk. Wyverns weren’t as big as their massive Dragon cousin, but it was still large enough to fully circle them and just barely rest it’s chin on the tip of its own tail. Eskel cursed under his breath when the thing lifted one of it’s massive wings and tucked them under its spread surface. Wyvern wings were fairly thin skin, and enough light transferred through that they could see dimly. The wyvern grumbled a little and closed its eyes, seeming to fall asleep by the way its breathing evened out. 

“Holy shit,” Lambert breathed. 

“He’s nice!” Ciri chirped, squirming free from their protective circle. 

She stretched as far as their bound ankles would allow her, peering at the beast with curious eyes. Vesemir was the one chained the closest to her, and wrapped a cautioning hand around the girl's shoulder. 

“Many of the higher beasts have some intelligence, but you should never allow yourself to get close to one that you don’t know cub.” 

Ciri pouted, but allowed him to draw her back into the middle of them. Geralt caught his pseudo-fathers look and nodded, twisting on the ground so that Ciri could press against his side. The child had to be their first priority, they had to keep her safe or get her out. No matter the cost. 

“Is he a dragon?” 

“A Wyvern, cousin to the Greater Dragons.” Eskel told her. 

“You met a dragon once, didn't you Geralt?” Ciri asked. 

He grunted, running his fingers against the chains that locked around her ankles, “once. Borch was a good man.” 

Ciri made a face at his admittedly terrible attempt at distraction and started playing with his hair instead. He held in a cringe as she started to ease the dried blood away from his temple, leaving the skin tender. Whatever sorcerer they had on hand didn’t even attempt to heal them, though that might have been smart. Couldn’t have the Witchers lashing out too soon after all. Even with all four of them together getting out of a war camp a hundred strong was a death sentence. To add in Ciri only made it that much more impossible. 

The others knew it too. He could see it in the wild desperation in their eyes, in the fangs that were quick to flash in the dim light, in the way they held themselves still and stiff. None of them had any weapons, he checked his belt and didn’t find a single potion. The chains tying them together were heavily spelled to hold in a Witcher without any problems. Options were limited unless they caught a lucky break and managed to strike when one or more of them were unchained. Under their breath they discussed a watch cycle, keeping every sense alert for anyone close by enough to hear their whispers. 

Thankfully nobody came during the night, letting the Witchers at least attempt to rest. Not that Geralt, or any of the others, actually slept but meditation was better than nothing. And for as long as they could avoid torture the better. He had no doubt it was coming, it was a Nilfgaardian war camp afterall. Someone had spent the night screeching away on the far side of the camp, but so long as it wasn’t one of his brothers he really didn’t care. Early in the morning the Wyvern woke, looking at all of them like it had no idea why they were under its wing. Geralt flashed his teeth at the thing when it looked at him, and it almost seemed to laugh before sitting up and uncovering them. 

It sat up on its haunches, wrapping its deadly tail around itself much the same way a cat would and just looked down at them. Ciri at least was fascinated, asking if she could get closer. The sound of someone approaching had all of their heads whipping around, including the Wyverns. The person approaching wore heavy dark armor, almost looking more like a Witcher with the silver studding and leather than a common Nilfguuardian. The Wyvern trumpeted happily, darting its head forward to press against their chest as soon as they were close enough. The person gently patted at the hinge of its jaw, not even flinching at the threat it posed. 

“Oh you poor thing, who put a muzzle on you pet?” the person asked the beast. 

The Wyvern grumbled, but stayed perfectly still as gloved hands undid the heavy buckles that held the muzzle on and pulled it off. Geralt tensed, knowing that his brothers did as well as the Wyvern bared its maw to the sky, working its jaw open and closed a few times. The person, a woman he could tell now that she was closer, chuckled and patted the thing on the chest like it was a pet before turning to them. A dark horned helmet was perched on her head, covering everything but her mouth and chin. The eye slits were narrow enough that Geralt couldn’t see into the helmet, but that didn’t matter for long. 

The woman pulled the helmet off and tucked it under one arm, running a hand through messy brown curls that had escaped from a tight braid. She cocked her head and looked the group over with painfully blue eyes, freezing in place at the glimpse of Ciri before Eskel stepped in front of the child. She fisted her gloved hands in the dark green cloak that covered his shoulders, seeming to hunch inwards. 

She also absolutely wasn’t human. 

The horns that extended from her helmet had stayed on her head when she tossed it to the side, curling up-back-up from her temples. Her pupils were thin slits in the morning light, framed by iris’ that just took up too much room in her eye. When the woman chewed on the side of her lip Geralt could just see the edges of teeth that were too sharp to be considered normal. The Wyvern made a low rumbling noise, snaking its head down to nudge at the woman in the shoulder. She broke her stare to turn back to it, pushing its jaw up over her head to step under its throat.

“I know love, we will go get you something to eat just be patient with me.” 

The Wyvern huffed and moved away, brushing its tail against her side as it circled behind them to lay back down. She tossed her helmet against the abandoned post and tossed her cloak over her shoulders. The woman muttered something in a tongue that he didn’t recognize before directly meeting Geralt's eyes. 

“You may call me Seren. I am the beast handler of this camp.” 

“I suppose that’s why you got sent to deal with us hah girley?” Lambert snapped. 

Seren did not respond to the taunt beyond a raised eyebrow. Rather she moved around them to go to the where the Wyvern was trying to sneakily scooch its head closer to Ciri. As if they weren’t keenly aware of its every movement and Vesemir wasn’t getting ready to kick it across the nose. Seren clicked her tongue and the Wyvern raised its head, tilting in the air so that she could start carefully pulling the broken ropes from its horns. 

“So long as you are quiet and don’t start any issues you should be fine. Cahir is quite desperate to get his hands on a few of you, and Conhairm is not enough of an idiot to harm you before then.” 

Geralt growled at the implied threat but Seren did not look his way. Eskel pressed a bracing hand against the back of his shoulder offering what support they could in the situation. Cahir was widely known, and could not be allowed to get his hands on Ciri. Not while any of the Witchers were alive at least. Seren pulled the rope away and tossed it near Vesemir, very obviously facing away where she could not see them. Geralt narrowed his eyes in suspicion, which was not helped when she nearly bodily turned away while walking to the Wyvern's tail. 

“The forces do not feed us, so we will have to go on a hunt today. As much as I'm sure it will rankle your great Witcher pride, at least try to keep your mouths shut.” she tossed over her shoulder while unwrapping the Wyvern's tail.  

It grumbled happily at her again, whipping its now unwrapped tail through the air fast enough to make the breeze whine. Vesemir cursed lowly when it went right over his head, close enough to ruffle the man's hair but not actually hitting him. She tossed the stained cloth to the side much the same as she did the rope and started to clamber up the Wyverns spiked back. It held perfectly still as she did, and didn’t twitch as she flung herself into the slightly wider gap where shoulder met neck. Geralt wasn’t the only one to wince at the move, those spikes could rip a man's bits to pieces in one movement.

“And watch your boy too, some of the men around here take more of a liking to children than they should.” 

With that parting comment that made all four of them snarl, the Wyvern took off roaring to the sky as its wings kicked up massive plumes of dirt. A few of the close by soldiers cursed loudly, the scent of fresh fear hanging heavy and thick in the air. It made it clear that while Seren handled the Wyvern like nothing more than an especially large horse the sentiment wasn’t shared. The Witchers fell in closer together, glaring at everything that moved. 

“What do you think?” Lambert breathed directly into his ear. 

Geralt grunted, staring down one to curious guard for a long moment before the young man yelped and scurried off, “I don’t trust her. She could be trying to gain our trust so that we open up.” 

Eskel hummed in consideration, kicking dirt over the cloth Seren had pulled off of the Wyvern's tail. It was coated in poison, and could be used if they could just get their hands on any kind of weapon. Ciri was helping Vesemir wrap the rope along his leg and pull his pants over it, hopefully giving them something to work with later. Once done the girl looked at them, green eyes wide and worried. 

“I’m hungry.” 

Geralt sighed, moving forward to roughly brush a hand against the top of her head. They had managed to handle the bathroom situation in the dead of night, aided by the Wyvern covering them with it’s wing. So far no one had realized who Ciri was, but it would be impossible to keep the charade for long. Eventually someone would realize that she was a young girl, not a little boy and from there it was a short leap to her true identity. The little comment about watching her Seren made only confirmed that. 

“I know cub, we must hope that they will give us something.” 

And hopefully something edible Geralt added silently. The few times he had been captured he had forced himself to eat the rotten or disgusting slop that had been forced on him. He had no questions that the others would give Ciri the best of what they had, but that didn’t mean much if they weren't given anything. And as the day passed it was proven that they weren’t going to be given anything. Not even water, though plenty of soldiers made a point to walk by as they ate or drank. By the time the sun started to fall Ciri was curled into Eskels side whimpering every time her stomach gurgled. 

It was firmly evening by the time Geral heard distant wingbeats drawing closer. He looked up, peering into the fallen light to see the quickly growing speck of the Wyvern soaring through the air. It only took another quarter of an hour for it to sail right over their heads, dropping an impressive buck and two large logs directly in front of them before continuing. Lambert swore when they saw a distinctly red griffin clutched in the things other foot. It was the one they allowed to live near the Keep, old enough that it wasn’t a true threat and already lost its mate decades beforehand. The Wyvern had been at Kaer Morhen. 

They watched the Wyvern settle on the other side of the camp, and a barely visible figure jump off of its back and stalk into the large commander's tent. The buck was just outside of their reach with the chains, no matter how Lambert reached as the tallest of them. A few soldiers walked by and gave it funny looks, but no one touched it. Likely they knew better than to take a Wyverns meal. Though if the thing started eating directly in front of them Geralt was likely to chew off his own ankle just to go beat it to death. With his severed foot. 

The buck was visibly steaming in the cooling air, the scent of fresh meat and blood a near torture to hungry Witchers. They could easily go longer than two days without food, it was the thirst that would get them first, but that didn’t stop hunger pains. Someone, likely Seren, had gone through the trouble of gutting the buck as well. If they had a fire and a death wish they could easily cook Ciri something. Or the Witchers at least cook the meat raw, and if it was fresh enough Ciri likely could too. The girl's latent magic would likely keep her from getting sick. If only they were stupid enough to go after a Wyverns kill. 

Soon the Wyvern left the command tent, shuffling down the unusually wide passage slowly. It had to wait for men to jump out of its way, and some of the soldiers firmly stood in its way or spat in its direction as it tried to pass. Not that the Wyvern seemed to even care, its focus was locked on the buck. Once it got close enough it rolled the buck with the talons at the front of its wing arch. The 

Wyvern reared up a bit, visibly glancing down at the buck then up to the Withcers in seeming confusion. It cocked its head and lowered its snout to sniff the ground in front of the buck, where the scrapes from Lambert reaching could just be seen. 

Geralt braced himself as that head rose back into the air, ready to dodge in case it lashed out. Though he found himself struck dumb when instead the beast gently gathered the buck in its teeth and set it easily within reach. When none of them reached for it the Wyvern nudged the buck a little closer. It did so twice, until the carcass was resting against Eskels shins and the Wyvern was looking at them like they were idiots. It grumbled and set the edge of its wing talons into the gutted chest cavity and lifted the splayed ribs with the subtle creak of straining bones. 

Geralt hissed in a surprised breath at the glint of silver buried on the inside of the bucks spine. Ever so slowly Eskel reached down, glancing up at the Wyvern every step of the way. The thing didn’t so much as growl as Eskel reached into the chest cavity and slipped the silver throwing knife free. It was one of Geralts, an old one with a nicked blade that he had left in the Keep a few decades ago and forgotten about. Eskel carefully slipped the knife into his pants where it could be hidden and drifted back a step, nodding his head to the Wyvern. 

The thing just huffed again and shoved the buck forward hard enough that it nearly knocked Eskel over. The Wyvern grumbled at them and sat back on its haunches, scratching at the side of its head with one of its hind legs. Vesemir swore at the silver shackles locked around each of the things' ankles, surely heavily magiced based on the visible carvings on them. The Wyvern cocked its head and looked at the shackles then back at the oldest Witcher. It seemed to consider for a moment, before stretching its leg out as much as it was able to show the silver in the low light. 

“Damn beast” Vesemir said softly, “the girl’s got you locked down like the best castle doesn’t she?” 

The Wyvern hissed loudly, the first actually aggressive noise it had made since being set to guard them. It’s forked tongue flickered through the air briefly before it tucked its leg back under itself and obviously turned around. Vesemir blinked, hand raised in the air from where he had been reaching for the shackles. From the back they could see the gentle gradient of black to grey that made the things scales, and a few streaks of dried red blood and ichor. Whatever fight the buck and Griffin had put up hadn’t even scuffed the things scales. 

“I think you hurt his feelings,” Ciri whispered. 

The Wyvern snorted, turning its head a full 180 degrees to glare at them before facing away again. Ciri giggled, one hand covering her mouth. It was the brightest thing Geralt had heard in days, and if being made a fool of was what it took to make her laugh he was shockingly okay with it. Lambert called the Wyvern a name but focused on the buck for the rest of them. They couldn’t risk using the knife in case anyone saw it, but he was the strongest of them as well as largest and only struggled a little to literally rip one of the back legs free. The Wyvern twisted at the sound of tearing meat, rumbling lightly before it got up and circled them once again. It didn’t cover them with its wing, but even so it’s body blocked off the breeze. The sound of footsteps approaching came over the sound of Lambert and they all froze in place. 

“Move pet, lemme by.” a slurred but now known voice sounded. 

The Wyvern didn’t rise, but it twisted its neck in a distinctly disturbing motion to reach over its shoulder. When it came back around it was carefully holding Seren in its jaw, teeth placed precisely over her chest armor to lift without causing harm. It was obvious that whatever had happened while the pair were gone was more rough on the woman. Seren had ditched her cloak, and her armor was covered in the kind of gore that was usually reserved for a nest of Drowners. She hung limply from the Wyverns hold, and when it carefully set her to her feet on the other side of its bulk she nearly fell over. 

“Good. Food for Witchers.” she muttered, leaning against the Wyvern's head. 

It butted its snout under her arm and guided her close enough that the Witchers drew away. Seren didn’t even seem to notice, fumbling at her water skin with seemingly numb fingers. Once she managed to get it untied she tossed it at Geralt before sitting right down in the dirt.

“Oh hello ground,” she patted the dirt lightly, “nice to be here again.” 

 The Wyvern nudged at her anxiously, making her hiss out something in whatever strange language she used and batt at its snout. It didn’t let her push away though, maneuvering its wing half over them so it could pin her flat down and start softly grooming the back of her head. Geralt nearly choked on air at the sight. This was above and beyond for even a Royal Wyvern, and he honestly hoped that he was just making up the intelligence in its eyes. 

“Are you injured?” Ciri asked from where Vesemir was trying to block her sight. 

Seren grunted and twisted her head to look at them, revealing that her pupils were tiny little slits. Geralt cursed, throwing an extra arm out to block Ciri. The water skin in his hand could be used as a bludgeoning weapon if needed. Seren just blinked at them, a forked tongue darting from between her teeth to scent the air. She didn’t seem insulted by the girl's question though, even as the Wyvern huffed from where it was still doing its best to destroy her hair.

“Conhairm will stop trying new poisons eventually.” 

“Why is he poisoning one of his own?” Geralt asked. 

Seren groaned, trying to sit up but still pinned. She hissed out some more in what might have been her native language, weakly shoving at the Wyvern the best she could. It wasn’t until she actually tried to snap her teeth at its nose that it actually drew back though and even then it placed its head in her lap once she was mostly sitting upright. Seren rubbed in between its horns as she panted, the stink of sickness and sweat now clear on her skin. 

“He wants Dandelion. Thinks that if he offs me then my Wyvern will just fall in and accept a new master.” she scoffed, echoed by the growl from the Wyvern. 

“He’s named Dandelion?” Ciri giggled, squirming away from Vesemir and moving as close as her chains allowed. 

Seren snorted and said something to the Wyvern in her language before answering, “No. I change it up pretty often, Dandelion, Aconite, Ivy, Belladonna, Oleander, Hemlock. Flowers pretty and vicious.” 

Ciri hummed, practically bouncing in the dirt. Geralt kept one eye on the two of them as he opened the water skin and sniffed at it deeply. No poisons that he could detect, and none of the drugs that could take down a Witcher. He took a cautious drink and sat it to the side, willing to test it before giving it to the others. 

“Here.” Seren grunted. 

She threw a small set of strikers at Ciri and gestured for the girl to pass them on. Geralt glared at her, trying to figure out her angle. He wasn’t good at reading people, but there was no way an enemy soldier should have been treating them so well. Even one that was apparently getting poisoned on a regular basis. She had a whole Wyvern, if Seren really wanted to she could escape and likely never be caught. Geralt had heard of some of the mountainous islands out past Skelegie that rode Wyverns and Dragons. He didn’t say anything as Lambert lit a fire though, holding the roughly skinned deer haunch over it. 

They wouldn’t trust her but they would accept whatever grace they could get. Somewhere in the camp someone started strumming a lute. Geralt couldn’t hold in his instinctive snarl at the sound, heart giving a sickening lurch. The Wyvern hissed, drawing his gaze once again. It was looking straight at him, pupils narrowed to slits. Geralt bared his teeth, but before the Wyvern retaliated Seren reached up and patted it on the snout like an ornery dog. It caught her hand between its teeth but didn’t bite down, standing in the face of everything the Witchers knew about Wyverns. 

“Shut up you two piece whoreson!” Seren shouted. 

The lute player yelled back, but stopped the music. Geralt nodded to her once, the most appreciation he could show. He was sure if Jaskier was here things would either be better or much worse. It always depended on how the Bard could control his damn temper and if he thought before speaking. Geralt shook the thought out of his mind, turning to help Lambert at the fire. They fell into silence as the meat finished cooking and they passed it around. The whole carcass couldn’t be used, but the Wyvern just snapped up the remains and started crunching on them when it was clear they were done. 

All together it certainly wasn’t the worst experience of being captured Geralt had faced so far. Actually one of the better ones in all honesty. Even if that respite would only last until Cahir finally showed himself. Hopefully by that point they would figure something out. Gealt munched on his side of the deer, watching when Seren eventually got to her feet and moved as far as the Wyvern could help her before puking everything in her stomach up. It helped her back into the circle it made of its body and let her settle at the crook of its neck before half covering them with its wing. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes at the thought behind that move. Any beast likely wouldn’t think about the safety of having a lit fire to smother their air. He knew that Dragons were higher thinking creatures, and while there wasn’t much study on Wyverns he had a theory that the Royal ones at least might be as well. The way it responded definitely suggested that it was sentient, it responded to comments and commands, it took matters into its own hands, well talons, and it had none of the instinctual fear of Witchers it should have. 

Combined with the way that Seren was definitely not a human, and she didn’t smell like she had ever known fear even when poisonous teeth were close to fragile skin. The way she talked about the Wyvern was as if it had thoughts and opinions, like a person rather than a beast. He remembered how his medallion hadn’t so much as twitched around Borch until the man transformed. He wasn’t sure if the Wyvern was capable of changing shape but it was possible. He glanced at the silver locked around his legs and changed his mind, it was probable. 

And likely Conhairm didn’t know or didn’t care. Men could be monsters, but they tended to be more careful when dealing with creatures that could think before attacking. Geralt met slit golden eyes, just barely open in the dying light of the embers. For the first time he didn’t bare his teeth or growl, but nodded his head just once. The Wyv- Dandelion slowly blinked before raising it- his head enough to nod back. Definitely sapient then. That changed things. He laid back as Eskel roused for his watch, already adjusting his plans. If he could tempt the sorcerer close enough to kill it was likely that Dandelion could be an asset. He could at least take Ciri away. 

Geralt was woken from his light doze by the sound of a scuffle. He froze, cocking his head slightly to listen better. He was aware of the others coming to attention, the feeling of danger in the air ratcheting up. 

“Shut up you idiot!” someone hissed from the other side of Dandelion.

The Wyvern cracked it’s eye open, pupils flaring before shrinking down. Vesemir jerked a hand at him, silently urging him to stay quiet as they strained to hear better. 

“You heard the tales! That white haired one is the Butcher of Blaviken. If you ever paid attention to anything other than your cock you know that he would have that little Cintrian princess.” an older voice hissed back.

Dandelion curled his jowls up over his dagger like teeth, the spines along his spine visibly raising. Geralt silently snarled right along with him. Eskel wrapped a hand around his wrist as they silently rose to their feet, staying crouched to not be seen over the bulk of the Wyvern. The only one still asleep was Seren, though he supposed some allowance could be made for poisoned people. 

“Nah, I saw the rat as they drug them in, an ugly little boy they’re apparently trying to make a new monster.” the younger voice answered. 

“Even better.” the older voice grunted. 

It seemed that comment was what broke the Wyverns' patience. It reacted faster than the wind, shoving to his feet at whipping that deadly tail around in the same motion. Geralt had enough time to see the shock on a young man's face before Dandelion buried his trident shaped tail into the boy's chest and pierced through into the ground. The older man had enough time to shout roughly and lash out with the sword he held before Dandelion's jaws locked over his torso. He could not make any sound after that, being torn literally in half. 

Dandelion flung the leg half of the man over the closest tent, landing with a grisly wet thump out of sight. He dropped the head half in front of a still unconscious Seren, looking at all of them with bared bloody teeth. Geralt slowly drifted back from where he had advanced, covering Ciri’s body with his own. Even the most rational creature could go mad with blood in their mouths, and he wouldn’t risk her. Dandelion watched his every move before blinking and seeming to relax all at once. It circled around them, making a low crooning noise and wiping its nose across the ground. 

“Fucker taste bad?” Lambert strained out. 

The Wyvern just huffed and snapped up the last of the bones from the buck deer, crunching on them loudly. Geralt finally forced himself to relax, taking in the cut that had been placed on Dandelion's chest with distant concern. It wasn’t bad, more like a scrape on something that large. Still, the blood was rank, and nearly as acidic as Wyvern's venomous spit. There was something about the smell that tugged at his mind, nothing that he could actually place. 

“Thank you,” Eskel muttered, “for protecting her,” He added at the Wyverns odd look. 

Dandelion froze where it was licking at its chest. After a long moment it got up, grabbing Seren gently in its teeth and dragging her limp form to rest nearly at Eskels feet. Every time he had curled up around them so far there had been space left between them. Now he curled so tight that they would have to lean against its scaled sides if they wanted to relax. That snakelike head shoved right past Lambert, ignoring his complaint before gently nudging at Geralt's hip. He snarled and held his ground, but Ciri did no such thing. She stepped right around him and up to the Wyverns face. 

“Hello Dandelion.” she said, holding a hand out for him to sniff. 

The Wyvern grumbled out its own greeting and pressed its snout against her palm, still looking up at Geralt. He held perfectly still, not wanting to risk spooking the beast into snapping out of self defense. More than anything this confirmed his thought on if Dandelion was intelligent. He still wasn’t sure about being a shape changer, but there was no way it was just a wild creature. 

“Thank you for everything you’re doing. You’re nothing like the stories say Wyverns are.” Ciri said sweetly. 

Dandelion chuffed in a way that sounded like a laugh, raising its head to rest its chin on the girl's shoulder. She giggled and patted him on the side of the jaw like she had seen Seren do, making him close his eyes and groan. Geralt sent the others a half frantic look trying to silently ask if he had gone mad, but just saw the same shock reflected in their faces. Dandelion eventually drew away and tucked his head against his own shoulder, dropping to sleep swiftly. 

The Witchers eventually settled down, cautiously leaning against the Wyverns' sides and only relaxing when they got no reaction. Come morning there was no question that things would get ugly. Probably including the end of the boring stretch of no torture. But they had at least one knife now, and whoever got removed first would undoubtedly fight. Geralt didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, just tilting his head up to watch the stars. 

Chapter Text

Dandelion woke late in the morning. The Wyvern groaned as it shifted, the acrid scent of blood getting stronger when it rose. Geralt wrinkled his nose and leaned away, hoping the morning breeze would kick back up to blow the overwhelming stench away. It stung his lungs with every inhale, caustic poison laced through the beast's very blood. Like sulfur and citrus all rolled up and shoved up his nose. Geralt tried to hold in the sneeze, he really did, but didn’t quite manage it. Dandelion reared back with a snort, somehow giving him a deeply affronted look. 

Geralt growled at him, but the beast just dropped its face directly in front of his own and growled back. As much as he hated to admit it Wyverns had the much better growl. Dandelion huffed like it was laughing and stretched out before sniffing at the cut on his chest. It wasn’t deep, and a few passes of that forked tongue cleared away the fresh beads of blood before they could even slide along the cracked scales. Seren muttered something from where she was curled up, waking with a deep stretch. She opened her eyes and yelped at the top half of the older man's body nealy at her feet. 

“What the fuck?!” 

“Two men approached last night,” Eskel started, “they were trying to get a look at the boy, your beastie didn’t approve.” 

“Someone already knows that something happened,” Lambert added, “they found the other man he killed, and the other half of this fool's body.”

Serens eyes narrowed, the girl rising up to move over to the man. Her scent twisted with disgust, and she spat on the body before turning to look Dandelion over. The Wyvern chuffed, opening its maw to drool over the body in a copy of his master. 

“Oh dear. This is going to be a mess and a half to deal with.” 

She scraped her hair away from her face before nodding and setting her shoulders, “Conhairm needs to be told in a very particular way. You five keep your heads down and for the love of anything holy do not let that gi- child out of your sight.” 

Geralt grunted in agreement, echoed by the others. Seren grabbed Dandelion by either side of his jaw and pulled the Wyvern's head up to rest her brow against his. She whispered to him in the language they shared for a long time, ignoring when he started up a low keening noise. When she pulled away she had to knuckle away tears before setting her shoulders and cocking her jaw proudly. 

“Chin up Buttercup, I’ll be back.” she promised. 

Geralt's head whipped around so fast his hair carried with the motion, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead she gave them a sloppy two finger salute and turned on her heel swaggering her way to the command tent. His mind spun through connections of painfully familiar blue eyes and chestnut curls. Not even a little afraid of gathered Witchers, even comfortable enough to sleep near them. The way she had seemed to recognize Ciri immediately and was trying to protect the child. 

“She’s related to Jaskier.” 

Geralt almost didn’t realize he spoke aloud until Vesemir turned to him. The older Witcher looked back at Seren’s vanishing form, then at the Wyvern that had snapped its head around consideringly. He hummed, placing a hand on Geralt's shoulder and squeezing lightly. 

“You can ask later, for now let's focus on what to do next.” 

Dandelion and Geralt grumbled at almost the exact same time, making Ciri giggle. She leaned against his side, wrapping his hand in her own. She had heard him talk about Jaskier enough times over the past year, and when his storytelling abilities didn’t hold up went to the other Witchers. Jaskier had only been going to Kaher Moren for the past five years, but he always left an impression. 

Geralt was drawn from his musings when Dandelion moved, literally standing over them and drawing his wings in close enough that they had to gather under his chest. The Wyvern lowered himself enough that Lambert had to hunch and started snarling, the noise loud enough to rattle the dirt. In the gap between his neck and shoulders they could just see a handful of soldiers surrounding the Wyvern. Geralt shifted his weight, dropping into a protective crouch with Ciri behind him. As soon as the first scream split the air he realized why the soldiers were surrounding the Wyvern. 

“Seren.” Ciri whispered. 

Geralt cut his eyes to Vesemir and the man nodded before moving to cover Ciri’s ears with his hands. Another scream sounded and Dandelion roared in response, shaking with how tightly he was holding himself. Eskel risked his fingers to reach out and run a hand down the inside of the Wyverns wing, quietly muttering a prayer. They all knew the sound of torture, and Geralt wished he didn’t recognize the distant sound of whip cracks. Dandelion whined, crouching low enough they all had to hit their knees or be crushed. A noise that was more animal terror than anything cleaved their hearts and the Wyvern was done for. 

Lambert called after him as Dandelion bound forward in three launching leaps. Bowstrings twanged, two arrows embedding in each of his wings. Dandelion went down screeching, thrashing as well as he could when cobbled. That tail swung in devastating arcs, knocking at least six soldiers into the surrounding tents. Geralt lunged to the end of their chains, fighting against the silvers hold until he felt the skin of his ankle tear away. They were forced to watch as more and more soldiers pounced on the downed Wyvern, overpowering him with pure numbers. 

At least until the air thickened with magic and chaos and a Mage stalked close. It was the same one that had attacked them to begin with, and he gave that same twisted smile as he raised his hands and started chanting. Dandelion roared and fought against invisible bonds, but the Mage lifted him high in the air and started carrying him away. Ciri screamed after him, voice wavering right at the edge of her constrained Eldar magic but even her might was shoved down. They could do nothing to help, chained and useless like mad wolves. 

The soldiers laughed. A few dared to get close enough for the Witchers to reach and by the time Geralt came back to himself he had blood and meat caught between his teeth. He turned at the sound of Ciri sobbing, heart breaking anew and the devastation on her face. Eskel was trying to comfort her, guarded by a nearly rabid Lambert. Both of them also had gore on their faces, and Eskel was dripping blood from a nasty cut to his shoulder but that seemed to be the worst of their injuries. They couldn’t say the same for the twin screams and roars coming from the other side of the camp. 

“Geralt, give me a hand.” Vesemir ordered. 

He turned to the older man, taking in the bodies strewn across the ground that Vesemir was searching. Ten of them, foolish men that thought they could take on Witchers just because they were chained and unarmed. Like they weren’t the monsters in mens fairy tales. Vesemir was relieving them of their weapons and any armor that would fit the Witchers, making quick work of it in the time they were given. By the time he was done each Witcher had two swords and the smallest blade had been pressed into Ciri’s trembling hands. The armor was piecemeal, but they took what they could get. The next person that approached them wouldn’t be walking away. And if Geralt could get out of these chains the whole damn camp would burn. 

“I’m going to kill them,” Ciri echoed his thoughts with eerie timing. 

She rose to her feet, visibly bracing herself. Her shaking tapered to an end and when she looked up to meet his eyes Geralt saw Calenthe reflected at him. The young princess’ lip curled like the Lion she would become, voice perfectly steady as she repeated herself. 

“I’m going to kill them.” 

Geralt rested his hand on her shoulder, not finding any words to comfort her when another scream reached their hearing. She wasn’t much older than he had been when he started their training, but she already stood stronger than he ever had. Hard eyes glared in the direction of the command tent as if she could light it on fire by will alone. They stood together as the long day passed, no knee bending and no shoulder relaxing. 

Hours later the screams cut off, and Geralt prayed that Seren was unconscious. With a mage nearby it was unlikely, but he wished for that blessing for the girl. The roars did not stop, growing more and more desperate as the sun tracked across the sky. When even the low keening whines drifted away on the breeze Geralt closed his eyes and swore. Ciri whispered a Cintran prayer, wishing safe passage to the afterlife and turned to bury her face against his side. Geralt ran his hand through her cropped hair and silently offered his own well wishes, certain that Seren and Dandelion were no more. 

As the sun started to creep below the tree line they all watched Conhairm approach. He dragged a body through the dirt, and as he got closer it was Vesemir who swore at the sight of Seren. Conhairm drug the girl's limp body by the tattered back of her chemise, blood tracking behind them. The smile on his face was what Geralt always pictured when he thought of Nilfgaard, cruel and full of madness. He stopped right at the line Vesemir had made of the bodies of the soldiers they slaughtered. Slowly Conhairm looked at the bodies, tracking his eyes over their torn out throats and certainly smelling the dried piss stench of them. 

Geralt bared his teeth, feeling the blood flake off of his face. But Conhairm just laughed, throwing his head back and shoulders shaking with it. Vesemir snarled in a rare lock of restraint, stepping forward and readying with his stolen blades. The soldiers behind Conhairm jerked, but he held a hand up to stop them. 

“Do not mind the rabid beasts my friends. So long as you do not get within their reach you will be safe.” 

“Dirty son of a whore,” Lambert spat. 

Conhairm barely even glanced at him, focusing on Ciri. The princess did not cower away. Rather she stepped right up beside Eskel and lifted her chin and sword, glaring with cold eyes. 

“Cahir will be here in another week. Then the fun really begins.” Conhairm smirked, dragging greedy eyes over Ciris bared teeth, “if this is what we do on our own I hope you're ready to see the art we make of you.” 

He threw Seren forward, the girl making a barely noticeable noise when she hit the ground over the line of the bodies. None of them twitched at the showing, but Geralt kept his eye on her as she tried to rise to one elbow but collapsed before she could even get her shoulders off the ground. 

“I will watch you bleed Conhairm.” Ciri promised. 

Conhairm just laughed and turned away, confident in his soldiers that kept watch over his back. 

“You are certainly welcome to try dear child, but I don’t think it will be me bleeding.” 

“It will be.” Ciri whispered, watching him stroll away. 

They didn’t move until Conhairm was no longer in sight and the last soldier had melted into the thickening shadows. Geralt marched forward, crouching at Seren’s side after sheathing his swords. The girl was barely breathing, but she was alive for better or worse. He tried to be as gentle as possible when lifting her, but she still made an animal noise of fear and pain against his chest. Geralt hushed her and stalked to where they had lit the fire the night before, kicking the embers back to life. Eskel started quickly feeding it chips of wood from their last log, lighting it back enough to where they could see. 

Seren was… she was in bad shape. 

They had stripped her top half of armor and her tunic, leaving just her thin chemise as protection of the whipping that had shredded through her back. He could see the bones of her ribs through tattered meat. Ciri gagged at his side, but refused to be drawn away when Lambert tried. All of the bones in her right hand seemed to be shattered, likely stomped on by heavy boots. The side of her jaw was heavily swollen, possibly broken as well as most of her teeth on that side knocked out and slowly oozing blood out of her open mouth. 

“Gods above and below,” Vesemir muttered. 

Geralt ripped the remains of her chemise away, trying in vain to wipe some of the blood off of her skin. Not that she was bleeding anymore, and that was the worst sign. She had thankfully passed back out when he sat her on the ground, but there wasn’t much that could be done with that much damage. Not unless that mage decided to heal her enough to start again later. He leaned forward to sniff at her mouth, getting a strong lungful of whatever poison had been poured down her throat. Sulfur and citrus. 

“The fuckers poured Wyvern blood down her throat.” 

Eskel cursed filthily, rising from the fire to join Geralt at her side. He ran careful fingers along her ribs, swearing more when he realized how many of them were broken. And just by feeling on her stomach he could tell the internal bleeding would kill her before anything else did. 

“Is she going to be okay?” Ciri whispered. 

Geralt grit his teeth giving Eskel a pleading look, his brother sighed but answered, “she’s not going to make it through the night.” 

Ciri whimpered and flung herself to her knees by them. Her eyes bounced from each showing of damage, blood visibly draining from her face. Geralt lifted his arm and let her burrow into his side, hiding her face against his ribs. 

“There's nothing we can do cub, it would be kinder to put her down before she tries to wake.” 

Not that he really thought that the girl would, but just in case. It would simply be cruel to even try to wake her with the extent of the damage. The blood coating the back of her head probably meant that she wasn’t even aware anymore. 

“No!” Ciri half yelled. 

“Cub-” Vesemir tried. 

Ciri whirled to face him, anger igniting in her scent, “ No.” 

“Cub she is just going to suffer, it is not fair to put another person through that.” Lambert said in a rare moment of gentleness. 

Ciri shook her head, tears sliding over her cheeks, “No. The sorceress is coming, she just has to live until then.”

Her voice echoed in the way it did when she used her magic, raising the hairs along his arms. Geralt and Eskel glanced at each other before turning to look at the girl. Her eyes were distant, looking at something that none of them had any hope of seeing. Seren twitched out of nowhere, a low whine slipping out her shredded throat. Geralt's gaze darted down, seeing her eyes half open, focussing on nothing. One pupil was slit so thin that it was barely visible and the other was blown wide, the whites of her eyes stained red with shattered blood vessels. 

“She’s coming, Seren.” Ciri promised, refocusing to peer into the girl's eyes, “Elide is coming.” 

If the girl understood what Ciri was saying she didn’t respond, slipping back into unconsciousness between breaths. Ciri sighed and gathered the remnants of her chemise to wipe at the girl's forehead, slowly beginning to clean the blood off her skin. 

“Who is Elide?” Eskel asked.

Ciri shrugged, focusing on her self assigned task, “I don’t know. A Sorceress, I can taste the magic in the air.” 

“And you think she’s going to help?” Lambert asked. 

Ciri jerked her head up, eyes flinty as she stared him down, “ she will.” 

Lambert held his hands up in surrender, silence taking hold of the night air. The only sound for nearly an hour was the crackle of the small fire and Ciri quietly singing to Seren. Footsteps approaching had all of them shooting up, swords whining through the air as they were brought to bear. It was that damned mage, giving them a sickly smirk as he levitated Dandelion over his head. He didn’t even have the decency to struggle to hold the Wyverns bulk aloft. 

“Aw the little traitor finally found monsters that match her,” he crooned, leering at Seren. 

Ciri hissed and chunked a small knife that they had taken from one of the soldiers knicking the mage on the cheek. The mage snarled, but didn’t lash out. Instead he dropped Dandelion to the ground with a sickening crunch when the Wyvern landed wing first. 

“The beast is just lucky that Conharim wants it alive.” 

The mage turned on his heel and stalked through the tents, leaving them once more in the relative safety alone. Thankfully though he had dropped Dandelion within range of their chains so the Witchers could approach. Geralt tried to block Ciri from approaching but she barely spared the breath to scoff at him before scurrying right up to the wounded Wyverns side. He was in just about the same shape as Seren, clearly beaten by someone that knew what they were doing. 

The poor animal barely had any scales that were intact, deep slices ripping into the fragile skin underneath. Most of the spines along his back had been snapped off, adding to the sulphuric black blood that coated his heaving sides. One of the tines on his trident shaped tail had also been broken away. A few teeth were missing even within the solid silver muzzle that had been locked over his head, and this tip of one of his horns was cracked a good six inches into the bone. 

It was his wings that would kill the Wyvern. 

Someone had taken a blade to them, ripping all the way from the solid bone at their front to the edges, leaving nothing but ragged scraps of skin. If the wings could be saved it would take a team of Sorceress’ and likely weeks of time. And that was solidly if. Most flying creatures did not survive long if they were grounded, it killed some part of their soul. Ciri did not hesitate to rip the muzzle off of Dandelion, prompting a low groan from him when it ripped clearly burned skin. 

“Shh, it’s okay.” she whispered, gently petting the hinge of his jaw, “help is coming I promise.” 

It wasn’t clear if Dandelion understood her or was just searching for comfort, but he weakly pressed his head into Ciri’s chest. She kept whispering gentle reasurences to him as the night carried on, even when his heaving breaths slowed to nearly nothing. The moon was starting to sink down when the familiar taste of chaos filled the air. A portal silently opened and for a split second Geralt wished for Yennefer. Destiny bound them, if there was ever a time that she would show up it was when they had no hope left to them. 

The woman that stepped through the portal was no one he had ever met. She was the typical cut of a Sorceress, all gorgeous curves and a flowing stream of shining red hair framing a sweet face with wide hazel eyes. But the second she glanced around and realized the state of everything, that beauty flickered like a mirage, anger crackling through the air thick and heady. She brushed straight passed them and dropped to her knees at Seren’s side, curling over her head with fluttering hands that didn’t land on ravaged skin. 

“ What the fuck happened,” she snarled. 

“Conhairm hurt them.” Ciri answered, not faltering in the face of the Sorceress’ anger. 

She glared at each of them, eyes darting over the chains that connected them with a twisted sneer. Geralt growled, lifting his blade enough that the firelight glinted across its surface. Not that a steel blade would do much against a Sorceress, but it seemed to shock her into moving again. 

“Girl, how much training do you have?” 

Ciri clenched her fists but answered evenly, “I’ve only spent one season studying under Yennefer of Vengerberg.” 

The Sorceress cursed but nodded, gesturing for Ciri’s hand, “you might be able to help then. I trust Yennefer taught you how to transfer energy?” 

Ciri nodded, not hesitating to take the Sorceress’ hand. They knelt on either side of Seren with their hands clasped over her still body. Geralt tried to grab her shoulder and pull her back but those hazel eyes snapped up and froze him in place. 

“I will not hurt your lion cub. Do not let your paranoia lose both of our hearts.” 

His brow furrowed but the Sorceress didn’t waste anymore time before bowing her head and letting chaos leap. The pure magical energy held between the two of them filled the air like honey, coating his throat in the cloying flavor. Geralt cursed and turned, waiting for any of the surrounding soldiers to rise. Even humans could feel that much magic being cast. But no one made a sound. The whole camp was perfectly silent outside of their little circle. He peered into the night, barely seeing the shimmer in the air that must have been some kind of protection from waking the camp. 

Which was quickly sorely needed. As one the Sorceress and Ciri lowered their glowing hands to rest on Seren’s ruined back. The girl's eyes ripped open and she screamed. Geralt cringed away, his sensitive hearing not prepped for that kind of assault. The others covered their own ears, trying in vain to muffle the sounds coming from the two magic users. It likely only lasted five minutes, but every second of the time dragged on his delicate nerves. When the magic finally settled the two were panting heavily, and Ciri passed smooth out. 

“Fuck!” The Sorceress caught the girl before she hit the dirt and carefully laid her down before looking up. 

Geralt advanced slowly, only the rise and fall of his daughter's chest keeping him from attacking, “you said she would be fine!” 

“I said I wouldn’t harm her,” the Sorceress corrected, struggling to her feet, “I didn’t realize she would blow past her own limits like that. Nothing that will hurt her, she’s just exhausted.” 

He grunted in response, checking Ciri’s pulse for himself. It was hard to focus in on her heartbeat when Dandelions was so loud in his ears. The Sorceress went to the Wyvern next, cursing so filthily that a brothel whore would be impressed. In the end she just ran a hand down the bridge of his nose before turning back to the Witchers. 

“I can’t do anything for him here, I need to get him somewhere safe.” 

“If you free us then we can take him to Kaer Morhen.” Vesemir promised. 

Geralt shot him a startled look but didn’t argue. It had taken over a decade before he convinced the old man to let Jaskier come up, and that was after Geralt had been traveling with him for a few years. Yet the Sorceress they had just met would be welcome. Though all things considered he guessed this was a good way to make quick friends. In any case the Sorceress nodded and wiped her palms against her cream colored dress. 

“Okay. Agdalaide’s magic is strong in those chains, but if I can get back to my camp I have something that will help. Stay safe, I’ll return by the time the sun rises.” 

They nodded at the Sorceress and she opened another portal, darting through without another look back. Geralt sat by Ciri and pulled her head into his lap, taking the moment to look over Seren. The wounds on her back had been scabbed over, and her breathing was noticeably easier. The scabs were certain to tear open if she moved much, but it was likely the Sorceress had been more focussed on the internal damage to do much with the external. Almost as if she sensed his eyes Seren’s opened, pupils still fully unfocussed but slightly more aware. 

She rasped something in the other language, struggling to lift her head out of the dirt and look around. Vesemir stepped up to try and sooth her, but it wasn’t until she managed to get a glimpse of Dandelion's dark form and let out a broken noise that they realised what she wanted. He carefully gathered the girl in his arms and carried her to the Wyverns side, the Witchers silent as they scented the terror and pain dripping from her like tears. Seren passed out again when Vesemir set her down, but she had a hand wrapped around the edge of his wing and didn’t let go. 

They passed the night in that strained silence, until the sky started to lighten and Geralt kicked out the fire. The Sorceress hadn’t shown yet, but even if she didn’t their blades would be whetted with blood soon. Ciri woke when Geralt eventually nudged her and went to Dandelion, rubbing gentle hands over his face. The poor thing had never fully passed out, and his eyes could barely focus but he still nuzzled into her chest at the attention. 

Seren snorted lightly as the first sun rays warmed the sky, waking up and looking briefly over to them. Geralt wouldn’t deny the slight relaxation in his muscles when he saw her eyes crack open. He could hear her heart beating through the night, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he watched someone slip into a sleep that only ended in death. He was still concerned with the fact that her pupils were clearly two different sizes. As much as the Sorceress had tried healing, that much damage in one go was impossible. Dandelion groaned, trying to lift his head and failing. Ciri crooned, running her hands along his brow and trying to offer what support she could. 

“We should be dead.” Seren slurred. 

Geralt grunted and held the water skin to her mouth for her to suck in a greedy few swallows, “you should be. A red headed Sorceress appeared out of nowhere and pulled you back from the brink.” 

She groaned and let her head fall back against Dandelion's side, “Elide good.” 

“Who is she?” Lambert asked, keeping his voice kindly down. 

“My heart mate,” Seren answered, coughing weakly before continuing, “we mate for life.” 

“You’re a half breed.” Geralt guessed blindly. 

Seren sniffed but nodded, patting at Dandelion's side without raising her hand, “me ‘n my brother.” 

“Your… brother.” Vesemir said delicately. 

Geralt privately agreed. If they were both half breeds one was clearly much luckier to be mostly human shaped. Seren hummed, peeling her eyes back open to look in their direction. 

“Bastard got attacked a yearish ago, some fuck stuck him in this form an’ we cn’t fix it.” she smiled dopily, not seeming to register the way the Witchers stared. 

Not seeing how Geralt stared. Slowly his eyes slid to the barely visible blue that peeked through Dandelion's lids. Dandelion. He remembered a conversation that had started a year into his and Jaskiers travels, when the Bard was bitching about not being taken seriously and Geralt had responded that he shouldn’t have named himself after a flower. Jaskier had exploded into detail about how Buttercups were actually poisonous, but it didn’t matter because his name translated to Dandelion in common which took the joke out of his name. 

He crouched at Ciri’s side and captured the Wyverns chin in one palm, lifting his head to be level with Geralts. “Jaskier?” 

Dand- the Wyv- fucking Jaskier, sighed and pressed his snout into Geralts throat. He stayed frozen there, barely registering the others strings of curses or Ciri’s startled question as he stared into his bard's eyes. How hadn’t he seen? He had never seen another with that color of cornflower blue eyes, not until Seren. And now that he was looking it couldn’t be more obvious how alike they looked. Possibly even twins. 

“Geralt,” Vesemers hand on his shoulder brought him back into focus the same way it had since he was a boy. 

He nodded, carefully setting Jaskiers head down and giving him one final pat to the brow before squaring his shoulders. The edge of the sun could just be seen over the trees as a portal finally opened once more. Elide stepped through, elegant gown replaced with finely crafted armor. It was clearly elven made, including the silver blade hanging at her hip. Geralt raised an eyebrow when he looked at, making her snort and wrap a hand around the pommel. 

“I started training with Magic long after I learned to gut men.” 

He nodded and gestured down to the chains locking them together. Elide rolled her eyes at the silent demand but crouched at the post that held them in the center. She pulled a massive blood ruby from the bag on her other hip and placed it directly on the post before chanting slowly in Eldar. Magic once more rose into the air, darting along the chains binding them in little bursts of golden sparks. Geralt heaved a massive sigh when the shackle split from around his ankle, rotating the joint and making a face at the torn skin. It hadn’t been able to heal under the magic, and hurt like a bitch but wasn’t terrible. 

Elide tossed the now clear crystal to the side carelessly, not twitching when it shattered like brittle glass. Whatever magic had been held within it was obviously drained. She clapped her hands sharply and gave an impressively feral smile. 

“I know these men are monsters, but I think steel shall cut them down even so.” 

Lambert chuckled darkly, helping the Sorceress to her feet, “someone needs to stay with these two and guard them just in case something goes wrong.” 

“I will,” Eskel volunteered, gesturing to the deep gash in his shoulder. 

It had started to fester with their healing being so stifled, and would likely stunt his sword swings. Geralt nodded, clapping his brother on his good shoulder quickly followed by the other two Witchers. They did not wish each other luck, rather the wolves just smiled grimly and ran tongues over sharp teeth in silent promise. 

“I’m going to cast a sleeping spell,” Elide told them, “work your way through as many men as you can while it’s in effect, the less fighting you can do the better.” 

Maybe other men would have felt something about slaughtering men while they slept. Not Geralt. No, he had the scent of his bard's blood and pain clouding his mind and rage burning in his bones. He chanced a look at Ciri taking in the vicious gleam in her eyes. That would not bode well for whatever she would say. 

“Can you leave Conhairm awake?” 

Elide raised her brows but shrugged, “he’s all the way on the other side of the camp. I will be lucky to hold this spell for three whole minutes, it’s likely that he will wake before you get to him.” 

Ciri smiled what she called her courtly smile, “good. I promised to kill him.” 

Maybe other men would have felt something about their eleven year old daughter promising to slaughter men. Geralt was as always not like other men, and he burned with vindictive pride for his child surprise. He gently ruffled her hair with the side of his fist, offering silent support in the best way he knew how. Elide gave them one final moment to ready themselves before raising her hands and beginning to chant. The quiet of the sleeping camp got that much thicker as a hundred men fell into deep sleep at the same time.

They did not know to dream of monsters with flashing eyes creeping into their homes and slitting their throats but that was okay. 

It's what happened anyway. 

Geralt drifted through the morning light like a wraith, wetting his blade with the blood of two dozen men before Elide’s spell broke. All at once noise slammed back into reality, the men that were still alive coming to at the same time with bone deep terror. Between the three Witchers and Ciri and Elide they had taken down nearly eighty men before the rest knew that they were under attack. And with Elide sprinting for the mage the second her spell was cast there wasn’t even magic to make the coming fight interesting. 

He enjoyed it plenty though. Watching the men that attacked what was his go down choking on his blade and soaking him with their blood. Within five minutes the only man left alive in the whole camp was Conhairm. Geralt desperately wanted to rip the shit stains throat out with his teeth, but Ciri had already claimed his life. Watching her dance around a man three times her senior like he was the bumbling child was gift enough as it was. By the time she cut his hamstrings and booted the man firmly across the head Geralt almost felt bad for him. Not enough to stop her as she gutted Conhairm and left him to die screaming though. 

She stared down at him with the blade drove through his belly and deep into the ground underneath him for a long moment before whispering something that Geralt could not hear. Then his darling daughter took two large steps back and closed her eyes, holding her hands in front of her chest. Magic spiked through the air and slowly lines traced themselves in burning furrows turning the dirt to brittle charred glass. It wasn’t until Ciri dropped her hand and Geralt cocked his head to see the full image that he realized what she had created. 

The snarling wolf medallion was carved into the ground like it was laid by an angry god. Conhairm’s body was right in the middle of it’s bared maw, a perfect showing of what would happen to those who went against the Wolves. Elide laughed from where she leaned against Vesemir, swaying with exhaustion. 

“Beautiful work cub. Think your teacher wouldn’t mind sharing?” 

Ciri sniffed daintily, “I should hope not.” 

Thankfully Elide didn’t seem to take offense, cackling like a mad woman at the insult, “come now, we still have more work to do.” 

Vesemir helped guide the sorceress back to their two fallen, Eskel standing at their sides. Only two more dead had been added to the line; clearly no others had gotten close enough to be slain. Eskel grunted in greeting, supporting Seren’s front against his thigh as he wrestled the heavy metal armor off her legs. Geralt winced at the deep gash that had been carved over her knee, he hadn’t even noticed that one the night before. 

“Can you communicate to any other Sorceress’ that you trust?” Elide asked, finally peeling herself away from Vesemir and stumbling to Jaskiers side. 

“I have a xenovox that can be used to reach Yennefer at the Keep,” Ciri told her. 

The sorceress nodded, straightening her shoulders and visibly steeling herself, “I’m going to open a portal, someone grab Seren and Julian.” 

Geralt was just about to open his mouth and ask just how they were meant to carry the massive Wyvern when she sharply clapped her hands. Magic filled the air and slowly Jaskier changed forms. The snap of breaking bones and slick sounds of tearing flesh had all of them wincing but before long he was person shaped with Elide holding onto his wrist. 

“Go!” she gasped, weakly flapping her other hand in the air to open the portal. 

Geralt scooped up Jaskier and jogged through the portal, followed closely by the others. It deposited them in the training grounds at the Keep, air much colder that high up. Elide gagged and stumbled away to fall to her knees. He had to drop Jaskier the second she let go, the Bard quickly retaking his Wyvern form. As fresh blood stained the ground it seemed like he was fully unconscious, which could only be a blessing. Seren whined, eyes focussing close enough to Jaskiers form that it was clear she still couldn’t see but was aware of what was going on. 

“Eskel take the girl and get her set up in one of the rooms on the main floor, Ciri call for Yennerfer. Maybe see if she can bring Triss as well.” Vesemir ordered shortly. 

Geralt watched them scurry away, Lambert quickly going to check the stables for any of the horses that might have instinctually returned home. He hoped Roach did at least, she was unusually smart and the other horses would have likely followed her. He couldn’t make himself move, arms still held in the air like he was cradling the too cold and still form of Jaskier. 

“Geralt.” 

He looked over to Vesemir, mouth opening but no sound coming out. Words had never been his strong suit and now they failed entirely. But Vesemir had never let that hold him back, and just gave him a surprisingly gentle smile and came to rest a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Go get some basic healing supplies for the Sorceress. Hot water, rags, the like. Elide was right, there is still work to do and we need to take every second of time we have.” 

Geralt nodded and turned on his heel, energy returned now that he had a goal. Jaskier would be okay. The bard had to be. 

Geralt still needed to apologize after all. 

Chapter Text

Geralt wasn’t sure what Ciri said to Yennefer, but both her and Triss had porteled up to the Keep before the water he collected was even steaming. They hadn’t stopped to talk to any of them, just stalked to the yard in a flurry of skirts. Geralt followed after them, trying and failing to not feel like a farm wife wringing his hands. They froze at the sight of the massive Wyvern stretched across the ground, but leapt into action relatively quickly. 

“What happened?” Triss asked, pulling sturdy leather gloves up to her elbows. 

“Nilfgaard.” Geralt grunted in answer. 

“And this is supposed to be your little bardling?” Yen asked. 

“Julian and Seren are both Wyverns.” the voice of Elide made him jump, “of course neither of them change forms very often but they both can. Last year we came to the realization that in order to get closer to Nilfgaard and try to take them apart from the inside then we needed to make a show of it.” 

She limped through the open door, arms wrapped over her midsection. Yennefer visibly looked the younger Sorceress up and down, nose curling slightly. If Elide noticed it she didn’t react. Instead she just kept moving until she could carefully lower herself to her knees and pull Jaskier’s head into her lap and grind her knuckles against his brow. 

“What better show than a tame Wyvern and his rider? We’ve bounced through five camps over the year, destroying them when we were done or if they were getting too close to finding the little princess.” 

At her touch Jaskier woke, blinking open his massive eyes and groaning deep in his chest. Elide cooed to him and pulled his mouth open to check his gums. He allowed the prodding, even willingly holding out his leg when Triss started investigating the silver shackles locked around his ankles. 

“This was the first time that someone got the jump on them. Agdalaid struck the first night, locked these spelled shackles around Jaskier to try and take control of him. They locked him in this form and granted Conhairm a measure of control over him as well.” 

Yennefer flinched, and Geralt wondered if she also instantly thought of the men that had tried to control her over the years. In any case she joined Triss at Jaskiers ankles and started studying them. He grumbled lowly at their touch but didn’t try to pull away. Geralt slowly crept forward, crouching down to peer into one of his eyes. Jaskier trilled at the sight of him, almost the same way the bard would shout when they came back together after the winters that separated them. 

The Wyvern pulled his head away from Elide and plonked it surely against his thigh. Geralt froze in place, just staring at the trust that he had done nothing to earn and everything to lose. Slowly he ran his fingers along Jaskiers ridged brow the way he had seen the women do, making the Wyvern sigh out a breath and let his eyes slide closed. 

“Jaskier.” 

It was the only thing he could think to say, a plea and a promise all wrapped into one. Jaskier didn’t respond though, slipping back into unconsciousness with a groan and loosening of massive muscles. Elide hummed and rose to her feet, giving him a light pat to the shoulder before moving to join the Sorceress’ at Jaskiers ankles. 

“Honestly it would be best to leave him in this form for as long as possible.” she said, gesturing to the tattered wings that drooped against the chill ground, “It would be better to rebuild his wings and keep an eye on them, and he will heal faster as a Wyvern.” 

Geralt wanted to rage against the idea, desperate to see the familiar form of Jaskier, not this scaled thing. But he held his tongue and let the healers do as they saw fit, passing a long two hours crouched right there as they moved around him. He only moved from his crunch once his knees could no longer support the motion and even then he just sat and held Jaskiers head. Every now and then the Wyvern would surface for just a few seconds, and every time the happy trill he made when he saw Geralt was worth the wait. 

In the end it was Vesemir that finally called to him and forced him away. Geralt might have been perfectly fine sitting in the training yard all night, but the habit to respond to the old Witcher was a strong one. He carefully sat Jaskiers head down, staying long enough to pat him once when the motion woke him before joining Vesemir. 

“I need you to go on a hunt,” the man said bluntly. 

“Why me?” 

Vesemir gave him A Look for the insolence, but continued anyway, “Eskel is distracting Ciri and Lambert is helping Elide with Seren. We do not have the food here to feed an extra four people, especially when one of them is currently an injured Wyvern.” 

Geralt grunted but couldn’t come up with any kind of argument. If he tried to send Eskel and take over distracting Ciri then there was every chance that he wouldn’t leave Jaskier’s side. And he couldn’t fault Elide or Lambert for tending to Seren when her injuries had been just as bad or worse than Jaskiers. So he just gritted his teeth and nodded, turning sharply and stalking for his room. He gathered a bow and two quivers, pausing just before he left the room. Geralt didn’t tend to carry much on the Path, so he only had two cloaks and he only wore one of them. The other was laid across his rarely used chair pulled up to the unlit fireplace. 

It was much nicer than anything he would have chosen for himself, made of quality leather and wool, dyed a rick grey and edged with a trim of black velvet. Jaskier had gotten it for him over five years ago, for some banquet or another that he hadn’t wanted to go to. Geralt knew the cloak had been a bribe, but when he wore it it hadn’t mattered. Not when he was wrapped in its soft embrace and reminded of the human companion that cared so much for him. It was also entirely inappropriate for going huntin in, but as Geralt ran his hand over its soft surface his heart gave a little twinge. 

Without much more thought Geralt swung the heavy cloak over his shoulders and set off. If he discreetly sniffed the ruff of it to try and find some small hint of Jaskiers preferred perfumes well there was no one to see him do it. He strode out of the keep quickly, making for the stables before he saw anyone else. Seeing Roach proud and grumpy waiting for him released another knot of tension from his shoulders. Thankfully her, Scorpion, Mantis, Ashwinder and Kelpie had all made their own ways back to the Keep after being so rudely abandoned by their masters. The look Roach was giving him, added with her pointed tail flicks and tooth clacking, echoed his sentiment clearly. 

Geralt hummed quietly as he started seeing to her, checking her hooves and gums with the ease of practice. She put up with his attention remarkably well for being so ornery, and by the time she had bitten him on the bicep three times he was done and got her saddled quickly. He rode out of the Keep without a look back, fully focussed on a quick hunt for the creatures that would need energy for healing. 

It took two blasted days. 

There was barely anything to find on the whole front of the mountain, and nothing that he would willingly go back to the Keep with. Rabbits and squirrels and a few rangy partridges was all he saw on the first day. By the second day he was low enough on the Mountain that he debated just going to the nearby town. They were used enough to Witchers that he would be treated fairly and possibly even get a few treats for those of them that had an incorrigible sweet tooth. If he had taken a second to think about grabbing his coin pouch he would have but as it was he didn’t. The only thing of value Geralt had on him was the cloak Jaskier had got him and he wouldn’t hock it for all the coin in the town. 

Instead he turned Roach back into the trees and kept on their slow walk. It was luck that by noon of the second day he chanced across a herd of Deer. Geralt wasn’t the best shot, but even so he managed to down a young Buck and an injured Doe. he gutted them quickly, leaving the mess behind for the scavengers and slung both bodies over Roaches' back. Thankfully she was well used to the more disgusting parts of his life and beyond an odd look and her pinned ears she took the burden well. Geralt led her back to the keep on foot, arriving as the lift fell on the second evening. Eskel spotted him coming up the Trail, calling a greeting as he opened the gate enough for them to slip in. 

“Damn brother! I was starting to think that you had headed for the hills and weren’t coming back!”

Geralt grumbled a response, sorely in need of a bath and a solid few hours of sleep. He had skipped the night before, choosing to keep looking for prey through the night. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the lack of sleep they had gotten while in the war camp. 

“The Witches are all down for the night, they’ve been working pretty much nonstop on your bardling since yesterday.” 

“Anything good?” he asked, taking one of the deer carcasses as Eskel got the other. 

They carried the caracasses in and hung them on hooks in the basement for Vesemir to deal with before Eskel answered. His brother stopped him from going into the dining hall with a heavy hand on his shoulder and a strange crease on his brow. 

“They’ve gotten his wings put back together, but it will apparently be months before he can risk flying again. Triss managed to ease him back into his human form this morning but he hasn’t woken again since yesterday evening.” 

Geralt clenched his jaw tight enough that his teeth ached. He had hoped that with his long departure that Jaskier would be awake when he came back. Apparently he would not be so lucky. The apology that he was mentally writing bubbled in the back of his throat like bile, burning with the need to be let out. 

“A healing sleep is good,” he managed to grunt out. 

Eskel scoffed but let go of his shoulder and let him enter the dining hall. Geralt would need to go see to Roach before long, but he could hear Ciri’s bright laughter and was overwhelmed with the need to see her with his own eyes. They had only spent a few days in that war camp, but already he sorely missed the vision of her happiness. He halted just in the doorway, watching as Ciri helped Seren to one of the benches. His little child surprise, so young but already showing the makings of something wonderful. 

“Geralt!” Lambert boomed when he spotted him lurking, “get over here!” 

He only hesitated for a moment before walking over and sinking into the bench at his brother's side with a low groan. A bowl of steaming stew was placed in front of him and Vesemir shoved a mug full of ale into his hand before sitting on the other side of the table. Eskel joined them on Geralt's other side, and all he could think was that the table would be perfect if Jaskier was sitting just on the end strumming his lute and carrying the conversation. 

“I want to thank you,” Seren said quietly, meeting each of their eyes. 

Her jaw was a horrifying collection of yellows and greens of faded bruises, and there was still some swelling there. Geralt couldn’t see any of the other wounds, but the way she was sitting hunched suggested that her insides were still a bit tender, and Ciri had helped her to walk so he could guess her healing still wasn’t done. Still, she was up and moving, and speaking to them. 

“You got me and my brother out of a situation that I’m not sure we would have been able to do on our own. We owe you our lives, and if you even need to take wing all you need is to call for us.” 

“Of course we helped you!” Ciri scoffed, “anyone would have done the same.” 

The steel in Serens eyes softened as she looked to the child, “you should always thank someone for help little cub.” 

 She didn’t say what the Witchers were all thinking, that most people wouldn’t have cared. Instead she just started telling Ciri a quiet story of the first time her and her brother had transformed, startling the whole manor with their squalls. Apparently the twins were not the biological children of the Pankratz' and their parents hadn’t known what they were. By her telling it had been quite a shock to rush into a nursery expecting to find two babes getting murdered and instead finding a mass of squirming wings and scales tangled around each other. By the end of the story Ciri could barely breathe with how hard she was laughing, and even Geralt had cracked a smile. 

Once Ciri was nodding off Geralt gathered her up and carried her to bed, leaving the others to clean up dinner with only a small amount of teasing. Ciri did have her own room in the keep, up in one of the tallest towers and surrounded by windows. But he was reluctant to let go of her now, and just carried the half asleep girl to his own room. He lit the fire with a careless Igni and settled her under the furs, brushing her pale hair out of her face. She somehow looked even younger when asleep, the stress and pain falling off of her small form. Young yes, but heavily burdened. 

Geralt started getting ready for bed himself, resolutely promising himself a trip to the hot springs in the morning. As he laid his cloak over the same chair as always his eye caught on dark leather embroidered with shining color. Jaskier’s lute. When he had come off of that blasted mountain and saw the instrument strapped to Roaches saddle but no sign of the bard was the second he knew that he wouldn't be coming back. If he had known Jaskier any less then he might have thought it was a silent promise that he would come back, but he had scented the tears and anger that faintly graced the air. He knew what leaving the lute was, he could read the silent accusation. 

He had placed the lute in its case on his rarely used chair and thrown the cloak over it so that he wouldn’t have to be reminded of his failures. He had placed both of them by the fire so that the smoke would eventually cover all other scents and he wouldn’t wake in the middle of the night with the memory of sulfur and citrus strong in his nose. But now Jaskier was in the Keep, heavily injured and stripped of his secrets along with his silks. There was every chance that Jaskier was still mad at him and wouldn’t want to see him ever again. 

The thought might have made Geralt want to run down the mountain with nothing but his horse and his swords but if that was the case he wouldn’t argue. It was still early enough in the fall that he could camp out in the mountain until Jaskier and Seren were healed enough to leave on their own time. Geralt's hand hesitated over the strap of the lute case before he nodded and made up his mind. He would slip into the bard's room and leave the lute for him. Then when Jaskier woke it would be up to him if he wanted to find Geralt. Well, after he apologized that was. From there he would let Jaskier decide. 

He slung the lute over his shoulder in a move that was still painfully familiar even after a year of not doing so and followed his nose to Jaskiers room. When Geralt eased the door open he was surprised to see Yennerfer leaning over his bed, hands faintly glowing. Frankly she looked like shit, more exhausted than he had ever seen her. 

“I thought that Eskel said you were done for the night,” he said quietly. 

Yen sent him a wan smile and shook the light from her hands, “I couldn’t sleep. All I could think of was his face the last time I saw him.” 

“The mountain was a mistake all around.” 

She cocked her head and gave him a curious look before sighing deeply, “I saw him after the mountain.” 

Geralt's head whipped around, freezing when he had been placing the lute against the side table. She had never told him that, though they had only seen each other twice since. Both times she had still been spitting mad, and more interested in lashing out than having conversations. Now she just looked tired, but it seemed like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders when he wasn’t looking. For the first time in years Yennefer just looked at him with fondness and nothing else. 

“It was about a month later, I literally ran into him in a tavern. It’s surprisingly easy to miss him when he’s not peacocking about.” she chewed the edge of her lip for a second before continuing, “I expected him to say something smart, or just ignore me completely. Instead he bought me a drink, made sure that I got some decent food and walked away. The whole time he didn’t say a word to me, I honestly thought he might have been a Doppler.” 

Geralt winced at the idea, already disquieted by the thought of Jaskier faded and silent. Even in his sleep the bard was always moving or muttering. The resting sleep he had behind Yennerfer felt more like it belonged to a corpse than the lively man Geralt knew. 

“That was about my reaction too,” Yen laughed. 

“It’s wrong to see him like this,” Geralt muttered. 

She moved to the side and turned to look at him as well. Geralt didn’t mean the horns jaggedly lifting from his temples, or the sharp teeth he could just see through the bards parted lips. Those features were strange, and it would take time to get used to them, but it was still Jaskier. Not this still and blank man with none of the light that should have been there. 

“What are you going to do Geralt?”

He sighed and finally sat the lute down, running his fingers across the smooth case, “I don’t know. I want to apologize, and from there it will be up to him.” 

She nodded firmly, and ran one last hand over the bard's jaw before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. Geralt breathed the stale air, scenting the sickness and sweat lingering behind. Even with the pain he could still smell the scent of Jaskier soothed something in him, sulfur and citrus familiar and welcome. Part of him wanted to talk to the man, mutter meaningless nonsense like Jaskier usually would when Geralt was injured. But he wasn’t good with words, so instead he did what he was good at. 

Geralt sat at the edge of the bed and watched Jaskier, only moving once through the rest of the night. At one point the bard seemed like he would wake, brows creased and an animal whine slipping from his teeth. He reached out and gently smoothed his thumb over Jaskiers brow, wiping away the furrows and softly petting his hair. It had gotten longer, hanging nearly to his jaw instead of the normal charming cut he kept it at. It seemed to sooth Jaskier, sending him back into the comforts of sleep. Later when the sun was just lighting the window the door creaked open, Geralt snarled lightly before he turned to see who it was. 

Seren froze in the doorway, blinking at him before she silently crept the rest of the way into the room, “have you been with him all night?” 

Geralt grunted and nodded, keeping up with his petting. She watched him for a moment, before sitting at the end of the bed and lifting Jaskiers feet to set them in her lap. The look on her face had ended with Geralt drawing blades more than once, but her hands were gentle when she wrapped them around her brother's ankles. She traced the sacred lines there, left behind by the spelled silver that not even the Sorceress’ could get rid of. They were silent for a while before Seren spoke up. 

“I thought I would hate you when I finally met you.” Geralt held onto his wince only by freezing in place, “but if he can’t hate you even now I don’t have any right to.” 

He shoved the hope in his heart down as hard as he could. Seren raised her eyes to meet his, slit pupil meeting slit pupil in a clash of gold and nearly neon blue. The part of Geralt that was twisted and mutated demanded he bare his throat in the face of a predator but he held that back too. When she finally blinked and looked back down he sucked in a shuddering breath. 

“Go Witcher, I will watch him for the morning. You need rest.”  

Geralt wanted to protest, but it wasn’t his right. In all honesty he was surprised he had been allowed to hover for as long as he had been. He rose from the bed and left, offering Seren just one last nod before stalking away. Finally he went to the hot springs, shedding out of his worn and disgusting clothes to step into its burning embrace. Dirt and blood and sweat swirled through the nearly boiling water, cleansing him just as much in body as in mind. This early Geralt was alone, and he took advantage of it by relaxing as much as he was able. 

By the time Geralt left the springs his fingers and toes had gone all pruney. He wrapped a towel around his waist and briefly debated heading to the dining hall where he could hear the others readying breakfast. But even his hunger did not take precedence over his exhaustion. He wandered upstairs in just his towel, collapsing into the bed before he had the thought to even glance around. The spot Ciri had been in was still faintly warm, and she had clearly stoked the fire before leaving the room. Geralt grumbled to himself and pulled one of the furs up, dropping to sleep without registering the faint sounds of a Lute being strummed. 

He woke late in the day, the angle of the light suggesting that it was close to dinner time. Someone had been in the room while he slept, the fire still stood tall and he was nearly sweating from where the fur hovered on his lower back. The overwhelming smell of lemon made him sneeze, distantly planning to grouch at Ciri for using too much scented oil again. He groaned as he got up, muscles sharply reminding him that they had been treated poorly recently. Geralt dressed quickly, belly rumbling and more than ready for dinner. 

He left his room without any fuss, making down the stairs drawn by the smell of roasting venison. He hit the second floor and was passing by the library when the sound of music froze him in his tracks. Slow strumming and light humming, what had once been simple background noise and not appreciated. Slowly he turned his head to look into the library, seeing the only figure that could be perched in a wingback chair before the roaring fire. 

Jaskier. 

Geralt could just see the top of his head over the back of the chair. He crept forward, footfalls nearly silent but apparently picked up by the bard's sharp ears. The song Jaskier was playing ended and he paused with his head cocked before starting a new one. 

“Geralt.” 

Gods, he hadn’t realized how much he loved the way the bard would happily trill and chirp when they saw each other until he was greeted so coldly. Geralt advanced the final distance, standing to the side of the chair and facing Jaskier. It took the other man a long moment to turn and when he did Geralt nearly lost his nerve then and there. 

“I-” he cleared his throat, glancing down into those damming eyes, “I wanted to apologise. To you. For ahem, for what I said” Geralt muttered without looking away.

Jaskier just hummed in answer, fingers stilling on his lute. He cocked his head, clearly waiting for more. Geralt gritted his teeth, turning away to look into the fire like it could give him the words he searched for. How many times have I rehearsed this? Stop being an idiot and get on with it. But that was before. That was when he thought the bard would be holled up in his music college dancing and eating sweets and firmly putting the existence of Witchers and monsters out of his mind. Not now that he had spent all this time in a dammed Nilfgaardian war camp, beaten and hurt just for the grace of what he was. 

“Geralt.” 

Gods he couldn’t ignore it when Jaskier said his name like that. All soft and sweet, with the rasp of his still healing throat almost sounding like the strain on his voice after a long performance. Jaskier was staring at him, pupils shrunk down to viper slits leaving so much blue to get lost in. He gently set his lute to the side and rose to his feet, stepping right into Geralt’s personal space. The smell of him, all lemon and sulfur and poison. 

“I- '' Geralt cut himself off again, fingers twitching with the want to grab to hold, “I was angry on that damned mountainside. It wasn’t your fault, but you were there and I just lashed out. You didn’t deserve that or anything that came after.” 

Jaskier chewed the edge of his lip, pupils flaring out that littlest bit. Geralt inhaled a shuddering breath, blinking away the sting in his own eyes. He hoped that his face conveyed everything that his words couldn’t, hoped that Jaskier could see how serious he was being. He let his eyes fall shut and forced the words out, ignoring how much his voice shook.

“If I had just pulled my head out of my ass none of this would have happened to you. Gods Jaskier, I’m so sorry.” 

Gentle hands on his cheeks startled Geralt into reopening his eyes. Jaskier had taken that final step forward, so close that his breath ruffled the hair that had fallen out of Geralt's tie and dangled around his face. Cool fingers swept soothingly against the line of his jaw as Jaskier smiled slightly up at him. 

“Foolish Witcher.” Geralt tried to pull away at the words but Jaskier had a good grip on him, “I forgave you long ago darling. What else could I have done?” 

He would forever deny the noise that pulled out of his chest then. Witchers did not whimper, not even when their bards pressed a gentle kiss to their foreheads. Geralt swayed into the touch, finally reaching out to touch and settling his hands around Jaskiers ribs. There he could feel his every breath, and the faint pulse of his rabbit fast heartbeat against his palms. 

“You shouldn’t.” Geralt swallowed heavily, watching the spike of frustration that crossed Jaskiers face. 

“I didn’t at first,” the bard confesed, “gods above and below I was so angry at you. After all of the years we had spent together you still cast me to the side like it meant nothing to you.” 

Geralt nodded, closing his eyes to keep the tears trapped in them. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to plead with Jaskier. It didn’t matter that hearing the truth of his anger felt worse than a knife in the lungs. He deserved whatever judgement would be placed on him.

“But… I will do whatever I please Geralt. You forget that I could have left the war camp at any time I chose. I made that decision to stay, I was the one to convince Seren that we needed to gather more information.” 

“You got hurt because of me,” he whispered, “because you wanted to protect me.” 

Jaskier drew him in that final scant inch of space, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and clinging. Geralt buried his nose in the crown of his head between his curling horns, desperately inhaling his scent. Jaskier just hummed and gently traced his fingers up and down his back. They stayed pressed together like that for a long moment, until Jaskier pulled away slightly. Geralt managed to stifle his despair but Jaskier still sent him a painfully gentle smile and wrapped a hand around his wrist. The bard gently urged Geralt to take his abandoned spot in front of the fire and settled himself across his lap. 

“Geralt, dear I need you to listen to me okay?” 

Jaskiers hands stroked up and down his throat and shoulders, almost distracting Geralt from the question. He managed a nod though, after Jaskier let his nails drag just a touch. 

“Good, thank you.” Jaskier rested their foreheads together and looked directly into his eyes, “I wouldn’t change anything that happened this last year. I was able to keep watch over Nilfgaard and find knowledge that was desperately needed. And when the time came and I needed help you were there, even if you didn’t realize it was me yet.” 

He opened his mouth to protest but Jaskier just covered it with his palm, “no, don’t argue with me. You were willing to help two people you didn’t actually know, and one of the beasts that you were made to fight. You are wonderful and amazing, and I will accept nothing else.” 

Geralt groaned and closed his eyes, pressing harder against Jaskiers forehead. The bard just laughed at him and resumed his petting, sliding dexterous fingers into his hair. Distantly he could hear the sound of Lambert yelling, and the bright sound of Ciri’s laughter. He knew that Vesemier was making dinner for all of them and that Eskel would be dragging Jaskier away to discuss more about Wyverns later. But for now he had his bard in his lap, and he was forgiven for being an ungrateful ass. They still had so much to deal with, and the fight wasn’t even anywhere close to over but… 

“If life could grant me but one blessing,” Jaskier went stiff in his arms and Geralt opened his eyes to look up at his bard, “you would let me kiss you.” 

The smile that spread across Jaskiers face was made of pure light. Joy, simple and sweet laced through his scent and Geralt couldn’t help his pleased rumble. Teasing fingertips traced over his face, skirting the edge of his lips, tapping at his eyelids, smoothing over the broken arch of his nose, so so gentle over his fading cuts and bruises. When cool lips finally pressed against his own Geralt let his eyes slide back closed, taking pleasure in the kiss Jaskier graced him with. He chased after him with Jaskier eventually pulled away, mouth stinging from the long scrape of skin over skin. 

“I’ve waited a decade to be able to do that,” Jaskier hummed. 

Geralt huffed out a laugh, burying his face in the man's neck. He licked at the collarbone conveniently located under his mouth, gnawing at it softly just to make Jaskier giggle. They still had a lot to talk about, old pains and worry to clear from the air if they wanted this to work. There was Nilfguuard and Yen and Ciri and Destiny. And Geralt still had so many questions about the whole Wyvern thing, but for now they just settled against each other. He smiled against the curve of Jaskier’s throat and just relaxed. He could hear his child and brothers in the background, his bard smelled like pure happiness in his lap, and for just one day everything worked perfectly.