#too much to put into words … he is so moronic bur he is humanity

[mini-ism]

how willing joachim was to give away the core of reason just kinda speaks volumes as to how he wishes to “honor” joyces legacy but like, he was a child… despite the responsibility thrown onto him before he was ten, he finds a way to uphold the legacy of joyce and operate anti entropy but at the cost of his free will and perhaps even his individuality……. he continues to avoid the mistakes of the past (and therefore let it all happen again) by refusing to alter the future…………. he doesnt tell the truth because he is afraid of what will come of it…. welt exemplifying himself as “humanity” sort of proves how stupid people can be by being so adverse to the pain they had once experienced and yet putting themselves through it again unintentionally because they never changed anything about it. and he will never outrun joyce so long as he has the core or the star of eden…. joachim cannot be free until he dies in his own eyes because he is not joachim, he is welt yang…. and he is so suicidal and self sacrificial because when he dies he will no longer have to be the living representation of humanity or the continuation of joyce….

or maybe hoyo just wanted the silly haha to happen

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Or read on tumblr. 

They ride hard and Geralt does his best to ignore the poet creating new songs about his good looks. Nonexistent as they may be.

By the time they reach the town, it takes a matter of minutes to locate the inn Yennefer selected. Perhaps because it's one of two, and the other smells of urine all the way from across the road.

The other inn has a stable and a conspicuous lack of puddles surrounding it. Yennefer would always choose the nicest inn, regardless of how incognito they need to be. He leads Roach towards that one, Dandelion on his heels. He’s not speaking to the bard, too worried about getting back to Ciri. And not having to have a conversation about his appearance ever again. Utter ridiculousness. He lets Dandelion go in first, taking both horses to settle them in the stables. The hay is fresh and clear of mold. He doles out some oats for Roach and sees Yennefer’s newest mount alongside Ciri’s Kelpie. Roach whickers softly at the other horses in greeting and then headbutts him, causing him to stagger back a little. Stroking her cheek for a few seconds and scratching along her jaw, he frees her from her tack, carefully hanging it before taking his time brushing her down. When her mane and tail are free of burs and tangles, he moves on to Dandelion’s horse. The fat beast gives him very little trouble, happier to stuff its face into the feed than to be groomed.

The horses cared for, he lifts his head, nostrils flaring. He can smell Ciri and Yen, gooseberries and lilac, and then Dandelion’s unwashed self. The bard will smell differently, soon, probably more like cedar and then whatever oils he’s been using on the wood of his lute. He follows his nose, glaring when someone comes up to stop him from mounting the stairs. The maid backs away, and he continues up in search of his companions.

Geralt has more or less forgotten Dandelion's promise to inform Yennefer of his earlier self-deprecation. He feels a dull sense of panic start low in his stomach that slowly crawls up into his throat, tightening it when he remembers about halfway up the stairs. He knows he’s walking into some kind of trap of his own making no matter what he does. Odds are Dandelion will have gotten himself all worked up trying to convince Yennefer to disabuse him of the fact he’s ugly. What Dandelion doesn’t understand is that Yennefer has never been a woman to pretty the truth, or to lie. Although, perhaps the sorceress will be in a good mood, having gotten a good laugh out of the bard before Geralt even gets to the rooms. That might help.

Geralt takes a breath before continuing up the last few steps, misery coiling low in his gut. Whatever madness had gotten into the bard that morning was just going to end in humiliation for the witcher, rather than vindication for the bard. Perhaps he could take a room with Ciri and just avoid his lovers entirely until the whole issue blows over. Glumly, he reflects that is entirely unlikely seeing as how Dandelion is like a starved cur with a bone once he decides to dig his heels in. And Yen....Yen likes to win.

He pauses on the landing, head tilted, listening. His witcher’s enhanced hearing allows him to hear through the doors relatively easily, and he focuses on the sound of Ciri’s voice. While he isn’t close enough to understand her every word, her tone is concerned. Nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply again, taking in their scents, he can smell the bitter tang that tells him not all is well. Throat squeezing and stomach curdling in dread, he goes to the door, takes one last pause to be sure, and pushes the door open.  

Not expecting the scene that greets him when he enters the room, he takes a step back when Ciri slams into him, wrapping her arms tight around his middle. "Dandelion says you've got a poor opinion of yourself and it's our job to disabuse you of it. Yen says he's a moron."

Geralt snorts since he agrees with Yen but Dandelion is staring at him morosely and he doesn't want to hurt the bard worse. Yennefer's mocking had probably been quite thorough. Then he catches her glance and recoils slightly. She's angry. At him. He opens his mouth to speak but realizes he has no idea what he's done wrong.

The sorceress crosses the floor in two steps and raises her hand as if she intends to slap him. He freezes, and then notes she's dropped her hand.

"You ... Geralt. All this time? You've really felt that all this time? I know you try and play the fool when you think it will benefit you, but I never thought you believed it. Or the things people say about witchers. Am I a monster Geralt? Because I am no longer entirely human? You were a boy once, until you passed the trials. Then you became a Witcher. A ‘horrible mutation’, as you like to say. But you're still human, Geralt. You still..." She looks at him fiercely. "I don't know what to do with you. Or say to you," she tells him softly, cupping his cheek. He pulls away, unwilling to meet her eyes. She knows he doesn’t think of her as a monster, or a mutation. Even if she isn’t fully human, and that’s why her magic is so strong. The pain he’s holding onto cuts her. "Do you really think all the women lining up to fuck you want to do it because they're daring themselves to fuck a tame monster?"

She sees the accession in his eyes. "Geralt. You're quite handsome. And anything but tame. Or a monster." She curls her fingers into his hair, dragging his head down to press his forehead to hers. "Either you think I am a monster, too, or blind, if you think I would debase myself to fuck you. If I saw you how you saw yourself."

He stares at her, pupils enlarging as he takes in the details of her face.

"Geralt. I love you. And I know you love me. Do you think I would attach myself to someone truly hideous and inhuman? Regardless of the personal gain." She lets him pull even farther away, knowing that he is deeply uncomfortable and unable to have this conversation with her. "No one finds you ugly. Those that fear your hair and eyes are fools. Have you never seen the light catch them? They light up like liquid gold. There's nothing monstrous in them."

He stares at her in confusion, stunned. "Yen, we don't need to, uh...There’s no point to any of this. It doesn’t change what I am." His throat is tight and he finds he just wants to leave the room. "I'll go ask the owner to have a bath drawn for you," he says and turns on his heel to go.

He hears Dandelion protest, and Yen hush him. He chooses not to listen as he hears Ciri's voice rise in confusion and hurt. Yennefer hushes her, and he tries not to hear anything more.

"You scared our Witcher," she sounds faintly amused. Even if her mind is turning over how to best help Geralt. Currently, she feels letting him go lick his wounds is the best option. If they push him too hard, he’ll just get angry and none of it will matter. Once he shuts down it’s all over.

"I had no idea. You didn't either, did you? With all your mind reading,” Dandelion shakes his head in frustration. “How can he see himself like that?”

"I suppose I should say I'm surprised you were able to catch anything I missed. But I am thankful you saw it when I did not. He sees such beauty in the world around him I hadn't thought he saw none in himself." She waves a hand to forestall the bard's indignant protest. "I know he sees himself as less. I just hadn't thought it ran even deeper than that. I know he hates being different, I know he feels he doesn't deserve all that he does. I didn't know how deep all that hatred ran."

Ciri looks at Yennefer. "You've called me ugly. Why is it such a bad thing to be ugly?"

"Do you think Geralt is ugly?" Yennefer asks.

"No. I suppose he looks like any other man, other than the hair and eyes. At least until he does that smile of his. The one he uses when he's being threatening. Not his real smile. Would I have come to look like him had I kept training to be a Witcher?"

"If you survived the trials of the grasses, you might have had, yes. As it is, you'll stay how you are."

Geralt stumps up the stairs, knowing a few moments later tubs will be brought up. This is the kind of inn where one doesn't go down to the tub. He hopes Yennefer has the coin to pay for it. He doesn't. And neither does the bard. For all perhaps he could sing up supper at least. Yen booked two rooms. So he heads into the other, before deciding he can't stand it. He heads back to the other room, pausing at the door he shakes his head. Since when does he feel fear? Witchers don't feel. Once he's opened the door and glanced around, he sees the bard and sorceress focus on him.

"He called you a she-devil," he says abruptly, hoping to shift focus on that. Holding out his hand for Ciri, she jumps up and takes it and lets him lead her from the room.

Before Dandelion can puff up and pick a fight with Geralt Yen holds a hand up, indicating he should let Geralt escape. "I've called you much worse. Both to your face and behind your back."

"And I you."

"So no harm done then. We've put it aside for him before. And quite frankly 'she-devil' is one of the kinder things I've been called."

Ciri allows Geralt to curl up with her on top of the linens. They haven't bathed so there's no point in getting under them. She remembers when he first found her at the farm. He'd promised they would be together. And the only way she had slept was at his side. Perhaps he needs her now like she needed him; to chase away the nightmares. Unexpectedly soothed by his repeated stroking of her hair, she drifts off contentedly. Geralt finds himself calmer as the girl eases into sleep. Her heart beats against his, quicker but no less powerful. Her small hands grip the leathers of his jerkin and he's glad to know even if he falls asleep, she will be there when he wakes. Safe, in his arms.

When a knock at the door wakes them, Ciri pulls away and palms her dagger as Geralt stands to answer. He listens for a moment, heightened senses hearing nothing amiss as he pulls open the door to allow the tub to be brought in. Next door he sees another one going into Yennefer's room.

The maid gives him a look when she sees Ciri sitting on the edge of his bed. "This is a respectable place, sir," she says softly as her fellows start to leave. She dumps a stack of towels with a cake of soap onto the small chest.

"It isn't like that," Geralt growls, surprised by the disgust he feels at the idea. "She is my d- apprentice. I teach her a trade. I do not bed her. You will not suggest that again."

The maid, utterly terrified, mumbles her apologies and flees.

Ciri hears the catch in his voice and feels a hint of wonder. He was going to say daughter, she's sure. "You've scared them so now they won't bring any water," she tells him accusingly.

"They'll bring it to Yen. Besides you'll bathe in her rooms anyway."  He cocks his head to the side, listening as he hears heavy footsteps up the stairs and the slosh of water. "They're bringing it now. Best hurry, don't keep her waiting." He shoos the cub into the next room after checking nothing is amiss. Other than his dignity.

Dandelion heads into the room with the Witcher, leaving the women to bathe peace. "She's going to make us sick insisting we bathe every chance she gets."

Geralt grunts as he begins working his leather armor loose enough to remove, “That’s all bullshit, no one caught sick of bathing.”. Buckets of water still arrive at their room despite Ciri's reservations. It's even still hot.

“Plenty of people have!”

“Hm,” Geralt replies rather than have another fruitless conversation.

Once the servants have all left Geralt watches lazily as Dandelion strips and sinks into the tub. The bard scrubs himself quickly and ducks his head multiple times to rinse his hair.

"Why is it I always help you bathe and not the other way around?"

"You've never asked," the Witcher points out.  

"Well then I'm asking now, come scrub my back "

Geralt gets up from the bed with a grunt. His leg still aches. Picking up a handful of soap flakes he raises his eyebrows in annoyance until Dandelion leans forward to make it possible to rub his back. Unsure of what to do exactly, he does his best to recall and replicate how Dandelion helps him. After working the soap around he carefully kneads the bard's neck and shoulders. He's afraid to hurt the other man. He freezes when Dandelion groans.

"Oh, don't stop, not yet," the bard protests.

"The water will be cold," Geralt says patiently.

"You always say witchers don't feel things," he points out, looking to push at Geralt again. To keep trying to force him into admitting he isn’t abnormal like he thinks.

"I can feel physical things Dandelion," his voice takes a hard edge. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t tolerate the discomfort. There’d been plenty of monsters in fetid bogs, piles of filth and trash, swamps… and he’d tackled them all without a second thought. Without giving in to the revulsion that would have stopped a normal man from even approaching the monster. He’d pushed past shit and filth to kill things, as needed. Taken his coin from revolted aldermen and other terrified townsfolk. It always cut to see the hatred and mistrust in their eyes as he showed proof of the monster’s death. He’d done it for them. And for the coin since one has to have coin to live on. The assumption he enjoys killing for the sake of killing is what cuts him the most. That he’s some barbarian monster who loves killing and has found a way to profit off it.

"I know. I know you feel pain." Dandelion tips his head up to look at Geralt.  He reads the hurt there and purses his lips. "I wasn't mocking you or trying to hurt you earlier. What I said I said in earnest. I like your eyes." He reaches up to touch Geralt's cheek and slide his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in close. “Geralt, I know you feel things. I know you can feel discomfort, and pleasure, and pain, and all of that.”

Rather than reply, Geralt shuts his eyes.

"Have you truly never seen it? You truly don't believe me? Geralt..."

Unsure why those cornflower blue eyes are regarding him so sadly, and at a loss for how to fix it, he presses his lips gently to the bard's. Dandelion pulls away after a moment, and Geralt stares at him helplessly. What’s he supposed to do?

"I wish you fit in here with me," Dandelion sighs. "I'll get out before the water is cold. No sense in making you suffer more than you make yourself already."

Once standing he dries off quickly and watches Geralt slide into the tub uncomfortably. His knees are forced to bend up near his chest. The Witcher rubs at his leg, face carefully blank but Dandelion notices the signs of pain all the same. The way his jaw juts forward just a bit, his eyebrows have a slight crinkle and his shoulders are tense.

"I can help you with that," he offers, gesturing at Geralt's knee.

"I don't think you can," Geralt says heavily.

"Then I can wash your hair," he gets up half dressed, trousers still unbuckled and his shirt waiting for him on the bed. It takes a moment or so to work soap through the witcher's hair, turning it from a greyish white back to milk. It takes a few rinses to get all the soap out and by the end of it Geralt feels much better. He's come to realize he quite enjoys having his scalp massaged. He's never had a problem enjoying physical attention. Not many people are willing to touch him with any kind of kindness or affection, so when someone is, he can barely stop himself from leaning into it. Eyes closed, he tilts his head up when Dandelion stops, opening them slowly and checking on the other man. Somewhat concerned by Dandelion's expression he finishes scrubbing up without help, and gets out of the tub, even though he’s not sure he’s ready to leave the warmth of the water. Or pull himself away from the bard’s gentle fingers.

Drying himself roughly, he drags on breeches and pulls the bard away from the lip of the tub to sit with him on the bed. "I don't like the look on your face," Geralt says quietly, not sure how to go about fixing this. Usually his only long-term interactions of a romantic nature were with Yen, and she had no problem speaking her mind. He rarely hurt her feelings so badly she turned morose. Not to say they didn't have their fights. There was just usually more loud voices and fucking after. Or going their separate ways.

"Well unfortunately it's just how my face looks right now. I'm quite tired you know."

"You were happier earlier."

"Do you truly not feel emotion Geralt? Can you truly say that? You can only feel the physical things? A hand on your skin, cold water clutching at you, and nothing else?"

"Dandelion..."

"Can you look at me right now and truly say you don't know what it is to have feelings? Anger? Happiness? Amusement? .... Love?" He says the last word in barely more than a whisper. They’ve talked about it before, but each time it seems like Dandelion never gains any ground and Geralt goes right back to refusing to admit anything.

Geralt searches for words to explain what it's like. He'd been made to not care. To not fear. To do things that regular humans were too good for. Such as fighting a monster in a moat of waste. What normal man would do that simply because that's all he exists for? His throat squeezes because he knows answering this wrong will end badly. And everything is so new and he's not ready to lose it. He likes being caught between the bard and sorceress, he likes how together they make him feel something he has no name for, but he’s sure it’s something good.

"I... Dandelion, you're asking me something I can't even answer for myself," he says pleadingly. "I know I'm not empty inside, I'm not devoid of all things, but I don't ... I don't feel as you do. I'm a m-"

"Don't say that to me either. I won't stand for it any more than she does." Dandelion starts when a knock sounds at the door.

Ciri pokes her head in, tousled locks of hair still damp. "Yennefer was wondering if you would go order food to be brought up. Since you're the least conspicuous of us," She asks Dandelion politely. He accedes to her request and Geralt sits uncomfortably on the bed, feeling lost.

Ciri comes over, "Put on your shirt and I'll fix your hair again. Like before."

"Can you bring the comb in here?"

"Yen says hiding from her won't make the problem go away."

He raises a brow.

"She said if you tried to hide in here to tell you that," the girl shrugs. "If this is all about your looks then I don't understand any of it. But all the same Yennefer hates that headband you use, so let me fix your hair back so there's nothing else for you two to gripe over."

"Like chickens in the coop," he suggests.

She glances at him, “Some monsters wear human skin, and they’re far more terrifying than any other kind I’ve seen.” Shaking her head, a little, she shrugs and heads back to the other room. A little shaken, the voice hadn’t quite been hers, and she’d looked at him with an intensity he’s unused to. The girl has magic, he knows. Geralt tugs his shirt on but doesn't tuck it in before following his cub to the other room. He sits on the bed and allows Ciri to brush out and tie back his hair. It's soothing.

Yennefer is busily completing her grooming regimen and the room smells of lilac and gooseberries. He closes his eyes until he hears footsteps approach and cool fingers slip under his chin. He looks up at her, unconcerned. He's so very tired.

"Maybe you wouldn't be as exhausted if you two hadn't dallied about like rutting dogs at daybreak?" She suggests lightly. Not that she minds, she started that. If nothing else she hopes he found some satisfaction in it. He’s in some kind of turmoil and she respects him enough to not pry intentionally to find out why. She can’t help getting some thoughts, or flashes of feelings, but she doesn’t have to go digging.

"Or perhaps several nights with no bed, not enough food, and constantly having to change course and split up to avoid the Nilfgaardian army wears on a person after a while."

"Then rest. Food will be here soon enough and you'll feel more yourself." She kisses his forehead.

He frowns slightly, he'd expected her to pick up where Dandelion had left off. Or just to be more tempestuous in general. Ciri has busied herself with unpacking and laying out her and Yennefer's clothing. "It'll need a clothes press," she complains.

Geralt chooses to let them dicker over how to pack better and leans against the headboard with his eyes closed until sleep claims him. When Dandelion joins him, he shifts to accommodate them both better. The bard chooses to drop his head into Geralt's lap, an arm thrown over his legs.

When the food is brought up on trays, they fall ravenously upon it. Rolls of warm bread packed with seeds disappear alongside a hearty lamb stew within minutes.

Geralt crawls wearily into bed after, unsurprised no one feels much like joining him. All their fine words about him, and when he could use the comfort, they’re all too busy. Not that he’s said anything or done anything to indicate he wants company.

"Don't wallow," Yennefer tells him sharply. "Not everyone can sleep just because they're bored or having a fit of self-pity." She has no intention of putting up with him having a fit over nothing. They’re not as tired as he is, and she’s not ready to lie down.

Unable to come up with anything sufficiently nasty to say in response, he simply gets up and goes into the other room to sleep in peace. Grateful to hear Ciri's slippers on the wooden floor behind him, he hadn't asked her to come but he's still struggling to allow her out of his sight. Splitting up had been agonizing.

"You didn't used to sleep this much; I had hoped you might help continue my training."

"In the morning," he agrees. After shedding his boots, he works his way under the linens and tries to find a way to sleep that will ease his aching leg. He feels like it's sucking the life out of him, the way the pain always presses on him. Always there in the back of his mind, aching unceasingly until it flares into sharp blooms of agony.

He shifts around in the bed, trying to find a comfortable way to rest. He’s so exhausted. Why is it so hard to get settled? He grumbles to himself, shifting around miserably.

"What's wrong?" Ciri asks sharply, heading over to the bed and setting down the book she'd brought. He hadn't even noticed it earlier. He wonders vaguely how long he'd been twisting around for her to notice. Minutes? Hours?

He doesn’t have an answer for her. His leg hurts, what of it? He’ll get settled and he’ll get some rest and it will be fine. There’s no reason for her to be worried. He’s been in pain for months now, ever since… ever since the tower fell. Ever since Vilgefortz, ever since he almost lost Ciri forever.

"I'm getting Yen," Ciri tells him and he wonders if he didn't answer her. His head aches and he feels befuddled. Was the food poisoned? No, Ciri is fine. Alert with her wits about her. What if he had made the maid mad and she only poisoned his food? No, not possible she couldn’t know who would eat what plate. Upon further deliberation it turns out he doesn't much care if the food was poisoned, if it'll make his leg stop aching.

Yen hurries in with Ciri on her heels, feeling genuine fear when her witcher doesn't turn to the door when she opens it. Dandelion is right behind her.

"Witchers can't get sick, can they?" He asks worriedly.

"They're very strong, but I suppose it's possible. Geralt isn't exactly an open book of Witcher lore."

“Yennefer, he was twisting around like he was in pain,” Ciri reminds her.

"Was he conscious when you left?"

"Yes," Ciri tells her. "Maybe not lucid but he knew I was talking to him."

"It's that damn leg of his," Dandelion suggests. "It was bothering him in the bath earlier. It's been bothering him constantly just about."

Yennefer knows their voices should wake him up. "He wouldn't faint from a sore leg," she snaps, lightly shaking him. "Get up," she tells him.

When he still fails to rouse, she pulls the blankets down a bit, running her hands over him. "Geralt," she shakes him gently. She looks at Ciri, “Nothing’s broken,” she reassures her. His muscles are hard and tense, she knows he’s suffering. But she’s not finding any bruising or any points that make him twitch. “Geralt, wake up,” she puts an edge into her voice. He very much doesn’t like being told what to do.

"Leave off," he wakes enough to glare at her, or try to. His eyes unfocused. "I'm cold," he tells her vaguely before reclaiming the blankets from her. Yen runs her hands over forehead and neck. "He's freezing. Ciri, take your book and curl up beside him, keep him warm. I'll see if there's any bed warmers." She feels a touch of worry, but perhaps if he's in a bleak enough mood it affects his physical health. They'd certainly upset him earlier. And Dandelion had kept pressing. She felt it was good to let Geralt suffer a little here and there, at least about his supposed lack of feelings. It's easy enough to remember the wide range of feelings he has. Telling her he loves her, before sex, instead of only after. Unlike some. The anger and hurt he's capable of carrying. She hurries down the stairs, wondering what spells might work should his condition worsen.

He'd almost died thanks to the beating he took from Vilgefortz. Had tramped out of Brokilon half healed to go find Ciri. Gone through hell and armies to get to her. Perhaps he's just worn himself out and his body is taking time to finish healing.

Dandelion settles with his lute against Geralt's side. He'll try and help keep Geralt warm, too. Ciri reads quietly as Yennefer comes back in unsure of how to help.

"They'll bring up the bed warmers shortly," she informs them, glancing briefly at the lump under the blankets.  There's not much she can do just yet. She's avoiding using magic in case anyone were to notice. It looks like they're keeping him about as warm as they can. "Must you do that?" she asks, referring to his lute.

"Not all of us can get whatever we want by spreading our legs."

"But you're so good at it. How else do you find patrons for that drivel you call music?"

"You need a nap," he huffs, and picks up his lute with a jangle of strings and leaves the room. He'll drum up some business and gather some news. And hopefully the Witcher will be awake and the witch will be in a better mood.

Not much seems to help keep him warm, and while she does her best to get a look at his leg, he resists her even while sleeping. Finally, giving up on getting him to cooperate, she doses him with poppy syrup which at least eases the pain he’s in. Dandelion is worried the poppy will stop him from waking at all and Yennefer has no interest in debating the point with him. If Geralt is in pain, then the pain needs to be eased. With his witcher’s immunity to most poisons and drugs, the poppy won’t last even a quarter of the time it should have. He’ll be hurting again soon enough.

They spend the night tense and worried, only to find in the morning Geralt is awake, if a little groggy. Breakfast passes quickly as they prepare to move on. There’s some arguing between them about whether to risk staying and letting Geralt rest longer, or if it’s better to move on in case more soldiers pass through. It’s Ciri who suggests in a trembling voice that they take Geralt back to Kaer Morhen. If he’s sick, perhaps Old Vesemir would know what it was and be able to cure him.

When he’s lucid, Geralt mostly grumbles that he’s fine, and they should move on as soon as possible. He seems more aware throughout the day, only to fall heavily asleep after dinner, body tense with pain.

“We have to be far enough away that I can risk a portal without alerting anyone, and I’ll get us as close to the keep grounds as possible.”

“Yennefer, what if he can’t make it long enough to wait for this ‘right time to portal’?”

“He’ll be fine, he’s strong. His heartbeat is still steady, he’s still competent when he’s conscious. Sleep seems to help revive him somewhat. He feeds himself when he’s awake. I don’t see why another day or so of travel is a risk.” She does inwardly wonder if she should have paid him more mind weeks ago when he’d told her he hadn’t felt right. She’d assumed roughing it with that much stress had just been a bad combination for all of them, and not anything to be concerned about.

“And if Vesemir can’t help him?”

“I am not entirely sure we need Vesemir in the first place,” she points out. “However, there’s enough low level magic thrumming all through Kaer Morhen that I should be able to hide most of what I’m doing.”

“And if that’s true why haven’t we gone back there, before?”

“In case they went looking for Ciri there. Where else would a witcher take a child of surprise, Dandelion? Novigrad? No, we’ve had no intention of causing a second sacking of the keep. But perhaps we’ll have to take the risk.”

“Don’t they think she’s dead?”

“They did. But it’s not as if Geralt looking for Rience didn’t cause some problems. Somehow, someone caught on to what he was doing and found the firm helping him. Ciri told me one of her dreams, and I checked into it. They’re dead. I suspect they found some proof of her. Not to mention her being teleported half across the globe did nothing to help us keep her location a secret. Geralt would rather be dead than risk her again, but I have to hope that no one can get back to the keep or that people think she’s elsewhere.”

“Then let’s get him moving first thing tomorrow.”

“We will.”