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kate-river · 3 years

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Of Dragonids and Witchers

In which two Wolf school witchers set out for a monster hunt and finally come to terms with their difficult emotional past.

Dear @ohciq this is your secret santa speaking :) I wish you very happy holidays and I hope this adds a few drops of water to your crops! ;)

Thanks @thewitchersecretsanta for hosting this amazing event!

Warnings: none

read on AO3

Geralt smelled the shabby village miles away. Humans, no matter the space they had on offer, created the stench with their infallible ability to destroy their surroundings. Over time Geralt got into the habit of avoiding such places as they were usually tied to all sorts of trouble. And it seemed like this place was no exception

Suddenly the tracks he had been following came to an end. Geralt sighed and reigned in Roach. He had expected this to happen and still it irritated him. What the fuck was that bloody idiot up to?

Pondering his options Geralt looked around. To his left, just out of the thicket, a narrow uneven trail headed for the village. To his right, it vanished into a light forest. “Great,” the witcher mumbled. It was impossible to further track the soft hoof prints on the stony ground. But he already knew which way to go.

Still, he hesitated for a moment. Why would he hide in such a place? What had kept him from covering his tracks? Something was very fishy and Geralt didn’t like it.

Anyways, he spurred on Roach. Passing a few outcast buildings, an old decrepit barn and a small herbalist’s cottage along the way Geralt made for the village. It wasn’t a big settlement: a few wooden houses, the alderman’s clearly distinguished from the others. And of course, there was an inn. The modest horse shelter in front of it caught Geralt’s attention. A fine black horse was contentedly feeding on hay there and the witcher immediately recognized the Kaedweni bred steed.

He stopped in front of the inn and tied Roach to the shelter. The other horse, clearly trained to avoid a stranger’s touch, did not twitch under Geralt’s caress. Instead he snorted and nudged Geralt’s torso. The witcher couldn’t help but laugh quietly. “It’s good to see you, Scorpion” he whispered and pulled a sugar cube out of his pocket. Roach jealously stomped her front hoof and Geralt turned to treat her just as well. Then he headed for the inn’s entrance.

The main room was pretty dark, only a few tables fitting into the space. Some drunkards were assembled around one of them and from their babbling Geralt gathered that they must have spent a fair amount of time in that inn today.

It took them a few moments to become aware of Geralt, but when they did, their noisy chatter fell silent. The innkeeper however was not impressed by the witcher’s presence. At least he didn’t let it show “Good day to you sir”, he greeted Geralt “What can my humble establishment do for yet another one of your kind?” “Another one?” Geralt asked curiously and the innkeeper nodded towards the corner on his right. A dark figure, covered in a long dirty cloak sat separately at a small table, two long and thin packages lying next to him. Geralt smiled and the innkeeper’s façade started to crumble at this sight.

In the same instant the dark figure got up and pushed back the hood. A face, disfigured yet cordially smiling, appeared underneath. Eskel.

“Glad to see you, Wolf!“ The other witcher hugged Geralt tightly. The embrace was short, brotherly, but like music, there was more to it. It was I missed you just as well as good to have you back. And it lasted a few seconds too long adding an unspoken feeling that lingered between them.

They sat down at the small table in the shady corner and started a casual conversation. After a proper meal their merry chatter grew more serious and finally Geralt asked Eskel what he was actually doing here. Geralt carefully withheld the fact that he had tracked him. Very easily at that. In fact, so easily that Geralt had initially suspected a serious issue, since Eskel had obviously paid no attention to covering his tracks.

“Had a pretty nasty contract down in Lyria. Thought I’d better head for Kaedwen early this year. Also, this fucking weather…” he nodded toward the dirty window and suddenly went silent.

Immediately sensing Eskel’s discomfort Geralt changed the topic. It was no use asking a witcher about things he had encountered on the Path and was not yet willing to talk about. Whatever happened to him sure had been unpleasant but apparently Eskel was out of danger and Geralt decided not to inquire any further.

They slowly found their way back to less serious topics, finally joking about old stories and anecdotes. By then the atmosphere of the inn had somewhat changed. The drunkards had left and only the innkeeper remained behind the bar. While he had appeared rather brave at Geralt’s arrival, he didn’t look anything like it by now. He was frantically cleaning tankards and seemed visibly distressed.

Eskel had already caught on to it and in an instant changed the way he talked to Geralt. “I guess we have a job for Vesemir here” he muttered. It took Geralt a few seconds to understand the code phrase as he hadn’t heard it in quite some time. Focusing on his sharpened senses he also became aware of the light footsteps quickly approaching the inn. “I guess we’ll have a visitor soon”, he growled.

Suddenly the innkeeper vanished into the backroom. The witchers perceived a knock on a wooden door, the timid opening of the same and muffled voices. The man who had approached the inn tried to reach the bar. But the innkeeper didn’t let him through, insistently whispering. “She was my daughter!”, the intruder shouted at him. Eventually the innkeeper lost his patience: “Mihal, you won’t bring her back to life!” “Out of my way, old man!”

Next, they heard a thud and a stubby man with a red face burst into the room. He came running to the witchers and Eskel already raised his hand to cast a sign as the man threw himself to the ground.

“Master witchers, I need your help” he cried desperately and Eskel immediately lowered his hand. “Then speak!” Geralt commanded, adding a bit more emphasis to it than intended.

“There is a monster in the mountains! A flying dragon! It haunts our village and a week ago,” he started sobbing uncontrollably, “it killed my daughter! Please, I will pay you with all I have left. But bring justice to my little girl!”

While the man was regaining his self-control, the innkeeper returned to his place behind the bar. He was pressing a wet cloth to his head and an endless stream of curses left his mouth. “That bloody witch! The wench summoned the demon! We should have burned her!”

“I’ve heard enough” Geralt spat out and shot the innkeeper an irritated glance. He fell silent immediately. “But he’s telling the truth master witcher!”, the red-faced man interfered. By now he was on his feet again, but silent tears were still running over his cheeks. “The damn wench cursed us! She lured the monster into our village! There was a dead sheep and some smelly grasses.”

Eskel shot Geralt a glace. A dead sheep stuffed with buckthorn? The ideal bait for a griffin! Whatever was going on here, somebody really meant to attract a monster!

“Are there still any traces of the bait left?”, Eskel asked calmly. The innkeeper nodded and answered grimly. “The beast turned its back on it as it saw Mihal’s daughter hiding underneath the shack nearby. The minute Mihal ran to her rescue the beast grabbed her with its huge claws and tore her apart. I beg you, please kill that monster for us.”

Still fighting his tears Mihal added: “The attack happened at the old barn on the trail that comes in from the south.”

“I think I know where it is”, Geralt muttered. He got up, Eskel following a moment later. “We will check the area. Meanwhile stay indoors if possible!”

When they rode through the darkness next to each other a familiar feeling welled up in Geralt’s heart. It reminded him of the stolen nights they had spent in the forests of Kaer Morhen, their first attempt to try their newly acquired abilities. It also painfully reminded him of when they had overcome the fear of punishment for walking the Path together. The time they spent in each other’s arms becoming the greatest liability in their lives so far. Eventually the light feeling changed into something heavy and Geralt tried to stop his reverie.

“What’s going on Geralt?” Eskel asked. He was comfortably sitting on Scorpion’s back and seemed lost in his own thoughts. “Did they teach you mindreading at Ban Ard?”, Geralt replied half smiling, trying hard not to let show even more of the things that came to his mind. “Unfortunately, not”, Eskel laughed, “but I still know you well.”

You bloody well do Geralt thought, but he didn’t reply. The bond they had regained over the past few winters was too precious to be tested on silly thoughts.

Eventually they arrived at the barn. The grass around it was grown high and it seemed like the decrepit building hadn’t been in use for years. A crooked sign hung in front of it saying “Do not enter” in the common language.

They examined the surroundings in the pale moonlight, and within a short time they came upon the odour trail of the monster bait. They found some of the remains of a herb stuffed sheep in the thicket nearby and it was pretty clear that the bait had been torn apart by gigantic claws. The sheep had indeed been stuffed with Buckthorn, but there was another herb too. Eskel fished some off it from a tree and identified it as beggartick blossoms. It was a rare herb, and it was usually used to refine fisstech. A strange choice to put into a bait, as it was far more use to the owner when sold to some shady individual for a good price.

“What do you think, Geralt? Beggartick is a weird choice for a bait! Something’s wrong here...”

“Guess we have to have a word with the herbalist. And we should examine the body if they haven’t buried it yet.” The body of a child - disfigured by a dragonid.

“I can take care of the examination”, Eskel said softly. Geralt nodded and was silently thankful that Eskel spared him the horrible sight of a child that could have just as well died from a Witcher’s trial.

After a short discussion they separated and Eskel rode back into the village to find Mihal and his daughter’s corpse. Geralt instead stayed at the abandoned barn and started a search for beggartick in a more extensive radius. One hour after sunrise he admitted defeat and carried on to the more important task that he was responsible for. On Roach’s back he returned to the stony trail that ultimately lead to the village and stopped in front of the herbalist’s cottage.

There was a small garden around it, no curious herbs, but practical ones like fool’s parsley, ribleaf and celandine. Geralt dismounted and knocked at the shuttered door. At first there was no reply but as he knocked a second time a woman answered. “What the hell do you want? Leave me be!”, she frantically shouted.

It took Geralt some time to convince her to let him in, but finally the herbalist opened the door. As he started his inquiries on the buckthorn, she grew impatient, irritated even and tried hard to avoid the topic. But Geralt kept pushing and finally she admitted having stuffed a dead sheep with buckthorn from a nearby lake. It was intended to scare the local folk as they had accused her of witchcraft when she had started a fight with a band of fisstech dealers. She finally wanted to scare them, force them to show some respect. And then it all went awfully wrong. What she had thought to be an old wives’ tale was truly a powerful means to attract monsters. The incident with the small girl was neither planned nor foreseen. Mihal’s daughter had been playing not far from the place where the herbalist had put up the sheep and suddenly a dragon had aimed at the bait. But as it had made out the girl, it had chased her instead and killed her in an instant.

“And you’re sure it was a dragon?” Geralt asked. The herbalist gave a long but vague answer and Geralt made a mental note to discuss the possible dragonids in the area with Eskel.

When she finished the description of the monster, she added some useful information though. She had seen where the monster had come from and returned to – the mountains north of the village – and by her description Geralt was sure to find the monster’s lair there.

“And what about the Beggartick?”, Geralt reminded her after she had finished her story. She sighed and said “You see, I was really tired of this shit. All those people, they come to me for help, for, I don’t know, a magic cure, and in the same breath they call me a witch for all the things they don’t understand. Jacub’s gang is spreading rumors and now half the village would burn me if the chance arises. I simply became furious and saw my chance for revenge!”

Geralt left the herbalist after she had finally admitted the unintended murder of the girl. There was not much to say about her situation and Geralt wondered if leaving the village would change it for the better.

Eskel was already waiting for him at the inn and updated him on his finding about the corpse. In fact there was nothing new about it. Big claws, a bird’s beak and a preference for internal organs were not much to go on.

The witchers finally decided to follow the herbalist’s advice and set out for the mountains. They stuck to the path leading north and by the end of the day they had climbed a rugged hill. Beneath the shoulder of a rock they found a good spot to make camp and they decided to give both the horses and themselves a rest. For some time, they indulged in food and conversation and eagerly discussed their speculations about the monster.

When the night grew colder and the fire between them turned into an appreciated source of heat Eskel pulled out a bottle from his saddlebag. It was a fine distillate of White Gull and Geralt anticipated there was another long night ahead of them.

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By now they were far from the amount of hooch a human could manage. Their pupils were blown wide and they relied upon their joint forces should the wilderness around them turn hostile.

“Seriously, were did you get this?” Geralt asked and raised the bottle he was holding. An appreciative gesture that made Eskel laugh.

“Won’t tell you Wolf”, he answered mysteriously and fondly looked at Geralt.

He in turn smiled mischievously and lent back against the rock. Maybe Geralt would come back on this later, there must be a good story behind it. But talking of a good story…

“Well, what about your route then? Came across your track. Twice. You’re not trying to cover it up these days?” Geralt said, a teasing smile still on his lips.

Eskel hiccupped silently. It was hard to tell where the melancholic look on his face suddenly came from. Up next, he sighed and gently rubbed his scar. “Stop this, Geralt.”

Even though Geralt didn’t get to the bottom of it, he again felt Eskel’s displeasure. There was no way around it and suddenly it took up the room between them.

“I don’t understand…”

“I see.” Eskel deadpanned and took another gulp from the bottle. Then he went silent. After some time, he stared up into the starry sky. “What do you think the Path would be like if there were different rules?”

“Well, wouldn’t make it any easier, would it?”, Geralt slurred. Through his blurred vision he tried to observe Eskel. His dark hair, the amber eyes, that damn old scar.

“What’s this all about, huh?”

Suddenly irritated, Eskel got up. His movement seemed a little too fast for his current state and his unsteady footing additionally attested to that.

“Sorry Geralt, but this”, he vaguely gestured back and forth between Geralt and the empty bottles that had started to pile up “is giving me a headache. Good night.” His smile looked crooked and Geralt was reminded of the several times Eskel had overindulged.

When he made it to his bedroll a few minutes later, the awkward smile would not leave him though. In his dreams it turned into an evil grin, a mocking laugh, scorning the warm little feeling that had crept into his heart again this evening.

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“Geralt?”

An ungloved hand touched Geralt’s shoulder. The touch was accompanied by a soft tingle and the scent of petrichor and leather. This stilled the white haired witcher’s immediate reaction, as he concluded that the hand did not belong to an enemy.

Geralt growled as he sat up and was pretty astonished to see a well-rested, even cheerful Eskel finishing the preparations for a sparse breakfast. Suddenly the warm feeling from yesterday evening returned.

Eskel laughed, cordially and kind this time, and handed him a mug. It contained some kind of herbal tea.

“Didn’t expect that, huh?” he smiled.

Geralt tried to smile back, but yesterday’s white gull still made him hurt. With a questioning look he muttered: “How did you…?”

Taking advantage of Geralt’s confusion Eskel put on his lecturer face and cited: “When there is the risk of intoxication, the witcher has to retreat for meditation.”

“Seriously, in your state?”, Geralt laughed in disbelief.

“Just drink your tea, Wolf!”, Eskel replied softly and started to dismantle their little camp. It was not until Geralt’s headache had ceased that he realized that Eskel must have put something into the tea.

“You bastard, it’s Wives’ Tears, right?” “Let’s rather stick to the meditation story”, Eskel grinned and mounted his horse.

They set out for the high plateau that reared up in the distance. Whatever dragonid was waiting for them it would certainly have its lair in great heights. But great heights came with difficult paths and after hours of traveling Eskel and Geralt eventually decided to leave behind Roach and Scorpion.

Not long after they had dismounted, Geralt discovered a piece of sheepskin in the bushes. It strongly smelled of buckthorn, but as it had been a week since the dragonid incident there was no scent left in the air to track. Still, both Geralt and Eskel grew tense. They were closing in on the monster.

They continued their ascent and finally reached a small trail that lead up to the plateau. By then they walked in silence - alert and ready to fight. Geralt didn’t like the way they approached the monster. The dragonid would most likely attack from above and additionally their lack of knowledge about its hiding place put them at a disadvantage. But that was a witcher’s everyday business, right?

Suddenly Eskel signaled Geralt to stop. He dodged and pressed against the stone wall. Geralt immediately mimicked his movements.

Above them a gigantic griffin raised itself into the air. Its wide-spread wings shimmered red and blue and the gigantic claws on both wings and feet flashed in the daylight.

Eskel spat some dwarfish curses and the witchers made for the last few steps on the trail. The griffin turned in midair and aimed for them. Eskel only just reached the plateau as the monstrous beast dived over them. It didn’t attack, the dive was simply intended as a warning.

“Damn it”, Geralt cursed and drew his silver sword. How were they supposed to kill such a majestic creature? For a split second he locked eyes with Eskel.

Are you ready?

As the griffin returned Eskel certainly was. He struck it with a blow of Aard and the griffin tumbled to the ground. Geralt lunged at it and dealt a blow to its wing. The griffin reared up and Geralt could jump back just in time. As the griffin took off it tried to grab Eskel who parried the attack with a furious blast of Igni. The immense creature emitted an ear-piercing cry as it withdrew into the sky.

Eskel cursed again but he underestimated the griffin. Instead of fleeing, it turned around and dived down toward the plateau. This time focusing on Eskel only.

Something in Geralt’s brain snapped and he took a leap forward. He barely managed to shove the other witcher aside. In a split second he had to combine this protective move with the Aard sign. Geralt’s magic wasn’t as powerful as Eskel’s but it was enough to knock the griffin off its balance.

Don’t you dare.

Suddenly furious, he turned on the griffin. His movements were fast and flawless, accurate and cold. Pirouetting away under the griffin’s assaults he managed to injure it on a delicate spot just beneath its collarbone.

But then there was a single movement that slipped Geralt’s attention. The griffin tried to strike him with its right wing and when Geralt launched into a counterattack, the griffin started to take flight and grabbed him.

Geralt’s cry mingled with the griffin’s screams as Eskel pierced the beast’s left wing with his sword. The griffin let go of Geralt and turned on Eskel again. It screeched at him and Eskel ruthlessly smashed an Ard sign against it. This time it knocked over the beast and Eskel didn’t waste a second. He darted at the griffin and before it was able to move again, he thrust the silver sword into its heart.

Panting heavily, he jumped off the dead body and ran towards Geralt. The white wolf lay on the ground, hunched over, his face contorted in pain. A long bloody gash gaped over his stomach.

Eskel fell on his knees and in a first impulse he pressed his hands against the ferocious wound. At the touch Geralt screamed in pain. From then on, Eskel couldn’t remember the chronological order of events. At some point he realized that his hands were aching as he had conducted healing magic for Melitele knows how long. Next to him lay an empty vial of Swallow - some of its contents were poured over the wound and the rest of it had hopefully found its way down Geralt’s throat.

As the bleeding ceased, Eskel carefully tried to take off the pieces of armour and clothing that still covered it and he skillfully managed a makeshift dressing of the wound.

Geralt made a few muffled noises, but his heartbeat had become steady again. “Hey Wolf, can you hear me?”, Eskel asked softly. Geralt grunted and Eskel went on, “I have to get the horses – you’ll need stitches when the magic wears off and I don’t have any equipment here.”

“Hold on to me!”, Eskel continued and ever so carefully lifted the other witcher, not actually relying on Geralt’s cooperation. He laid him down under the shelter of a small rock and tried to make him comfortable with his cloak. Then Eskel bent over him and slipped his last vial of Swallow into his hands. “I’ll be right back. Stay safe, Wolf”, he whispered and turned around before Geralt could see how worried he actually was.

Searching the horses took Eskel longer than expected and when he finally managed to force Scorpion and Roach up the uneven trail, it was already getting dark. He was instantly back at Geralt’s side and sighed in relief as he realized that nothing had happened in his absence.

After Eskel had unpacked their bedrolls and prepared a small fire, he fished out his equipment from Scorpion’s saddlebags and got ready to tend to Geralt’s wound properly. He worked in silence, expert and precise, but the memories that were tied to patching Geralt up tormented him. When he finally finished, he saw that Geralt’s witcher medallion was twisted around and reached over to set it right again.

Then he saw the plain stone framed on the reverse of the medallion. It showed a hastily carved rune of Quen. Eskel remembered it all too well. He had crafted it for Geralt as some kind of protection for his first year on the Path. The older witchers had punished him for “excessive attachment” to somebody else, but the stone still remained. Eskel did not know that Geralt had kept it all along the way through everything that had happened to them.

“You kept it after all those years?”, he stammered, trying hard not to show any of the feelings he had buried deep inside, ever since their emotional attachment had turned into a problem.

“Always”, Geralt said slowly and reached for Eskel’s hand.

The two witcher had never been good with words and so Eskel just cherished the moment. Not long afterwards Geralt fell asleep and Eskel eventually decided to rest a bit too.

He would not let go of Geralt’s hand though. Instead he knelt down next to him and sunk into a light meditation. When Vesemir had taught them how to meditate they had also started like this – with touch as their only focus.

It was still dark when Eskel opened his eyes again. The fire had nearly burned down and Eskel added some more wood to it. In the meantime, Geralt turned and made an uneasy sound.

“Are you awake, Geralt?”

Geralt only groaned, but he already tried to sit up as well as possible.

“You asked me why I didn’t cover my tracks…”, Eskel took a deep breath. Somehow the words came to him and he knew if he didn’t say them right now, he probably never would. “I missed you. Badly. There were rumours you were in Daevon, so I rode up to Kaedwen hoping to catch up with you. There was a day where I felt like I had crossed your path and from there I stopped covering my tracks. I was hoping you’d find me. Well, you eventually did. But then some foglets came first and followed me for days. It was constantly raining and I didn’t want to fight them until I knew how many of them there were. But they ambushed me and I ended up in that damn village. I am glad you found me, Geralt. I just missed you so much.”

Carefully he squeezed Geralt’s hand. Geralt reciprocated and suddenly he softly pulled Eskel closer.

“You damn fool”, he said slowly. “I missed you too, you know?” Then he pressed a chaste kiss on Eskel’s lips.

The soft touch was neither a confession nor a vow. It felt like a permission – a permission to explore unspoken feelings and experience closeness in a new way. And that was it. Plain and simple.

#the witcher secret santa #thewitchersecretsanta #ohciq #gifts 2020 #witcher fic #geralt #eskel #geralt x eskel #gereskel #eskralt #geralt/eskel #or whatever the tag is these days ;)#aaaahhh i can't believe this is happening #my first fic in english❤#what do you think?#😊

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havenoffandoms · 4 years

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I’ll Be There - Whumptober Prompt 4

Prompt: Running out of Time (caged/buried alive/caved building)

Pairing: Eskel x Geralt

Summary: Geralt knew something was wrong when Eskel did not show up in Ard Carraigh. Eskel was never late. On the rare occasions that Eskel was held up somewhere, he would send a note to let Geralt know he would be late. After spending all morning asking around in various inns and smaller taverns, nobody had seen another witcher or received a note addressed to Geralt. Eskel was not here, and he had not given any indication of his whereabouts, so Geralt had every right to be worried.

Right?

Warnings: experimental drugs, psychotropic drugs, feral Eskel, hurt/comfort, angst

Geralt knew something was wrong when Eskel did not show up in Ard Carraigh. Eskel was never late. Since he was a young boy training to become a witcher, the thought of arriving late to training or to any other class made Eskel fret. Every winter, he was the first to arrive at the keep, the last one to leave. On the rare occasions that Eskel was held up somewhere, he would send a note to let Geralt know he would be late. After spending all morning asking around in various inns and smaller taverns, nobody had seen another witcher or received a note addressed to Geralt. Eskel was not here, and he had not given any indication of his whereabouts, so Geralt had every right to be worried.

Right?

There had to be a reasonable explanation, Geralt tried to reason with himself. After all, there was a war going on. Some letters might be intercepted and read, which would only convince Eskel not to write to Geralt. Eskel was nothing if overbearingly careful, overthinking and questioning every decision three times over before settling on a course of action. He had not always been like that, Geralt remembered. Some of their best pranks as young boys had been the result of decisions that had not been taught through properly. Eskel never used to worry about the consequences of his actions until Deirdre. Since Deirdre, many things had changed. Geralt willed those thoughts away, instead focusing on steadying his racing heart by slipping into a meditative state. Eskel would know where to find him. It would not be much longer before the witcher showed up and pulled Geralt into a firm embrace holding the promise of more once the two were somewhere more private. Geralt could not wait to feel Eskel’s strong, steadying arms around him.

Three days passed, and still no sign of Eskel. Geralt was beginning to worry. Well, worry even more. He desperately wanted to track Eskel down, but where to start? Last he had heard from him was months back when Geralt himself had been visiting Dandelion in Oxenfurt for a couple of days to recover from a wound. A letter from Eskel had been waiting for him there, because Dandelion was always a safe bet, and at that point Eskel had somehow managed to end up in Toussaint of all places. He could be anywhere. Geralt had no idea which direction Eskel may have taken after that. It was anyone’s guess. It was on the fourth day that Geralt decided that he could not fight his anxiety any longer. He was beginning to worry that Eskel got hurt on the way, or worse… no, Geralt refused to think of that possibility. It was early in the morning that Geralt went to check on Roach in the stables, gently coaxing her away from the comfortable bed of hay and the tasty oats despite her many complaints.

“I’m sorry, Roach, but we need to find Eskel. Something’s wrong, I can feel it. I promise if you do this for me I’ll feed you sugar cubes every day for the entire winter.”

Roach’s ears perked at the mention of sugar, which had Geralt chuckling softly. The mare mouthed at his pockets, clearly expecting advanced payment for her trouble, but all Geralt could offer her was an apple that had seen better days. Roach accepted the offer reluctantly, but otherwise let Geralt lead her out of the stables to be tacked up. Ard Carraigh was still fast asleep when Geralt made his way out of the city, but he had barely travelled several leagues into the nearby forest that a loud thundering noise echoed in the forest around him, spooking Roach in the process who reared and let out a string of terrified whinnies. Geralt used Axii to calm her down when he noticed the portal before his eyes. To his surprise, it was Yennefer who stepped out of it.

“Geralt, there you are!”

“Yen?” Geralt frowned when he noticed the concerned frown on the sorceress’ face. His heart dropped as a thought formed in his mind. Could this have something to do with Eskel? Surely Yen would not concern herself with another witcher’s whereabouts unless he was important to her in some way. Eskel and Yen… were not exactly enemies, but they were not best friends either. In fact, Yen once admitted to Geralt that she liked Eskel and appreciated his company. Eskel, on the other hand, kept Yennefer at a distance despite his polite tone and generally diplomatic handling of the sorceress.

Geralt swallowed thickly. He was probably reading too much into this.

“I thought I might find you in Ard Carraigh, but when I arrived the innkeeper told me he saw you leave early this morning. I have important news. It’s about Eskel.”

Fuck. Geralt felt himself blanch at Yen’s words, fighting hard against the panic threatening to consume him. He should not have left it so long. He should have gone after Eskel the minute Geralt realised his lover was not in Ard Carraigh like planned. Yen could tell that Geralt was spiralling and in a rare affectionate gesture, she closed the distance between them and squeezed Geralt’s hand in hers.

“Geralt, breathe. I know where he is! We need to be quick, though.”

“He’s alive?” Geralt asked weakly, and the only thing that stopped his hands from shaking was Yen’s hold on them. The witcher focused on the feel of her velvet gloves against his skin, the soft texture a nice distraction from the spiralling thoughts in his head. Yen nodded, squeezing tighter when Geralt tried to move away from her.

“Geralt, listen! He’s alive, but he’s… trapped. Remember Istredd? He was to Ban Ard a week ago by one of his old instructors. He was to help the mages with an experiment. When Istredd arrived, he noticed a witcher in dimeritium shackles tied to a table. He recognised the wolf medallion and instantly came to see me. From his description it sounds like the mages caught Eskel.”

Geralt tried to wrap his head around Yen’s story, his frown deepening as she explained the situation to him. What would the mages of Ban Ard want with Eskel? Geralt’s brain kept going back to the words ‘experiment’ and ‘shackles’, his stomach twisting involuntarily at the thought of Eskel tied up, defenceless, vulnerable against those assholes keeping him prisoner.

“It’s no secret that Eskel’s magical aura is strong. You know that his magic is probably the most powerful among witchers.”

“That doesn’t give them the right to experiment on him,” Geralt gritted through clenched teeth, his panic quickly making way for anger. No, rage. Blind rage. Yen levelled him with a look, that look that said think with your head, Geralt, now is not the time. Geralt tried, and failed, to keep his composure. “Take me to Ban Ard.”

“We can’t just go charging in there, the mages guard the academy well. There are magical barriers, guards, trained mages ready to kill intruders. Geralt, you have no chance of surviving this on your own, much less without a plan. Let me take you to Istredd!”

“Then what?” Geralt snapped, his patience thinning. Eskel was running out of time. The gods only knew what those mages were doing to him while Geralt wasted time hatching plans with Yen.

“Istredd is your only way in. He wants to help, Geralt. We don’t have much time, and much less options, so are you in or out?”

Geralt ran a hand across his face and sighed heavily, his heart thumping so hard in his chest he worried it might actually burst out of his body. His head was spinning, his hands shaking. Yen was right, his mind convinced him, this was the only way to get to Eskel quickly. Geralt could always improvise once he was inside the mage’s keep but before he could do that, he needed a guide. Istredd.

“Fine. Take me to him.”

_____

“Your friend, Eskel, the mages are keeping him in a cell in the dungeons at the minute,” Istredd explained patiently, not fazed by Geralt’s murderous glare on him, “they made him wear dimeritium shackles, so he can’t use his magic. From what I’ve seen, they’ve tranquilized him with some potion, I could not tell you which one. All I know is that they gave your friend a dose strong enough to put a griffin to sleep.”

“How do we get in?” Geralt snarled, “get to the point, Istredd. Time is of the essence.”

“I understand. What you need to realise, witcher, is that this will take some planning. Spare me the temper tantrum and help me hatch a plan. The quicker, the better for your friend. Also,” Istredd raised a calming hand when Geralt went to interrupt him again, “they won’t kill your friend. They need him alive for what they plan to do with him. It’s not a race against time, we need to think this through.”

“Not a race against time, you say?” Geralt’s tone was dangerously calm and composed, so much so that Yen stepped between him and Istredd when the witcher took several steps toward the mage, “so just because they don’t intend to kill him I should just take my sweet time? Tell me, Istredd, it very much sounds like those mages’ experiment will involve something painful. Something painful enough to hurt a witcher. Something that would upset a witcher enough that those mages have to tied him to a table and use dimeritium shackles on him. If these experiments, as you call them, were harmless, they would not have had to use a tranquilizer. But please, do correct me if I’m wrong.”

Istredd swallowed thickly while Yen raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Geralt. The witcher ignored her, eyes still set on Istredd shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Geralt, I won’t lie to you. What they want to do will be painful for Eskel, but-“

“But at least, they won’t kill him? Is that what you were going to say? I don’t mean to burst your bubble, mage, but there are things worse than death.”

“Geralt, please.” Yen placed two hands on Geralt’s chest, and the witcher let her push him away from Istredd. Geralt met Yen’s violet eyes, finding comfort in his friend’s gaze and in the sweet smell of her perfume. Lilac and gooseberries. A stark contrast to Eskel’s muskier aroma – leather, sweat and smoke. “This little stand-off is not helping anyone, much less Eskel. We all know that we need to act as quickly as possible, but you need to trust us on this. If not Istredd, then me. Please, Geralt. I want to get Eskel out of there, too.”

Geralt pinched his eyes shut, allowing his mind to drift to simpler times when it was just him and Eskel against the world. One specific memory of the day their friendship had changed into something more stood out in Geralt’s mind, like it so often did when he was in emotional turmoil and needed something to remind him what he was fighting for. What he was fighting towards. No matter what they do to you I’ll be there when you come outta there, Geralt. I promise. The night before Geralt’s additional trials, he and Eskel had shared their first kiss. Two young touch-starved witchers taking comfort in each other’s arms. Promise me you won’t die, Geralt. Please. I can’t do this shit without you, got it? Geralt promised to come back to Eskel, and that thought had been the only thing keeping him going during the additional trials he endured.

I promise, Esk. I’ll always come back for you.

“Fine. What’s the plan?” Geralt finally relented, ignoring the soft look in Yen’s eyes. Gods, he hated when she read his mind.

_________

Eskel woke up with the worst headache of his life. Scratch that. The worst headache of his life so far. He tried to remember if he had been drinking the night before – Lambert liked to remind him that Eskel was a lightweight, which was probably true, but he did not have to give his younger brother the satisfaction. Eskel went to rub his forehead soothingly but found he was unable to move. He tried again, harder this time, the action followed by a metallic clang. Strange. Eskel blinked his eyes open, quickly adjusting to the dim light of the room and he instantly frowned when he noticed the restraints around his wrists and ankles. Shit.

“Ah, you’re awake,” an unfamiliar voice belonging to a tall, skinny man dressed in a robe tinted a royal blue with silver details embroidered along the hem greeted him. The man looked perhaps fifty, but it was hard to tell in the relatively dark room. Eskel flexed his arms and tugged at the restraints with all his might, but they would not budge. “Ah, don’t bother doing that. You’ll only hurt yourself. My name is Imlarith. I am a mage and instructor at Ban Ard.”

Eskel stilled at the name, his frown only deepening.

“Ban Ard? The mage’s keep?”

“Very good,” Imlarith praised condescendingly, an indulgent smile gracing his lips, “I see you’re not as boorish and uneducated as some of your kind, witcher.”

“What do you want from me?” Eskel asked, more to distract the mage so he could cast a sign to free himself from his restraints. The familiar rush of adrenaline that came with using magic was strangely absent. Eskel’s face fell. “Dimeritium. Very good,” he drawled in the same patronising tone, pulling an amused chuckle from Imlarith.

“A feisty one. I like that. Don’t you worry, my boy. We won’t kill you. We just want to chat.”

“Interesting chat when I’m tied up and defenceless,” Eskel remarked, “this looks more like an interrogation.”

Imlarith made a vague gesture with his hand.

“Call it what you like. I just wish to talk to you for now, and depending on how well you cooperate, I will consider unbinding you. Right now, you’re still a flight risk. Not to mention your powerful magical aura… tell me Eskel, do you truly not remember me?”

Eskel groaned in frustration, tugging at the shackles again as hard as he could while the mage stood and watched with a patient smile, like a father waiting for his son to end his temper tantrum. Eskel tried to focus, to reach deep within himself to find his magic, but the dimeritium prevented him from even doing that. He felt more vulnerable than he had in years.

“Are you quite done now? Ready to listen, my boy?” Eskel merely glared, but Imlarith seemed to interpret his silence as agreement. “Very well then. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. You were only a young boy when I came to find you at Kaer Morhen, and it’s common knowledge that those mutagens mess with your memory. A damn shame those witchers got to you before the Brotherhood did, my boy. So much potential wasted on petty signs.”

“If they’re so petty, why strip me of my magic?” Eskel challenged, only earning himself a patronising tap on the head.

“Eskel, Eskel… though your signs are only a fraction of what we mages are capable of, your magic is strong and you could use your witcher signs to catch me off guard and make a run for it. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Bony fingers carded through Eskel’s hair affectionately but the witcher jerked away from the gesture, baring his teeth as he did so.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Very well. I won’t. Where was I? Oh yes. When you were a young boy, myself and other members of the Brotherhood came to Kaer Morhen to trade with the witchers. One of our recruits was hopeless, but evidently there was potential in him somewhere which we knew the witchers would know to exploit. That boy would’ve made a miserable sorcerer, but a very skilled witcher at the very least. In exchange, we wanted to get you. Your magical aura was developed even back then, Eskel, even before the mutations. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

“Is that what you do? Exchange young boys like cattle for slaughter?”

“We usually do, only this one witcher – Vesemir, I believe – simply would not part with you. He gave us a miserable excuse, I might add, about you being his child surprise and you two having a bond. In any case, he refused our offer. We tried to convince you personally, but you simply wouldn’t leave. Do you remember why?”

Eskel did not respond. He vaguely remembered a day when Vesemir, accompanied by two strange men, had told him about a mage academy and told Eskel all about the various duties of sorcerers across the Continent. Eskel also remembered taking one look at Geralt, his only true friend, and deciding that if he was to leave then Geralt would have to come with him. Neither boys left Kaer Morhen that day and the strange men left empty-handed.

“Hmm, yes that boy. Geralt, wasn’t it? Grew up to become Geralt of Rivia, the famed White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken…”

“Not much of a conversation if all you do is read my mind,” Eskel spat disdainfully, “if it’s all the same to you I’ll save my breath and let you find the answers to your questions yourself.”

“Oh Eskel, don’t be like that my boy.”

“I’m not your boy!”

“As I was saying,” Imlarith resumed, ignoring his prisoner’s outburst, “or rather as I was trying to say before you so rudely interrupted, we don’t want you dead. Far from it. We want you to work with us. For us. We could teach you a thing or two, explore the unknown areas of your chaos, teach you how to control it. You could be a very powerful sorcerer, indeed. Who knows, we could even try to reverse the mutations. And fix that face…”

“Piss off,” Eskel cursed, a twisted smile tugging at his scarred cheek, “you and I both know the mutations are irreversible. And I’m not interested in your reconstructive surgery, thank you. I’ll keep the scars and my dignity.”

“You have no idea what the mages here are capable of, Eskel. Witchers are a relic of the past. Sorcerers, on the other hand…,” Imlarith carded his fingers through Eskel’s hair again and allowed them to glide along the red ridges marring Eskel’s face. The witcher flinched, still insecure whenever someone paid too close attention to his scars. Someone other than Geralt, that was.

“Like I said. Piss. Off.”

“Very well, have it your way boy. Since you won’t cooperate, we shall convince you some other way. In a more forceful fashion.”

Eskel’s eyes anxiously followed Imlarith as the mage moved away from the table, his brain racing to find a way out of this mess. His thoughts instantly went to Geralt and how worried he must be. Please Geralt, for once in your life, stay out of this. The last thing Eskel needed was for his lover to be trapped in this hellhole and experimented on as well. Imlarith returned to the table several minutes later holding up a syringe menacingly. Eskel eyed it suspiciously.

“This, my boy, is something the mages of Ban Ard have been working on for a while. It’s a potion that has the same effect as your Axii. Only… this potion can also affect witchers. Highly volatile.”

“Sick fuckers,” Eskel fought against his restraints, in vain, “do you know how dangerous this is?”

“Very much so, yes. That is the whole point of it.” Imlarith’s grin sent an ominous shiver coursing through Eskel’s body. “And I also know how dangerous it would be to inject this in your veins right now. But… that’s why you’re here, after all. Your reaction to the potion will help us devise a better formula, a more reliable one which will give us control over whoever has it running through their veins. A revolutionary weapon which people will pay handsomely for. Now stay still, here’s a good pup.”

Eskel roared, redoubling in efforts to pry himself free, trying to move away from the syringe pointed at his neck. If Imlarith managed to inject this in his system there was no telling how much destruction Eskel would cause. Eskel shouted, begged for Imlarith to see reason, but nothing seemed to faze the determined mage until-

“Master Imlarith!”

-someone burst through the doors, panting heavily as they bent over to catch their breaths. The syringe stilled mere inches away from Eskel’s neck as Imlarith paused in his movements to look at their intruder.

“What is it, Darryl?”

“The keep’s defences were breached. One of our own, it had to be. There’s a witcher heading for this cell as we’re speaking. An inside job.”

Imlarith’s smirk only grew and it made something twist in Eskel’s stomach. Geralt, you stupid fuck. The mage laughed humourlessly, almost fanatically, as an idea crossed his mind.

“Wonderful. Let’s see how effective this potion is. You’ll feel a sharp scratch, but it’ll be over soon.”

The syringe pricked his throat as a cold liquid was injected in his aorta and coursed through his entire being with every heartbeat. Then, everything went black.

____

Istredd agreed to teleport him as close to Eskel’s cell as possible, but Geralt would be on his own after that. Breaching the defences of Ban Ard would get the mage into enough trouble already, Geralt was aware of that, and as soon as Eskel was safe the witcher would think of a way to repay the mage for his help. Yen refused to stay behind and had insisted on following Geralt and helping him break Eskel out of Ban Ard. You’ll need someone to get you out of the keep when you find Eskel. I’ll teleport you to Kaer Morhen when he’s safe. Geralt knew how stubborn Yen could be and he did not want to waste his energy on arguing with her.

Geralt slashed his way through the anyone who dared come between him and Eskel. He did not stop to take a better look at the faces of those mages he was running his sword through, nor did it matter in that moment. All Geralt could think about was how some asshole was likely torturing his lover in a cell at the end of the long corridor, and that thought was enough to keep Geralt going. Yen knocked some mages out with energy orbs, but Geralt was not worried for her safety. She knew how to defend herself without his help, like she had reminded him many times before over the years. Geralt and Yen reached their destination quickly, leaving behind a trail of unconscious and dead bodies alike. Geralt used Aard to blast the door off its hinges before stepping inside. Inside the room was a tall man vested in blue robes and in the centre of the room-

Eskel.

“Ah, the White Wolf. Came here to fetch your friend?” the mage asked far too calmly considering he was being threatened by an angry witcher who had just made it past a dozen other mages within minutes. “And Yennefer of Vengerberg, how interesting. How is the Lodge treating you, Mistress Yennefer?”

“Save the pleasantries for your diplomatic visits, Imlarith. Let the witcher go and we’ll spare your life.”

“Speak for yourself,” Geralt rumbled low in his chest. He snarled viciously at the smirking mage, his medallion vibrating under his leather armour. “I wouldn’t mind the head of this son of a bitch as a trophy.”

“Geralt!”

“No, no Yennefer, I shall unbind the witcher as you requested,” Imlarith declared, taking both Geralt and Yennefer by surprise. The pair shared a look between themselves, uncertain what to think. Geralt could sense there was a trap there somewhere and Yennefer echoed his sentiment telepathically to him. Geralt’s eyes returned to Imlarith, who was busy taking off the dimeritium shackles restraining Eskel at the ankles and wrists, a secretive smirk plastered on his lips.

“Oh, I forgot to mention. I injected an experimental potion in your precious witcher just before you two so rudely burst through that door. Unfortunately, I don’t know the side effects of it yet. Let’s just say that it will render our dear Eskel here unpredictable for a yet undetermined time frame. I’m sure you can handle yourselves, though. After all, you did just slash your way through here.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. He could feel the vibrations of his medallion intensifying when the mage Imlarith disappeared through a portal which he conjured with a clicking of his fingers. Neither Geralt nor Yennefer dared to move, not even when Eskel stirred gently on the table. It was the soft moan tumbling past Eskel’s lips that snapped Geralt out of his trance. In an instant, he was next to Eskel and running his fingers through the damp hair reassuringly, like he used to do when they were young scared boys seeking comfort in each other’s bunks.

“Esk? It’s me, Geralt. Thank the gods you’re safe. You have no idea how-“

Suddenly, Geralt felt something hit him in the stomach and send him crashing into the opposite wall. The first thing Geralt felt was a jarring pain in his stomach, then light-headedness as his skull and spine made impact with the solid brick wall he had been propelled into. The next thing the witcher noticed when he opened his eyes was Eskel glaring at him and holding up a hand aimed at Geralt. Eskel’s ring finger and pinkie were bent so that they touched his palm.

Aard, Geralt’s mind supplied unhelpfully.

“Eskel, what-“

Yennefer was quicker to recover and sent a magical orb hurtling towards Eskel. Geralt scrambled to his feet, but he instantly hissed when he put weight on his left ankle and felt a sharp pain travel all the way up his thigh. Not broken, but definitely twisted badly enough to cause discomfort. Geralt cursed. Meanwhile, Eskel had used Quen to cast a protective shield around himself just in time for Yennefer’s orb to come crashing into it. Geralt noticed with horror that Eskel’s shield barely took any damage from it. Yen’s jaw tightened in determination as she brought both her hands together and created a bigger, probably stronger orb which she released in Eskel’s direction. The witcher remained motionless, letting the second attack hit his shield without so much as flinching. This time, Eskel did not allow Yennefer anytime to recover and aimed a burst of Igni at the sorceress, which she only barely managed to block.

“Yen, get out of here!” Geralt yelled at her, catching Eskel’s attention in the process. Bloodshot eyes stared at him coldly. Eskel’s eyes, usually so warm and bright, were now devoid of any emotion. Geralt did not recognise the feral witcher squaring up to him. This was not Eskel. Geralt shivered at the thought. “Eskel, listen to me! It’s me, Geralt. You know me, we-“

Geralt managed to put up his own shield in extremis before Eskel’s Igni hit him with a force that very nearly sent him hurtling through the wall that time. Geralt managed to keep his shield up for the most part, but deep cracks were already forming. The shield would not resist a second attack of that magnitude. Something twisted in Geralt warned him that Eskel was still holding back, that this was only a warning.

“Eskel, please, snap out of this. This isn’t you!”

More fire. This time, rather than a single burst of flames, it was like a wall of fire was closing in on Geralt. Eskel’s forte were signs, had always been since the start of his training, whereas Geralt was physically faster and stronger. Not by much, though, and his magical abilities were at best subpar compared to Eskel’s. As Geralt stood there desperately trying to keep up his shield while Eskel all but breathed fire in his direction, the White Wolf became painfully aware of his own weaknesses. The dragon of Kaer Morhen the instructors used to fondly refer to Eskel. Geralt now understood why.

“Geralt! Geralt!”

He could barely hear Yennefer cry out for him, but her reaction seemed to distract Eskel long enough for the sorceress to turn the tables and send Eskel flying to the other end of the cell, knocking over furniture and alchemy utensils in his wake. Geralt did not waste time and hobbled to his lover’s side as fast as his twisted ankle and broken ribs allowed, only to trap Eskel there with Yrden. Geralt then fell too his knees and went to straddle Eskel, using his weight to keep him down and his hands to pin Eskel’s wrists over his head.

“Eskel, it’s me, Geralt. Remember me? We trained together at Kaer Morhen when we were boys. When I got there, I was crying and scared because my mother had just abandoned me at Vesemir’s doorstep. He sent me up to one of the rooms and told me I’d be sharing a bunk with you. Remember what you told me that night when I couldn’t sleep for crying? ‘You can sleep in my bed if you want. I won’t tell.’ Remember that?”

Eskel had stopped thrashing quite so violently, but he still snapped at Geralt and groaned in frustration when he found himself restrained for the second time that day. Geralt strengthened his Yrden, but never let go of Eskel’s wrists.

“When we were thirteen you escaped to the tower after a boy called you a son of a whore. I found you in the tower, and I was the only one you would let close. Vesemir left us to it and I hugged you close. You told me that your mum was the sweetest person you had ever met and that it wasn’t her fault your dad raped her and then left her to deal with the consequences. We spent most of the evening in that tower. I felt so much closer to you after that night. I’ll cherish that memory forever.”

Eskel relaxed, but Geralt was still on edge. He wondered if it was a trap to get Geralt to lower his guard so Eskel could pounce on him. Although Geralt took comfort in the fact that the other witcher had stopped snapping at him.

“You nearly died during the trials. Vesemir called for me and I didn’t leave your side until it was over. You held my hand so tightly. I stood by you when you screamed, when you threw up, when you howled in pain. You didn’t let go once, not even when I slept. You whispered my name over and over. C’mon Esk, you can’t have forgotten that.”

Bloodshot amber eyes were set on Geralt, but thankfully Eskel began to relax under him and the snarl that had twisted his lips mere seconds ago completely disappeared. Geralt hoped these were all signs that Eskel was slowly but surely coming back to him. He cupped his feral lover’s face with one hand while still pinning Eskel’s wrists securely with the other. One could never be too careful.

“The night before my second trials, you were so scared Esk. So was I, but I knew you needed me to be strong for once. You were always the strong one, but this one time you broke. I promised you I would always come back for you. I’m here now. Don’t you dare die on me. Come back to me, wiseass. Please, Eskel.”

Eskel’s eyes slowly reverted back to their familiar colour as Geralt spoke. It took another couple of minutes for Eskel to come back to his senses fully and when he did, a shaky breath pushed past his lips almost as if the weight of the destruction he had caused instantly came crashing onto Eskel’s shoulders. Geralt knew his lover would hate himself for months, if not years for what had happened here, no matter how often Geralt reminded him that none of it had been his fault. They would cross that bridge when they got to it. Eskel needed him now, first and foremost.

“G’ralt?”

“It’s me. I’m here, you’re safe. I came for you, just like I promised I always would.” Geralt’s thumb brushed over Eskel’s scarred cheek lovingly in a silent reassurance that he was there and that he was not going anywhere. Eskel briefly looked past Geralt’s shoulder to where Yennefer was standing quietly, his brows creasing with concern.

“Yen’s fine,” Geralt reassured Eskel softly, “not a scratch. Even a frenzied witcher is no match for her.”

“Only because you distracted me,” Eskel lamented, and Geralt mentally kicked himself for his words. Gods, he was so bad at words.

“You snapped out of it. That mage was playing with fire by injecting that potion in you.”

“Where-“

“Disappeared right after I got here,” Geralt supplied quickly, not wanting Eskel to exhaust himself by talking too much, “we’ll deal with him later. First, we need to get you home. To Kaer Morhen. Vesemir will be fretting like a mother hen if we don’t get there soon.”

“I can help with that,” Yen reminded them gently, “I’ll create a portal for you, but you need to leave now. We won’t be alone for much longer and I can sense the mages rebuilding the magical walls again.”

Geralt pursed his lips but one encouraging nod from Eskel was all he needed to get a move on. It was on those rare occasions that Geralt blessed his mutations for allowing his body to heal faster. He would have been useless carrying Eskel on a twisted ankle, but the shooting pain from before was beginning to fade into a numbing throb. Geralt could deal with that, at least for a little while. The witcher met Yen’s violet gaze, a silent signal for her to go ahead. The sorceress acknowledged him with a small nod of the head and soon, a portal to Kaer Morhen manifested before their eyes.

“Thanks, Yen. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it. I know where to find you when it comes to repaying your debt.”

Geralt and Yen shared one last parting look, the witcher even managing a grateful smile, before he stepped into the portal, not once letting go of Eskel. A nauseating second later, Geralt’s knees buckled and sent him tumbling to the ground, the harsh stone ripping his breeches and digging into the soft skin of his knees. Kaer Morhen. The main hall, Geralt realised with relief. The pain in his ankle and ribs flared up when Eskel all but collapsed on top of him, sending Geralt toppling onto his injured side.

“Eskel! Geralt!”

Vesemir. Geralt groaned as he tried to push Eskel off him, but soon two additional pairs of hands were helping him get the exhausted witcher off him. Geralt nearly snarled at Vesemir when the older witcher tried to pull Eskel too far away for Geralt’s comfort, but the reaction died in his throat as the older witcher levelled him with an unimpressed glare.

“Easy, boy! You know I won’t hurt him. Lambert, help Geralt to his feet and carry him upstairs. I’ll take care of Eskel.”

Geralt was too exhausted, both physically and mentally, to resist or challenge Vesemir’s words.

____

Eskel slept for two days straight before he finally began to stir. Geralt, who was curled up against him, instantly jolted at the movement. His eyes blinked away the last remnants of sleep before settling on his lover. When Eskel finally opened his eyes, Geralt let out the breath he had been holding for the past two days. His fingers carded through Eskel’s hair and gently brushed through any tangles Geralt happened upon. Eskel let out a pleased rumble at the tender ministrations, his arms snaking around Geralt’s waist and pressing him closer to the firm body. Eskel’s warm and safe embrace rightened the world on its axis, and for a brief moment, both basked in each other’s presence while pretending that the past two days had been nothing but a very vivid nightmare. Eskel’s nose nuzzled at Geralt’s neck, soft lips pressing kisses to the sensitive area and sending pleasant shivers running down Geralt’s back.

The moment ended too soon when Eskel heaved a trembling sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

Eskel’s fingers traced Geralt’s ribs, feeling, looking for injuries Eskel knew he had inflicted. Geralt hated seeing his lover spiral into a vicious circle of guilt and self-hatred.

“I hurt you.”

“You weren’t yourself, Esk.” Geralt readjusted their position so he could kiss Eskel’s lips. It was a chaste kiss, no heat to it, but that was exactly what Eskel needed right now. Tenderness, a gentle touch, reassurance. The other witcher melted into the kiss briefly and whined when Geralt pulled away. “Eskel, listen to me. I don’t want you to think any of this was your fault.”

“But-“

“Shut up!” Geralt snapped, although there was no venom in his tone, “just let me finish. Imlarith used your strength against you, that doesn’t make you a bad person. He knew just how powerful you are, but he also knew that you were holding back a lot of the time. Don’t argue, we both know you do.”

Eskel’s mouth closed with a click as he once again resigned himself to simply listen to Geralt’s lecture without interruption. His efforts were rewarded with another lingering kiss.

“You hold back because the last thing you want to do is hurt people. That’s not a weakness, that’s a strength. A strength that was exploited by a mage with evil and megalomaniac intentions. It wasn’t you. You came back to me, you fought whatever it was he injected in your system. I can’t imagine how much strength that must have taken.”

Eskel gently brushed his nose against Geralt’s his eyes fluttering shut as a tired sigh pushed past his lips.

“It was hard. You wanna know what brought me back?”

“Having a drop-dead handsome witcher straddle you like a racehorse?” Geralt joked, his words earning him an undignified snort from his lover.

“You wish, dumbass. No, it wasn’t that. I know you were talking to me, but I couldn’t make sense of your words. I was still conscious, still there, but it felt like I had taken the backseat in my own mind. I was not fully in control, but I was aware of exactly what I was doing and what was happening. It’s difficult to explain. I knew I had to snap out of it, but I didn’t know how. I was… well, scared shitless. Scared of hurting you. Of killing you…”

Eskel paused long enough to compose himself, taking strength in Geralt’s presence.

“So, I went to my happy place. The first time I returned to Kaer Morhen after my first year solo on the Path. I remembered getting there, worn, tired, hungry and miserable. All I wanted was drown my sorrows at the bottom of a bottle of Mahakam spirit and sleep all winter, tell the world to fuck off. And then I saw you, training the new recruits in the courtyard. I remember the way you looked at me, the smile on your face, and later, the sex.”

It was Geralt’s turn to snort at his lover’s words.

“Romantic, as always.”

“Shut up, wolf. You know I’m the romantic one out of the both of us!” Eskel argued, his lips seeking Geralt’s for another kiss which was promptly granted. “Before it gets to your head, it wasn’t the thought of your dick that brought me back. It was the feeling of coming back to you that gave me the strength to fight it. The feeling of coming home.”

Home. Geralt smiled at the term. Once again, Eskel had put in simple terms what Geralt had been struggling to express for years. They were each other’s homes, no matter where they were on the Continent, no matter if they slept in a castle or in marshy swamps. Geralt tightened his hold on Eskel, worried his lover might disappear again.

“Sleep, Esk. You need to recover.” Eskel was already snoring by the time Geralt ended his sentence, looking peaceful in the safety of his lover’s arms. Geralt placed a soft kiss into Eskel’s hair. “I’ll be there when you wake up.”

END.

#whumptober2020 #no.4 #caged #the witcher #fic #feral Eskel #experimental drugs #hurt comfort #angst #fluff #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #eskel #eskel the witcher #the witcher eskel #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt x eskel #eskel x geralt

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last-wish · 4 years

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Feainnewedd: Chapter 5

Summary: Ciri meets the witchers and starts her training at Kaer Morhen, Geralt struggles with his new role and unexpected troubles demand outside help.

Pairing: Geralt x Yennefer

Word Count: 3,7k

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! This chapter took me longer than I thought, with the change of setting in the fic and all the stuff happening in the world. I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think! Cross posted to AO3. Special thanks to @mclintocks for her invaluable help.

“Ciri, stop right there!”

The girl brought her horse to a halt some fifty yards ahead of Geralt. “You’re such an old man!” She laughed. “Why do you hate fun?”

“I am an old man,” he said as he caught up with her. “But wait until you see Vesemir.”

Ciri spotted a half-smile on the witcher’s face as he overtook her.

“Well, if he raised you, he must be even more boring than you.”

Geralt chuckled. “When I ride into a new town, kids not much younger than you stare at me with their mouths open. The very bravest among them even dare ask me about my exciting life hunting monsters.”

“I have seen through you already. You’re just a boring old man hiding beneath that armor.”

“You’re really hurting my pride, Ciri. Don’t you have any mercy?”

“Not when you don’t even let me run a little. Come on, I’m hungry! Can’t we go faster to the next town?”

Ciri put on her saddest face—to little effect on the white-haired witcher.

“You have dried meat in your pouch.”

“But it’s awful! We’ve been eating this shit for weeks.”

“Language. You don’t want Vesemir hear you say that. And yeah, this meat gets tiring pretty quickly. But we can’t stop at every tavern and risk someone recognizing us. Or someone remembering us when certain people come later asking for a certain rebellious, ashen-haired, green-eyed princess. Maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious if we had cut your hair short.”

Ciri stabbed him with an unambiguous look.

“But I see that’s still not an option,” the witcher added quickly. “Anyway, don’t worry too much, the next town is the last one before Kaer Morhen. Then it’s a couple more days and—”

A rider appeared out of a gully that descended from the nearby hills. He hastened his horse in their direction, looking nervously towards the hilltops.

“Good morning,” Geralt said.

The man stopped before them.

“Another one of you? Are you coming to help?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a man-eater around here. I just guided one of your kind to the place where it attacked yesterday.”

“What, who—”

“I’m not staying here!” The man hurried his horse. “Go up the gully and you’ll find him. Or what’s left of him!”

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed as he dismounted Roach.

Ciri noticed then a shadow on the ground. At first, she thought it was just a cloud. But as it grew steadily, moving towards the rider, she felt something was off.

“Geralt…”

She raised her head and stared in disbelief. A beast that looked like it had jumped out of a tapestry crossed the sky, piercing the cold morning air with a horrifying shriek. Folding its monstrous, bat-like wings, the creature dived towards the rider, quickly closing the distance despite the man’s desperate efforts.

“Ciri, hold Roach!” Geralt said as he unsheathed his silver sword.

Ahead of them, rider and horse fell to the ground. The animal neighed when the monster plunged its claws deep into its belly. The man wheezed as the fangs pierced his throat mercilessly. The man-eater stood on top of them, raising its bloodied head with an almost royal look. The impression quickly vanished when Ciri noticed its hideous face crowned by two long horns. It was then that the girl saw a figure nimbly descending from the hillside, sword in hand.

Before it could get close, the monster lashed with its long scorpion tail in a semi-circle. Ciri looked at the man’s face as he stopped, wielding his sword before him. A long, ugly scar crossed half of his face. The beast must have been fixated on the man, too, since it did not notice Geralt approaching it from behind. With a quick pirouette, the witcher slashed its left wing. The man-eater roared and writhed. Instead of trying to dodge the tail coming at him, Geralt crossed his wrists, stopping the sting amidst an explosion of sparks and blood.

It must be one of his witcher tricks, Ciri thought as the two men circled around the beast, its wounded wing preventing it from taking off again. Suddenly, as if they were reading each other’s thoughts, the two men attacked at the same time. But the monster was still very much alive, fending off the men with a lash of its tail, a dodge and a counterattack.

From her vantage point, Ciri watched the fight with fascination. The girl had seen skilled warriors dueling in tournaments back in Cintra but this was completely different. Instead of the slow movements of plate-armored knights wielding heavy maces, the nimble jumps, spins and dodges of the two seamlessly coordinated men resembled more of a court dance. The man-eater started moving more slowly as the dark blood spilling from its left wing formed puddles on the ground. Noticing this, Geralt and the scarred man got closer to the beast.

The end of the fight was quick. In the blink of an eye, the scarred man bisected the monster’s tail and Geralt sliced off one of its legs. The other man then jumped on top of the beast and buried his sword up to the hilt, instantly killing the monster.

The man with the scar landed on the ground and sheathed his sword into the scabbard strapped to his back. The witchers wrapped their arms around each other in a quick, tight embrace.

“Still sharp, Wolf.”

“It’s either sharp or dead, Eskel.”

“As Vesemir always says. Are you going to winter in Kaer Morhen too?”

“Yes”—Geralt looked at Ciri—“We are.”

“You’re bringing a boy? It’s been a long time.”

“Not a boy,” Geralt said while Ciri approached them, pulling back her hood. “This is Ciri.”

“Oh. Forgive me, Ciri. Geralt, are you sure Kaer Morhen is the right place for her?”

“As long as your food is better than the dried shit we’ve been eating,” Ciri answered for him, “I’ll put up with you.”

***

“Again!”

Ciri wiped the sweat off her forehead with her wrist and looked at her feet, one in front of the other, standing on a narrow beam four feet off the ground. She held the wooden sword in front of her, keeping perfect balance.

“Now!”

The girl took two quick steps and swung the sword with all her might against the target—a leather sack roughly shaped as a person.

“Way too high. We’re aiming for the carotid artery. You remember where it is, right?”

“I’m not stupid, Coën.”

The young witcher smiled at her from below, his yellow-green eyes glinting playfully against his bronze skin. Both outsiders—Coën came from the School of the Griffin in Poviss—they had connected with each other from the start. Besides, Eskel was too calm for the energetic girl, Vesemir could be too protective and Lambert… Well, Lambert was insufferable.

“That’s what I thought,” Coën said. “Again, come on.”

Ciri returned to the starting position. She glanced from the corner of her eyes at the opposite side of Kaer Morhen’s courtyard. Geralt had said he would be sharpening swords but every time the girl looked at him, he was staring into the distance through a wide gap in the ruined wall. The girl focused back on the target and attacked.

“No, no, this time you got too close. Shorter steps. If you get that close to a good swordsman, they’ll hack you to pieces before you swing.”

“Ugh.”

“Come on, you were begging all day for sword practice.”

“Because you have me all day practicing stances!”

“What’s so bad about it? It’s just like learning to dance. Didn’t they teach you in court?”

“Oh, they did,” Ciri scowled at him. “And I hated it.”

“Don’t look at me like that with a sword in your hand,” laughed Coën as he approached her. “Hold the sword in front of you. See, your grip is wrong. You have to hold it… like this. Try again.”

Ciri got into position, took a deep breath and tried again.

“Better!” Coën patted her shin. “Your steps were fine, the strike was alright. But you have to swing faster or your enemy will parry easily. Again!”

The girl took a moment. She re-tightened her ponytail, stretched her arms and looked at the leather sack. There was a wrinkle in its surface that seemed familiar, almost like a frown staring at her above a pair of sharp cheekbones. She saw a dark helmet, crowned by two feathered wings. Cold sweat trickled down her back. But Ciri tightened the grip on her sword and fire burnt through her.

“Great! You did it perfectly! You have to show that to Geralt. Hey, are you alright? Ciri!”

Ciri felt the sword leaving her hand. She looked at it, slowly falling towards the ground. But the ground was further and further, and the sword became so small it disappeared from her sight. A sudden gust of cold wind stung her face and darkness surrounded her. Somehow, the girl knew she was standing on the same spot of the witchers’ keep. She then saw lights at the other side of the courtyard where Geralt had been sitting just a moment ago—only this time the wall was no longer in ruins. The air grew warmer and she was relieved to hear distant voices. But as the voices grew nearer, she recognized something unpleasant among them.

The torches were close. The stench of smoke, sweat and blood inundated the courtyard. An endless tide of people marched towards her. Ciri saw their eyes and shivered. They all glimmered with hate. Hate and bloodlust.

“Good men of Kaedwen!”

She noticed the clubs, the axes, the pitchforks. Stained with blood.

“You have done the hardest part. You must finish the job now!”

She heard sobs beside her. A group of kids. Some cowering in fear, some standing defiantly with short swords in their hands.

“To exterminate the pack one must kill every wolf, even the pups!”

Only two wounded witchers stood between the mob and the boys.

“You want to end this plague of mutants and freaks?”

A roar answered. Geralt and Coën looked back at her.

“Then have no mercy.”

***

The old man was sitting at an austere table. Surrounded by piles of books and parchments, he pored over the pages of a leather-bound volume. With each page he turned, a small cloud of dust took off, barely illuminated by a dying candle. The man was so focused on the book he barely heard the light steps approaching.

“Across the Veil,” said the voice behind him. “By Sebille Tilly, if I’m not mistaken.”

“One of the most influential books on the arts of revelations, prophecies and dreams, or so they say. Although poor Sebille’s prose wasn’t the lightest, I was just about to go from theory to practice on this dreams chapter. How is she, Geralt?”

“She just woke up. Fine, just a bit agitated. The vision she had…”

“What?”

“You know she called out to Coën and me. What she described, Vesemir… It must be the Fall of Kaer Morhen.”

A tense silence followed, finally interrupted by a sigh from Vesemir.

“And you both were in the vision, I suppose.”

“Ciri saw us at the courtyard, trying to protect a group of kids from the mob.”

“That happened almost a century ago, how would you…? I was one of the first to arrive here after the Fall. We saw the bodies, what remained of them. And I’ll never forget it, there was a group of students there, lying on the courtyard. I don’t know a damned thing about these visions of the past and the future, I’m just a fencing instructor. But I can’t help but feel this is bigger than Kaer Morhen, bigger than us.”

“I know. And she should be here by now. If she can’t help her… I don’t know what to do. I didn’t even believe in destiny before finding her, what am I supposed to do with this? I don’t care about the meaning of the visions, I just want her to be safe. And I know enough about mediums and Sources to realize someone must teach her to control her power before she hurts herself or someone else.”

Vesemir stood up and put his hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“You said you trust her. She’s helped you before. She’ll help us now.”

Geralt squeezed Vesemir’s hand and nodded. “When I was hurt in Sodden, I don’t know if it was a fever dream but… I saw my mother. Visenna. She didn’t answer my questions but the look in her eyes was enough. Her silences were enough. She abandoned me because her life wasn’t fit for a child. She must have tried, I know that, but in the end it wasn’t enough. Look at us, what are we supposed to do with her? You took me, you trained and raised me, and I’m grateful for that. I would be dead otherwise. But I don’t want this for her. The danger, the hate, the loneliness of the Path.”

“Geralt. When I took you in, the School of the Wolf was in shatters. We were a ragtag collection of the few witchers lucky enough to be running errands far from here when the Fall happened. I had been on the Path, sure, but most of my life was here. I’d have never imagined I’d have to raise you, Eskel and Lambert. I did my best. But you… You shared the table with kings. You took impossible choices and bore the consequences. You saved a cursed princess and you protected the oppressed. You have friends among the elves, the dwarves, the dryads and the sorceresses. You are so much more ready for this than I ever was. And most important of all, you saved this girl. Destiny has brought you together for a reason. And I see how you look at her. You’re not Visenna, Geralt. You’re not me. And you’re not alone.”

“I just… Every night I close my eyes and I see Yen. I wish she were here. Because Ciri and I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for her. And I don’t even know if she’s alive… I must do this for Ciri—but also for her. Thank you, Vesemir. For everything.”

***

A few weeks passed since the incident in the courtyard. Ciri continued to train without experiencing more trances but her nights were becoming more and more restless. She usually woke up agitated in the middle of the night, covered in sweat. Strangely, she didn’t remember anything about her dreams after the incident, which did not make it any easier for her. And the lack of sleep was starting to affect her during the day.

“Ciri! Are you listening to me?”

“What?”

Geralt sighed. “Another bad night?”

Ciri yawned and nodded.

”Those damned nightmares,” Geralt said. “And this book is not helping. Too much dry theory. Let’s see… Do you see that shield over there, leaning on the wall? Well, this is the first Sign every witcher learns—Aard.”

Ciri saw the witcher’s fingers twisting and forming a strange gesture in front of him. An instant later, flames roared in a nearby hearth, an empty sack flew to the other side of the room and the shield fell with a heavy thud.

“Oh,” she gasped. “It’s like the trick you did with the manticore.”

“That was Heliotrop. Useful against a sudden attack. But it’s more advanced. Let’s focus on Aard, it’s the easiest Sign. You only need two things to do it. First of all, the gesture. Open your right hand. This finger… here. Bend this one… like that. And now extend these. Good. You can practice the full gesture now.”

“Aha! Not too hard. But why is it not working?”

“The second thing you need is concentration. You have to focus on what you want to achieve.”

“Alright. I want to knock that basket off that chair.”

“Good. You have to see in your mind how you’re going to do it. Close your eyes. Can you see it?”

“Mhm.”

“Then do the Sign.”

Ciri opened her eyes, arranged her hand forming the Sign of Aard and stretched the arm forward. But nothing happened. She tried again, with the same result. And again.

“It’s alright, Ciri. Sometimes it’s hard at the beginning. Remember, close your eyes. Focus. And… Don’t worry, I’ll do it again for you. Remember, you have to picture yourself doing it. Like this!”

The basket flew across the room.

“That’s what I’m doing! And I didn’t even moved it a bit. There’s no point, I’m blocked. I can’t do a simple Sign, I can’t control my visions and I can’t even sleep. It’s only getting worse. And I don’t see why this Sign is worth the effort, you only made an empty basket fly for a few yards and the people pursuing us are a bit heavier than that.”

“Hey, I know this is frustrating. But we’ll get through this, you’ll see. And Aard is very useful, I was just showing you how to do it. Besides, Signs can be intensified in some ways.”

“How?”

“Witchers have potions. Certain preparations can improve reflexes, build up stamina or accelerate healing processes. And strengthen the Signs too. But don’t get any ideas, a witcher potion would kill you on the spot. Only those who pass the Trial of the Grasses can bear the toxins and you know that’s not an option.”

“Then what’s the point of learning it?”

“There are other ways of intensifying Signs and magic in general. What you did that night in Cintra when you screamed… When you are pushed to your limits, your body and mind react differently.”

“So this will only be useful when I’m about to die?”

“Well, you can also provoke those reactions. In the end, what you need are heightened emotions. That stuff is not written in witcher books, I learned it from Yennefer. And I can tell you, it works.”

“Oh. Mmm. But how do you—”

The girl stopped when she saw the strange expression in Geralt’s face. The witcher cleared his throat. For an awkwardly long time.

“Anyways,” he continued. “We’ll get to that when you learn the Signs.”

The witcher was interrupted by hurried steps coming from the corridor. A smug face framed by rebellious red curls appeared from the doorway.

“Hey, you two! We have a visitor and I think you both know her. Come with me.”

Geralt and Ciri followed Lambert through the corridors of the eastern wing, making their way to the entrance hall of the old keep.

“Geralt, I knew you were fond of a certain sorceress. But I thought her hair was black. So tell me, does she enchant her hair when she gets bored or is this a different one?”

“Lambert.” Geralt looked at him with a stone face. “Stop.”

The witchers and the girl crossed the last doorway and arrived at the entrance hall. They almost bumped into Coën, coming from the stable laden with saddlebags. Behind him, among a sea of chestnut locks, a familiar face was nodding and smiling at something Eskel was saying.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Triss,” Geralt said.

“Greetings, Geralt. You keep this castle of yours well hidden, I almost froze to death finding my way here.” She grabbed a wooden mug Vesemir brought to her and drank. “Now that’s better. Fiona! Glad to see you again, you look different. Come here, let me see you.”

“Fiona?” Lambert laughed. “I think you got the wrong girl, this here is Ciri.”

Triss looked at Lambert with a raised brow. Then at Geralt. She left the mug in Ciri’s hands and crossed her arms.

“We couldn’t take risks.” Geralt said. “There will be time to explain everything, but yes—her real name is Ciri.”

“You witchers are always full of surprises. Well, I have news for you too, Geralt.”

The sorceress noticed his suddenly blanching face and hesitated. Ciri saw him clenching his fists.

“Say it,” the witcher demanded.

“Yennefer is alive. We found her in Tor Lara, she portalled there from Sodden Hill somehow.”

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The expression on his face was something Ciri had never seen before. She saw relief, regret and hope. Her throat dried up all of a sudden and she drank from the mug. For a moment, she did not even notice the strange taste. Not until Triss looked at her with her mouth open.

“Ciri, that’s not for—”

The girl felt a freezing wind stinging her face and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was floating close to the high ceiling of the hall. She saw Geralt, Triss, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert below. Coën came back to the hall in that moment too. She saw the fear in their eyes. And she heard a metallic, unpleasant voice. It took a moment for her to realize her lips were moving and the voice came from within her.

“Verily I say unto you, the era of the Wolf’s Blizzard is nigh! The sword and the ax will flood the earth with hate and discord for it will be the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt! Beware, you two, who will fall in this struggle as your kind fell here before. Two teeth will kill the Griffin! Three teeth will slay the Wolf! Past and future converge now, the serpent sinks its fangs in its own tail. The world will end amid the frost and begin anew from the seed of Hen Ichaer. Watered with the Elder and the Altered Blood, the seed will not sprout but burst into flame! Watch for the signs! You will know it is time when the rivers run red with the Blood of Elves.”

#the witcher netflix #geralt x yennefer #geralt of rivia #cirilla of cintra #eskel #witcher coen #vesemir #lambert #fanfiction

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