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The Witcher's Mate

Chapter Text

Geralt rolled his eyes as Jaskier inanely carried on is insufferable talking. They had been walking since dawn, normally the bard would not have minded, but his friend had been abnormally broody of late. His latest run-in with Yennefer was fraught with betrayal and lust. Jaskier could tell that this latest drama was the worse, Ciri had decided to go off with Yennifer this time to explore the wider world. Yet, again the dark-haired mage had left him behind on her search for something, something more leaving Geralt behind, emptier the before. The singer shared the deepest pity for his friend, for the Witcher’s magic and ability; he was at the mercy of the small woman, submissive to her whims and fancies. Love really does make fools of us all, even Witcher’s. Jaskier pondered before his mind flickered to a wholly more important question. How could he possibly make that into his next hit ballad?

‘So, where are we going exactly?’ Jaskier asked for the 14th time in the last hour.

‘If I tell you will you finally shut up?’ Geralt growled his eyes, never leaving the horizon.

‘Yessssss’ the singer whined.

‘Brightwater….its a merchant town in the middle of nowhere. Rich- supplies every town from south to north.’ Geralt answered gruffly.

‘So, let me guess they have a terrible monster problem that has a big reward.’

‘Hmmmmm’

‘So, the mighty hero and his handsome companion ride into the village, slay the beast and rescue the beautiful maidens who fall head of heels in love with the noble bard before whisking him away to their beds.’ Jaskier smiled closing his eyes picturing the wonderful scene but not before his wondering feet came into contact with the particularly nasty jagged rock that cruelly pulled him away from pleasant daydream with a tight pain that seared from the sole of his foot.

The shrill yelp of pain cause Geralt to turn on his saddle and smirk as he watched his personal songwriter hop on one foot clutching the other. ‘Jaskier, this is the part where you shut up.’ Geralt warned as he readjusted himself in the saddle

‘I think this will make a wonderful song,….’ The bard chocked out through the pain. ‘But this creature thing better not be another Striga… I have completely run out of rhyming words…plus I think my public is getting a little bored with them….I mean your public.’

‘Jaskier?’

‘Yes, Geralt?’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

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Lord of Brightwater, Fagen Brightwater looked at the man at the front of him with keen interest, he had expected someone more haggard, older and not as handsome. The man in front of him looked young, his face chiselled with golden eyes that pierced through a man’s very soul, the only blemishes that he could see that marred his face was a small scar in the corner of his left eye and another on his forehead. Which Fagen had no problem predicting would only encourage the women on the town to try and entice the handsome monster hunter. Horny housewives and jealous husbands were not something that he had time to deal with; his lands were in chaos, fear of the impending war and being stalk by some supernatural being. Hunting a Witcher with pitchforks was not something he wanted to add to the ever-growing list of problems. The fool he had with them look like an overdressed rent boy; simpering gibbering babbled out his mouth could pass for simple wit, if it had been funny. The pair was unlikely. Strange even. Perhaps they were lovers who would make life easier while they were here, but other than saving him a headache he did not care who or what the Witcher fucked.

‘As you can see, we have many conflicting reports.’ Fagen spoke, pushing a pile of papers toward the two men who stood in front of him. ‘It slashes, rips, tears and bites. Some parts eaten on one victim then left behind on others. No one has ever properly seen it and lived to tell the tale. Those who have survived its attack have some varying stories it's hard to know which ones to focus on.’
Geralt eyes lazily looked over the papers, Lord Brightwater was certainly a man of painstaking detail, the description seemed too wide and wavering, but three names piqued his interest, one of which a long lost acquittance from job in White Orchard, from what he remembers being a long search for pesky witches who cursed the poor daughter of a local Baron.

‘People have survived?’ Geralt eyed the Lord in surprise as he throws down the papers haphazardly on the nearly ordered desk, gaining a dark glared from Fagen.

‘A few. Those have been housed in the healer’s hut if you need to speak with them. Our mages have attempted located this beast, but to no avail, so they have done what they can to protect and save the remaining villagers.’

‘This would be Cersi of White Orchard and old friend and Tradi of Browdon? I don’t recall a mage of the name of Adva?'

‘That’s because there isn’t one. Adva is a…. healer…herbalist… of a sort. You will have no need to meet her… she does not concern you in this matter; she is to be left alone.’
Geralt raised an eyebrow. ‘If you want this creature found and dispatched that killing your villages and grinding your trade to a halt, I will talk to whomever I need to talk too, and I recommend that you stay out of my way.’ Geralt growled standing at his full height. Jaskiar shrank back eyeing the glaring men holding his hand up in surrender.

The two men observed each other closely. Geralt was used to the arrogance of humanity and along with that was often stupidity, but from mere minutes in presence the Lord the Witcher knew the man possessed no stupidly, pride and superiority but then again show him a Lord who did not believe themselves to be superior to everyone else and he would show a man who was not a true Lord. If Fagen sent him and Jaskier away now he would be sentencing his people to death, pick off one by one and if the creature didn’t get them the gradual decrease in a trade from fear of the creature would turn Brightwater into an abandoned hovel.

Fagen was the first to break the glare ‘You are to receive 500 gold coins when you bring me the creatures head. I have arranged your stay at the local tavern; they will see that all your needs are taken care of. And make sure your needs are met within the walls of the establishment. I do not need to save you from angry husbands baying for your blood. The townsfolk are anxious enough that we have had to bring a Witcher in; I do not need people questioning my decisions. I will present you to the town tonight, but I want you gone before the week ends. But you will put as far a distance between you and Adva as far as possible. Now I am a very busy man; the kitchen is awaiting you with a meal.’ Fagen dismissed with a wave of his hand, grabbing a quill with the other.
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Geralt stood in the middle of the square on a risen podium; it looked like the whole town had gathered to sneak a peek at their saviour. The one thing he hated more then the portals was the public, was being the centre of attention, he liked the dark, being a shadow, unseen. Sniffing the air there was a scent, underneath the filth, the odour of bodies and sour milk and spoilt meat, a pure smell. Spiced apple and the ocean. Warm and comforting but clean and crisp. Furrowing his brow eyes began to scan the crowd. For the briefest of seconds, he thought it was Yennifer, no other scent had ever sorted his interest, but this smell was different. Deeper. Not the sweet smell of gooseberries and lavender that clung to Yennifer calling him, this fragrance pulled him, grabbing his attention, almost violently. The smell was getting closer, teasing him as the smell grew stronger and stronger.

His eyes fell upon a familiar golden blonde adorned in rich purple. The Witcher could not help but let a scoff to puff out from his lips; Cersi could never look ordinary, she had to stick out in a crowd, her locks where pin into an attractive updo highlighting her swan-like neck that was laden with diamond. It would seem that life outside of court had not put a halt of the extravagance that Cersi indulgenced in. A toothy smile beamed up at the platform, reassuring if not a little bit cheeky. However, the smile was fleeting, as Cersi turned to greet a hooded figure with a tender smile. A cloaked figure pushed her way to stand side the elegant Mage. It was a worn and tattered grey thing pulled tight, concealing the figure beneath.

For the great Witcher time seemed to slow as the smell became almost overpowering, all other senses became dulled as a thudding of his heart was all he could hear. The women beside Cersi removed her hood to reveal dark brown curls that faded into lighter caramels ringlets around her shoulders, pale porcelain skin and full pink lips and vivid dark blue eyes twirling with liveliness darted around the crowd before resting upon his figure, smiling sweetly at him. Innocent and carefree. It took all his strength to hold himself in place, his muscles strained hard, clenching and unclenching gaining jeers from the ladies in the crowd. The scent she carried was potent and intoxicating, yearning for him, crying out for him, it was the only thing he could feel or see. He could feel the smell around him, clinging to his skin, suffocating him.

‘Geralt….Geralt… You okay buddy? Geralt’ Jaskier called, the sound distorted in the magical haze that surrounded him.

‘It cannot be….It's not possible.’ The Witcher uttered in disbelief.

Chapter Text

Brightwater was a large town hanging upon the end of the coast, surrounded by an impenetrable forest, a solid defence from the raging war. Yet, the quaint town nestled a busy port that never slept bringing new trader at every hour possible and with it more money and new faces. That was till the attacks started. At first, they were few a far between, a stray villager wandering off in the forest ripped apart by a bear, a dock worker having to be butchered by bandits in the dead of night, a couple of merchants devoured by a pack of wolves. The excuses came in thick and fast; people did not know what to believe. A monster was within the only thing that could attack in the dead of night before slipping back into the darkness unseen. In the last month, 13 people had been attacked at the claws of the creature. Men, women and children, the thing held no prejudiced, it disembowelled any that crossed its path without care or mercy. Even in the light of day, people seemed to hover in the doorways on their houses as they watched their children play, fear ever-present in their mind.

Though the mass of houses and business Adva stared out from a crooked window as she watched children play on the cobbled stones. Bone knuckles seemed to be a favourite, as they giggled on the patch of mud that they had drawn a pitch, they seemed so carefree and light-hearted in the face of so much death, an element that Adva had become far too familiar with. A pained groan broke her thoughts, turning a young girl coughed and spluttered her way to consciousness. The child was one of the latest victims, found barely alive among her family, a father and a heavy pregnancy mother. Adva cooed and shhhhed as the girl began to struggle against the grips of the healing spell. A pale, freckled thing with stringy red hair that looked more like a doll than a child, she hadn’t moved in 3 days since she was bought to the healer’s hut in the dead of night. The victim’s blood was tainted with some toxin, seeping into every cell and draining their energy, teetering them on the edge of death. Adva had filled the room with the heavy incense of rosemary and nettles that burned wildly behind her, a bitter and unpleasant smell, but a necessary one to purify the blood and the body. The damage to the tiny body had been significant- three deep gashes on the side of her body, but they were clean and smooth, easy to bind and tend. The man on the bed next to the small child had not been so lucky; his back had been ripped apart, jiggered and raw. It had taken all three of healers to rescue the man from the grips of death. It took several minutes to calm the child and redress the bandages before Adva tucked her tenderly into the bed.

Sighing, Adva pulled herself up and over to the water butt next to the door and ladle the cold water into her parched mouth.

‘Adva!!!! Vivian sent me to get you! The Witcher arrived! Exciting, isn’t it?’ a bright-eyed woman squicked, sending the wooden ladle clattering to the floor.
Adva harshly shushed the women as she pulled the shutter across the makeshift sleeping quarters. Originally, the healer’s hut was abandoned for most of the year, used when a bout of fever or illness passed through which was few and far between. When the devil arrived at their door, the city was not prepared, no official healer and no stock of potions, tinctures or bandages. The people of Brightwater went to either Cersi or Tradi for their aliments, those who could not afford them went to Adva. The hut was now depleted and not fit to house the injured citizen and certainly not with a shrill woman bursting in on her.

‘Very… the sooner this thing is sent back to whatever hole it crawled out of but keep your voice down. It has been a hard night; you wake them, you will kill them.’ Adva scolded lightly.

Nesta of Perth was a good-hearted woman but one too fond of gin and pleasure of men, well as long as they gave her the fee of course. By the smell of it she had already been at the bottle, and the state of hair suggested that she had already been at her other vice. Once upon a time, she had been the daughter of a noble but upon finding the pleasure of the flesh, her life had taken a different turning from the expectation of being a wife and mother. Now she was a whore and a harlot, but a very well paid one at that. Nesta beauty was stunning, a pixie nose on a heart-shaped face, intense green eyes framed by feathered lash toped of the layered locks of mahogany hair. She looked younger than her years, could easily pass for a blushing virgin of 16, her body slender and firm with large breast openly on display in a tight corset dress of fine satin.

‘If they can sleep peacefully through Tradi’s righteous rants and monologues they can sleep through me, getting a little bit excited about this devilishly handsome Witcher. Bela saw him going into the Lord's manor, says he looks like a god, tall and broad. Exactly my type. Let's go see him together.’ Nesta pleaded with an adorable look on her face as she clutched at of Adva’s hands.

‘Anything that breaths is your type. I can’t leave…I need to make sure they are okay.’ The healer spoke softly.

‘It won’t do. Vivian has ordered me to bring you. The Witcher is to stay at the Tavern; I think the Lord doesn’t want any funny business so had paid for everything, even ourselves, Viv need you back… she was angry you weren’t back last night, she wants all of us ready and waiting. I, for one, will only be too happy to supply it, I’m sure he might even be persuaded to have a nibble at you, god knows you can use the coin, I don’t know how you live. Working as a maid, singing and healing are never going to make you have a comfortable life. Why not let Viv auction off your virginity, she might even get that Witcher to buy it, I'm sure he needs to be entertained.’

‘Speak for yourself, if he wants to be entertained, he can do it with the girls that are already there. I have told you and Viv before. Besides I cannot leave, there will be no one to look after them.’ Adva rolled her eyes at her friend, gods she loved her, but they wouldn’t be more different. Nesta sort out the intention of men and Adva avoided them.

The Mahogany whore rolled her eyes and wandered over a large chest of draws and settled upon it, skirts riding immorally high. ‘I thought Tradi was supposed to be taking over from you? How come you still here?’

‘He didn’t turn up, but his only a day late. You know how he doesn’t like to be pulled away from his crafting.’ Adva laughed as she watched her friend dangle her to fit in the air, like the child who watched their mother flit around her kitchen.

‘Well, then it lucky for you Cersi was in the town centre with Viv. She sent Tradi off with a flea in his ear; I saw him matching across the square with a sour expression on his face, not that he has any other expression…’ Nesta laughed, and Adva could not help but join in. Tradi was an unbearable ponce but good at his craft which made him bearable, especially to the recent violent epidemic.

Their merriment was cut short when the door burst open, and a man appeared at the door. A deep stubble graced his face giving him a defined look; some would call him handsome, other beautiful but it was hard to take in his exquisite feature with an ugly look of annoyance that stained his face. Once a prominent sorcerer at the court of powerful kings but no reduced to being a simple town mage, cast off from the guild. Tradi didn’t acknowledge them but marched pas and ripped open the shutters.

‘I take it from Cersi insistent demand that I come a relieve you; you have managed to kill someone. Can we not leave you alone for more than a day before you go running for help. No wonder Lord Fagen refused to send you to Lodge of Sorceresses.’

Adva glanced at Nesta who gave a silent snort as she hopped off the draws and straightened her skirts before grabbing a corse grey cloak and slipping it around the healer's shoulders and raising the hooded against the bitter weather outside.

‘It was soooo nice of you to come and relieve Adva, even though it's your dicking turn, so graceful of you.’ Nesta snapped sarcastically, weaving the healer to the door, ignoring the mages murderous gaze.

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Nesta walked through the streets of the town, dirt had already covered an inch of her new embroidered dress, as she jumped over a rather large muddy puddle she observed her friend as Adva tugged her grey cloak tighter around her body. It was a shame that she didn’t want to become one of the girls at the tavern, Adva reminded her of the old pictures that her father would collect, classically beautiful, ethereal, Vivien would joke that if one was to look too deeply into Adva eyes, they would drown in the limpid pool lost forever. It was a tale the madam would purr into the ear of travelling merchant to entice them to relieve their pockets of the coin, Sirens of Brightwater she would call them, for Adva she wondered if that was true. Often, late at night, when the toil of the day was done, men snoring safely upstair, balls empty and stomachs full, Nesta would trot downstairs for a nightcap and her and the other girls would sometimes keep Adva company as she tended to positions or prepared balm and ointments for the customers of the tavern. In those nights sometimes she found herself staring into Adva’s eyes finding herself lost, waking only when the spell lifted. Sometimes time she would be talking to the group in the kitchen then find herself in her room, standing in darkness with no idea how she got there and not a drop of gin had passed her lips.

The tavern whore dodged a pie seller as he barged through her calling his wares, the city centre had never seemed so busy, families lined up the street and women leaned out of windows, even the respectable ones seem to be dangerously dangling their assets for all the world to see, Nesta was sure that word of the Witcher rugged good looks would spread fast. For the most part, Adva seemed to be unaware, her hood shielded most of her vision, but something hung heavy in the air, and it was not the pies, something different, an earthy smell, spiced with something Adva could not put her finger on. The young healer followed her friend as she marched with determination through the thickening crowd. With a sigh of relief, Adva pushed her way through to Cersi who stood a fair distance from the podium; she was smiling up at the stand, a genuine smile then lit up her face, a shine that was on equal to the diamonds that adorned her neck.

‘Adva! I am glad to see Tradi final relieved you of your post. Vivian has been frantic with a need for your tender manner. It seems Vivian isn’t as good a cook like you, my dear.’ Cersi beamed as she held her hand out in a greeting.

Adva could not help but smile up at the woman; she had an infectious good nature. But there was an odd edge in her eyes, a deep concern with an unwavering gaze but her curiosity was diverted by Vivian the raven heard temptress.

‘And why should I be? I have made my way in life on my back in the bedroom, not on my feet in the kitchen.’ Vivian bite out appeared through the crowd and standing next to her. ‘Once this wretched place gets of that… thing, the order will be restored and business as usual. How are you, Adva? You look tired.’ Vivian asked tenderly. ‘Soon you’ll be back with us, might even help take some coin from the Witcher.’

Vivian was a middle-aged woman, the bloom of youth had withered and died long ago, but still, she was considered a handsome woman. The fine lines that were carved into her face had not detracted from her beauty. Always wrapped in corn gold cotton, hair curled and placed into an elegant top do — a mother figure to the girls but a first and foremost a businesswoman.

Adva smiled at the women before observing the crowd who were captivated by the podium, nudging each other and whispering, eyes darted toward the wooden structure in the middle of the square. Fagen Brightwater looked on at the crowd, while one of his guards whispered in his ear. Adva eyes glided over to the bulking figure next to the lord; he was clearly several inches taller than the rest of the men, a set of broad shoulders and muscles that strained against leather amour and fitted tight against his body. Tanned skin glowed against the dull figure flowing hair of purest white and glowing amber eyes. A violent vibration took over her mind, and an immense pressure gathered at the bridge of her nose, the feeling overwhelmed her sense to the point she was only slightly aware that Lord Fagen had begun to address the crowd.

Blinking rapidly Adva tried to clear her mind of the dense fog that seems to decent upon her, in slow motion, her eyes followed his eyes as they scanned the hoard of villages with an intense gaze. Pulling her hood down, Adva’s could now see the full figure of the Witcher, as soon as the hood fell the golden orb zeroed in on her as he inhaled deeply, his chest rolling primally. The penetrating scrutiny of the Witcher’s stare forced the curly-haired healer to cast her eyes downward. There was a heavy air that surrounded her that made her dizzy; she felt drunk; her body felt light and lethargic.

‘Adva…. Adva’ a voice called in the distance.

Raising her vibrant aquamarine eyes, they meet the warm brown of Vivian’s eyes. ‘Gods she is dead on her feet. Nesta takes her back to the tavern. Get her to bed straight away. No arguing, she needs to be at her best, the Witcher will be at work tonight, we best be prepared.’

Nesta looked at her friend with a critical eye, she looked half-stunned, it surprised everyone when she led the girl away without any defiance, Adva was too dazed to argue and let herself be led through the crowd without a sound or a glance back at the golden orbs.

‘Interesting.’ Cersi cooed as she continues to watch the Lord give his rousing speech about unity and the promise of the swift and bloody revenge at the hand of Geralt of Rivia, who remained stoic and deep in thought, but the tell-tell signs of deep shock where his wide eyes as he looked on ignoring the confused annoyance of his companion.

‘Interesting? More annoying…Curse that Tradi, if he had followed the agreement Adva wouldn’t be so frazzled she looks like she had been run over by a cart. Look I need to get back, sort this shit storm out, can you keep the Witcher entertain for a couple of hours, take him to the healer's hut, take him to the armoury, take him to the god damn beauty parlour if need be, just keep him out the way till I sort out this shit show.’ Vivian growled as she marched off after the girls.

Cersi rolled her eyes at the furious madam’s panic and continued to watch the Lord's epic speech that finished with a flourish. The crowd cheered and applauded and departed happily singing out their praise and love for the Witcher and Fagen, even the chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher could be heard as the peasants made their way to their home in preparation for the night to come. A night of barring their windows and hiding under the tables.

‘Ahhhh Geralt. Long-time no sees. We have much to discuss.’ Cersi purred brushing invisible threads of her cuff as she smiled at her old friend.

‘Hmmm’

‘Hello pretty lady. I am Jaskier, Geralt’s personal bard. Can I interest you in a drink?’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE
Geralt followed the golden-haired Mage with an intense brooding. The sky was beginning to darken, and the streets were almost deserted apart from a few stray stragglers who watched as they walked by, the others were drunks who swayed where they stood, to fascinated with their rum bottles to take notice of the trio. It had been many years since he had last seen Cersi, she had still been at the court of King Lidwig, her lover, it had been many years since his death and her self exile from court life. Hiding in this backwater town, away from the war and the troubles of the outside world. She had led them to a ramshackle building in the middle of a market street; the wood was worn and old, pitted by time and the weather. The smell of moss seeped out the pores of the place, mixed in with the smell of herbs and smoke but all undermined by that sweet smell of apples and the ocean. The mysterious women and her smell. She was here. The woman in the market must be the other healer, Adva, the girl Fagen warned him off of.

Inside was much like the outside. But the scent of sweet and fresh salty water was much more intense it permeated the room soaked into every piece of cloth, every piece of wood, every piece of stone. The hut was a long room, a large fireplace that flickered lowly above a brewing pot of burning herbs filling the room with the smell of rosemary and nettles — poor man purifying herbs, unusual. Why would the Mage’s use these? More importantly, what was in need of purifying? 5 bodies laid inside on campers beds, cramped into the space meant for 2, all sleeping deeply. A man sat on a desk laden with apparatus that has all been pushed careless to make room for an ornate leather book that he was feverishly reading. The man was of handsome feature, soft jawline lined with a thin stubble across his dark skin and dull green eyes. As soon as he saw them, the short man stood and thrust the book into his exotic satchel etched in magical symbols. Geralt narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar man with interest before his eyes once again rested up against his old acquaintance.

‘Tradi its nice of you have finally taking responsibly for your duties. Tradi of Browdon, Geralt of Rivia. Geralt is an old friend back in my courtesan days, come to sort our beast problem.’ Cersi spoke uninterestingly, cocking her hip to the side as her eyes ran over the patient lying motionlessly in their beds.

‘Ahhh the Great White Wolf, an honour. If I can give you any assistance, my door is always open to distinguished guests. But I fear the beast we had here will be your match.’ Tradi bowed with a flourish and held his hand open to Geralt who remained unmoving.

‘I think you should leave that up to the professionals?’ Geralt huffed out in annoyance.

The male healer snatched his hand back to his body and narrowed his eyes in angry, raising his nose in the air in defiance. ‘I think you will find that I have a good range of experience, for 10 long years I was a head researcher at the Guild Sorcerers for dangerous creatures. I know many creatures and none documented have the power to rip through tissues and curse the blood with toxins without anyone seeing it. To vanish into thin air like it was never there.’

‘Hmmm’ Geralt grunted looking down at the arrogant man in front of him as they glared at each other.

‘The child seems a little stronger today, that’s good the toxic seems to be withdrawing. Geralt this the latest victim found outside her home, father and pregnant mother died. Slashed and ripped, mother died straightway; it was the toxins that got the father. They are powerful magic of some kind, but nothing I have ever come across ’ Cersi called to the Witcher, pulling the rough blanket away from the girl's and loosen the bandages around her wound for Geralt to investigate.

‘Claw marks, powerful beast, one long strike, indicates that the creature was moving when it delivered the blow, fast. Perhaps, a wolf, but the livers and heart were left. No respecting wolf would waste a meal. Hmmm.’ Geralt inhaled deeply, several times, having to struggle through the intoxicating scent of apples. ‘Hmmm, mountain moss. Only grows at the very top of mountains, no way a peasent family from Brightwater could come into contact with this substance, the creature must have tracked it in. Griffin then but never met a Griffin that had toxin in their claws. Not the style for them to attack villages, especially unprovoked. What have you been using to heal this blood poisoning.’

‘At first, we used Swallow, it took the edge off but too slow, healed the wounds but not the toxins going through their system. Nothing we could do but make them comfortable, we nearly lost this child 4 days ago. That is till Adva brew a similar healing potion using, limes, honey, dittany root and wormwood. And doubling the effect by burning rosemary and nettles. It has…’

‘That is something we need to discuss Cersi’ Tradi interpreted angrily ‘letting that simple-minded child lose on these poor devils. Burning rosemary and nettles, I wouldn’t use those herbs to heal an injured dog.’ Tradi huffed angrily.

‘Well they are working, at it not like we have a vast range of supplies, we had no stock. Adva did the best she could with anything she could find. Your just jealous because they are working.’ Cersi glared at the other Mage, with rage in her eyes.

‘Jealous of that orphan wretch. No match for the Great Tradi of Browdon…’

‘If he was so great, then why did he get kicked out of his Kings court.’ Cersi gritted out in pure venom.

‘I will not stay here to be insulted by the Whore of Court…Good day’ Tradi snapped, clutched his satchel to his chest and flouncing off into the distance.

‘Well, that was awkward.’ Jaskier stood wide eyes as the door clattered close.

‘Forgive Tradi. He is a grumpy old twat, but so would I be if I was as untalented as him…so Geralt have you figured out what it is yet.’

‘If I were to put money on, I’d say a Griffin, but never seen on giving of toxin scratches.’

‘Well, whatever it is I am sure you’ll get to the bottom of it. Lord Fagen has sorted out lodging at the Tavern of Carnal Appetites… well, that what the merchants call it. It is at the end of the town, looking over the port, can't miss it. Afraid I won't be able to take you there, one of us has to stay in the hut, and as Tradi has gone off it a hissy fit, it falls down to me. Adva works at the Tavern; she will be able to help you if you have any questions or need supplies. You best hurry, I hear they are putting on quite a little party for you two some of the best whores in the land at your disposal.’ Cersi smoothly sighed, giving a half laugh as the bard escaped through the door without her having to finish her sentence. ‘You have an interesting one there. No good in a fight but I hear the songs are excellent, never heard of a Witcher with their on songwriter before.’

‘Is this going somewhere Cersi? You know I am not one for half-hidden questions and answers.’ Geralt quipped as he folded his arms as he learnt against the stone mantle of the fire.

‘Ahhhhh that is the Geralt I have missed… Let me be a little more straight-edged. I felt what happened in the square; I can sense your questions and your confusion.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ Geralt shrugged.

‘Oh, Geralt. I am far older than you so don’t try to lie to me, I felt that energy bond being created. I have seen some soul bonds in my time but never with the couple never actually touching or meeting. For a bond link, this to be created is unheard of. From the reaction of poor Adva had must have been a powerful one; indeed, I had to send the sweetling home.’ Cersi was no fool; she had been waiting for this for a long time. Truth and honestly she did not think it would be Geralt, the white wolf that would stumble across the little healer, that was a surprise, not much of one given recent events. It did, however, threw some unneeded confusion into the pot, muddied the water, that was a concern, she would need to rectify that quickly to make the process as smooth as possible.

‘I vaguely seem to recall your friend at the square; she probably inhaled too much rosemary and nettle.’ Geralt face remained impassive, but his golden eyes swirled.

‘Vaguely recall? I’m surprised about that; you didn’t take your eyes off her. At one point I thought you were going to jump off the stage carry her off to your cave.’ Cersi teased, moving over to wash her hand in the basin to the right of the fire and Geralt.

‘As I said, no idea what you are talking about, I think you have spent to much time away from court, you're losing your edge. Witcher’s do not get soul mates.’

Cersi silently observed the Witcher out of the corner of her eye for a long moment as she scrubbed her hands. ‘Well, then, I must be mistaken. You better catch up with your friend. Give my love to Adva; I hear she is making roast lamb.’ Not looking up as Geralt left without another word.

Cersi waited several long moments scrubbing her hands thoroughly before picking up a dagger from beside her and adding a few drops of her own blood to the water, watching as the deep red liquid dissolved in the clear water and a bright light because to ripple across the basin. The Mage waited and waited until a familiar figure replaced her own reflection.

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‘Geralt of Rivia, you are most welcome to our fine establishment. If you require anything, and I mean anything, please let me know… Our Sirens of Brightwater are at you and your friend's disposal. I reserved the best table for you here’ Madam Vivian greeted, fanning herself with a garish fan as she indicated to a velvet-covered table in the middle of the room.

‘Hmmm,’ The hulking Witcher replied as he surveyed his surroundings, scrunting up his nose.

The smell of the room was overpowering, intense perfume and oils to overpower the smell of sex and cum that lingered underneath. Sweat and body odour where another murky smell that offended his nose, he would prefer to be covered in selkie guts again than have to endure the nauseating smell. The only thing that made the room tolerable was the hint of crisp apples and the fresh ocean breeze — an undercurrent of pleasure in a sea of disgust. Ignoring the offered table, Geralt marched off to a bench table in the corner of the room. It had a good view of the bar, which a heavyset man, dressed in beautiful clothes looking very uncomfortable tended to. Hired security doubling as staff, interesting. Geralt ponders as his eyes again searched the room again.

On the opposite side of the room, there was a large hatchway window opening up to the kitchen, the girl from the market flittered around the room tending to two large lambs turning on a spit, basting it with herbs and what smelt like lemon, occasionally she would pass a hunk of meat to the boy turning the spirt who would guzzle it down immediately with a gapped tooth grin. Her skin was pale, but a rose flush dusted across her cheeks and chest. From this distance, even if he didn’t have Witcher's eyes, her eyes sparkled dangerously in the light of the coals, creating hundreds of little stars staring back at him, a gentle smile painted on her lips. Every now and then a patron would wander passed, throwing her a greeting or stopping to chat. She was a short, curvy thing, meaning she would have to learn across the wooded serving platform. Causing the blouse, she had over her bodice to give way a little, and the onlooker caught an eyeful of creamy cleavage. Rage filled his vision as he watched the men jeered and whispered behind tankards of mead with offensive jokes. Part of him, a big part of him, wanted to pull out his sword and slash their throat. Feel the warmth of their blood pool against his skin.

‘This place is amazing!’ Jaskier roared gulping on his goblet of wine, a woman sucking upon his neck already.

Geralt ignored his friend who busied himself with devouring a woman mouth as her hand explored the regions of his pants. Instead, he busied himself drinking mead and watching the young kitchen maid. Her face was partially hidden by the curls that mopped around her head, dark roots that faded into a honeyed blonde; they bounced about her as she dished up plates of meat and cheeses. Geralt amber eyes remained on the figure of the girl as she hummed softly as she worked, but the Witcher saw the dark circles underneath her eyes, and the effort the woman had to put in as she moved. Geralt eyed her with concern as he felt the wavering force of magic filter through the air.

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Geralt was on his third mead when the Madam of the tavern reappeared and made her way over to her favourite girls. Nesta and Bela huddled in the corner of the room. Nesta let her hair loose, brushed to a healthy shin, a deep split in her bodice ran down to her navel, showing off her pert breast and slim waist. To her face, she had applied a thick band of charcoal to create a smokey eye, and a faint shimmer of blush to define her cheekbones. Bela was to the left of her, a taller, slimmer woman, dressed in a forest green dress, she was older, nearing her 30s, but still kept an athletic figure, men liked her for the thin body she possessed and girlish charm which she played to her advantage. They had spent the last hour as requested by Vivian watching the white-haired man quietly drinking.
‘How has he been? Has anyone taken his fancy?’ Vivian mumbled from behind her fan.

‘No, he just keeps looking at the wall? Maybe he doesn’t fuck on the job? Maybe he needs to keep his stamina up or something’ Bela spoke is a sultry whisper, pouting at the thought of having to wait.
Bela was one of the newest girls, but she also had almost 10 years on the rest, the madam thought it is employing someone more mature might have given her a little more brains, it seems that there was little to be had in her.

‘A Witcher is mutated, has several times the stamina and strength of a normal man. I think one fuck would set him up for a night of hunting. I think perhaps he has a type.’ Vivian purred following the man's gaze. ‘Get Adva to bring the food to the table. Tell her to be accommodating. ’ The madam gave both the girls a big grin, and she grabbed a pitcher of mead and made her way to the table and began to fill the silver tankard without asking, eyeing him discreetly and gave a smile as he eyes never wandered far from the shy kitchen maiden.

Bending down she whispered low into his ear ‘You have a good eye for women. However, that particular girl is just a mere servant…though, I am in the middle of persuading her to sell her virginity. There has been a lot of interest in Adva, such a good-natured girl, gorgeous, especially when out of those rags. Inexperienced, would need someone to break her in. If that is something, I can tempt you with; I would be happy to keep you in mind. I'm sure she would be an honour to accept your offer. I was thinking 50 gold coins’

‘The only thing I want to break in is a leg of lamb.’ Geralt growled lowly, aggressively, through gritted teeth.

Vivian scarlet smile faltered, and an ugly sneer replaced it but as quick as it appeared it disappeared, replaced with a strained smile. ‘Of course,…. Ahh, here it is now. Adva, please give the Witcher extra attention, make sure he has everything he needs.’ Vivian cooed at the young girl before flicking her fan up and swayed away. Leaving the golden eyes and blue eyes to meet.

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Adva ached. Her body felt heavy with the want of sleep. It the haze of everything that has happened at the square she had only managed to splash some water in her face before Vivian had put her to work, prepping two full lamb, soup and cakes, she hadn’t even had time to make sense of what occurrence earlier. The connection between the two felt intense, heavy and energetic. In the back of her mind, she was aware that Witchers were the vessel of magical force due to the mutations that their body was put through, since the attacks she had become tender and raw to the chaos around her making her extra sensitive. It must be why he was affecting her so much! It was nothing, she was sure, she doubted the Witcher even felt it, it was paranoia.

‘Adva…Viv wants you to personally bring food over to Witcher. Be nice; I think she has something planned. Tread carefully’ Nesta whispered across the hatch, as she passed.

Panic surged through her as she stared wide-eyed at the opening; she hadn’t been realised that the Witcher was here. That was good right? It meant that everything she felt was it her sleep-deprived head. With her faltering strength, she carved off a leg of lamb and ladled the sizzling juices onto a wooden bowl with the cooked vegetables, wedging that under her arms while picking up another tray laded with cakes and cheeses. As quick as she could she matched out to immediately be hit by an overwhelming scent of spice, wood and mint. Usually the tavern smelt of perfume and lavender, but the smell faded into the background for this wintery warming fragrance. The anxiety seemed to melt away, and her heart slowed, and an overriding sense of comfort as she made her way through the crowd of laughing people. The girls were strategically placed throughout the establishment, Vivian was a wise woman, made it her business to know the indulgence of her customers to please them and ensure they kept spending the coin which is why she was surprised to find the Witcher sat alone in a dark corner. Even before she saw him, she could feel his eyes burn through her, those circles of fire that swirled followed ever her every movement. Vivian was standing next to him, giving her her sternest look before she greeted her and departed to a safe distance to observe.

‘Sir your meal’ Adva tried to smile as she placed the heavy platers around him, her arms sighing with relief as they were unburdened of their bounty. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’ She tried to smile, but the penetrating stare he held was daunting, unwavering and powerful, which is why his first words surprised her,

‘Dwarven Spit.’

So they finally meet! The next chapter will be there meeting and little action, as requested by one of the readers. How are we finding it? I am trying to stay true to the character of Geralt, but he is damn hard to write. What do you think of the characters? And once again, if you want to see or want me to included anything, just let me know.

Ps- In a couple of chapters time I think things will start to get a bit smutty between the two. Slowly to start with so if you have any ideas let me know :P

Chapter Text

The noise in the tavern was loud, but even with all the rampant rodgaring and laughing Adva was very sure of what she heard.

‘Dwarven Spit?’ She blinked down at him, confused.

‘You are Adva, aren’t you?’ Geralt eyes piercing through her as she nodded dumbly. ‘Well, then I require Dwarven Spit to make the Thunderbolt potion.’ The Witcher spoke clearly, tilting his head as he observed her.

‘Of course, I do, I have some Thunderbolt already prepared, Lord Fagen wanted it for his men when they first tried to kill the beast.’

‘Hmmm,’ Geralt observed her once again. It was the first clear view he had got off the being that’s scent overwhelm him.

The women would barely come up to his chest; perhaps 5ft5, making him over a foot shorter than him, his mind couldn’t help but wonder about how his large body would cage hers as he moved over her, how easy he could manipulate her body with his massive form, consume her, possess her. But also how pretty she would look over him, riding him, his hands guiding her as she did, lush, full lips parted as she screamed and moaned, eyes wild. Adva had sparkling blue eyes, dark like the ocean in a storm, with flecks of silver waived through them, emotion breaming, that gave everything but revealed nothing. Her face was soft and pale, a healthy cream with a natural flush that travelled around her cheeks and down her neck, that peeked out over her flimsy blouse. Even under the ill-fitted garments that wrapped her, he could see a pear-shaped body, broad hips and narrow waist leading up to pert breasts. Easily a handful to play with as she rode him or to fondle as he pounded her from behind. Then there was her hair, dark brown hair in loose ringlets that faded into a dark gold, which would look attractive wrapped around his fingers as he was buried inside her or sprawled across his pillow or bounces side to side as she rode on the back of Rouche. Even in his fogged haze, there was a brief moment of comparison between Adva and Yennefer, Yennefer with her purples eyes and sweet scent, slim body, full breast and quick wit against the plump body of innocent Adva, flower of a merchant trading town with her shy glances and tender smile.

‘A healer, alchemist and a tavern maid… not something I would expect in a trading town. But not all trading towns have rampant Griffins wondering about.’ Geralt pondered, taking a hearty gulp of strong-smelling mead.

‘Griffian…why would it be a Griffin?’ Adva questioned. The half-bird, half-cat creature did not have toxic claws or attack random towns, hell the town was not even near any mountains, she supposed that the nest could have been attacked or robbed but why it was terrifying this town, why now?

‘Sit down… eat with me.’ Geralt ordered, cutting into the lamb in front of him.

Adva hesitated, she didn’t want to sit down the Witcher, that dull throb was back between her eyes and her body ached, all over, but the glare that Vivian sent across the room to her forced her to sit across from him. Vivian was kind mistress but a harsh businesswoman, she took care of her own, but business was business and gods help anyone who stopped her getting coin. Geralt hacked off several thick bits of meat and tossed then to a side plate that he pushed towards her. Blood oozed from the meat, the buttery smell mixed with the lemon and rosemary causing her mouth to salivate. When had she last eaten? Honestly she couldn’t remember. Edgerly, she took a slice in her hand and started to devour it, the flavour burst in her mouth and she gave a satisfied moan, she felt like a beggar who had been given her first meal in months. Poking her plush pink tongue from between her lips Adva licked greedily at every drop of the salty meat juices, only to find the White Wolf staring darkly at her causing a tingle of some unknown feeling to surge through her. An embarrassed flush rose from her neck and turned her a rich shade scarlet.

Geralt watched as the blushed travelled across her chest with a vast degree of pleasure, the hum of magic throbbed intensely in the air, he had never been on for tales of romance especial those of soul mates, but he made been a Witcher for many years and seen the power of them between the humans but for Witchers were just tales romanticised by people like Jaskier. There was an attraction, something he had never felt before not even with Yennefer. This woman was not even his type, too virginal and shy, bookish even. She was eye-catching for sure, could make a fair bit of coin in a place like this, or at least marry well; instead, she hid in the kitchen. Geralt was sure she could even persuade Lord Fagan to send her to train with the best mages in the world, yet here she stood cooking his meal, looking dead on her feet. Why?

For a while, Geralt busied himself with devouring his meal, he had too stopped himself from moaning with every bite he took, while his companion sat fidgeting in her seat. It couldn’t be helped that his mind filtered back to his naughty daydreams, how she would squirm under him as he slowly.

‘How do you know it was a Griffin? I thought they only lived high on the mountains?’ the healer asked quietly.

‘Because I am a Witcher, its what I do.’

There were several more moments of silence as Geralt demolished the leg of lamb, the girl staying almost perfectly still, like a poor little mouse who had caught the eyes of a passing snake and froze to the spot praying that the reptile would continue passing by.

‘Know much about Griffins? Doesn’t seem the sort of thing that a small-town girl would know. I don’t think parents would approve of a sweetling flower knowing that.’ Geralt questioned as he pushed the plate away, leaning back against the cool stone wall.

Adva observed him for a moment in silent contemplation; she had nothing to hide but her questions made her uneasy. Did the Witcher believe that she was hiding something? Adva had not even considered that the Witcher might want to investigate her, perhaps what was what the strange feeling that overcomes her, some Witcher power to make suspect reveal the truth. That was it, no other explanation for it. If she told him what he wanted this feeling would lift, and the man would move on with his hunt and leave her alone.

‘I was abandoned as a toddler, so I really don’t think they would care. I apprenticed with Tradi for a brief time and now I help the Lady Cersi if she requires. I have learnt a lot from both.’ Adva softly spoke, trying not to twitch under the intense, unblinking gaze of the man.

‘Apprentice to the Great Tradi of Browdon such an honour.’ Geralt replied in a dry tone, Adva did not know to take it for sarcasm or not. ‘Hard to see why a hard-working maid would no longer be in his service?’ he uttered leaning forward in his seat, his face close enough to fell it hot puffs against his skin.

‘Lord Fagen didn’t like his treatment of those in his care and saw fit to move me, I end up here. Vivian housed me from the orphanage.’ Adva stated in a matter of fact, pushing her back against the chair in a bid to create enough space as possible between them.

‘Why not sent you to train you at the Guild of Sorcerers.‘

‘I assumed he isn't want to waste their time with someone with weak magic.’ Adva bit out, not going to the guild had never bothered her, she saw herself as nothing special, and she didn’t have a desire for power or gilded palaces being waited on hand and foot, it was tone in which he spoke, cold and with hidden meaning.

‘I find that hard to believe; someone could use nettles and rosemary to fight off a vicious toxin seems like a powerful individual to me.’ Geralt raised an eyebrow, noting the hum around her had become agitated as it fizzled and popped nervously.

Adva shrugged and remained silent, trying to avoid the scrutiny of his eyes. Whatever spell the gold eyes where wielding she wanted to end, it was consuming her, gnawing at her bones. Her skin was beginning to itch and prickle like from some fevered heat.

‘Or perhaps the noble Lord of Brightwater wanted you to himself, Madam Vivian seems to the intent of selling your virginity to the highest bidder, that if you even still have it. I can't imagine anyone staying pure in a place like this ’ Geralt prodded.

It had all become too much, the look, the magic, the feeling creeping through her bones, fizzled and popped and it took all her control not to surge her power and pin him to wall and kick him square in the pants or kiss him, but she just enough grip on her sanity to raise elegantly from her seat and smiled ‘I will retrieve your Thunderbolt potion Sir; I’m sure you will want to get on with your hunt so you can collect your gold.’ Adva puffed out and marched her way back to the safety of the kitchen.

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Geralt stalked through the streets, silver shield in hand, Jaskier cowering behind him, his only weapon a quill held in shaky hands. All the townspeople were barricaded in their homes — no sign of the creature. Geralt cursed under his breath as he made his way down a darkened alley, the scent of Adva still clung to his clothes, lingered on his skin, it was the faintest of traces but still enough to get him harder than steel, battling a monster was hard enough, but with a cock as hard as steel was enough to make him want to kill every man in sight. In the tavern, he had received several offers after Adva left, but the smell of her made it impossible too even consider the offers. It was like trying to persuade some to have a piece of bread after tempting them with a juicy roast.
A hushed voice broke Geralt path of though. Elvish if he was not mistaken.

‘Is that Elvish?’ Jaskier asked scribbling frantically on his parchment.

‘Hmm,’ Geralt frowned.

The Witcher inched closer to a yard that seemed to be the source of the voice. The building was a little way off the main street, at the back of a large building. The Whitchers golden eye found a significant gap in the wooden fence and eyed the yard. It seemed to be a builders yard, field with scraps of metal and wood, large crates lay scattered around a cellar door. A figure stood behind a box as he mumbled obscure words, producing an ominous grey cloud. The medallion around his neck began to vibrate fiercely against his chest. Dark magic hmmm, would explain the toxic claws of the creature. Jaskier leaned against Geralt sword arm as he perched to look through the gap as well, earning a dark look from his friend. The man continued his spell for several moments till with a flourish he stepped forward and released a catch on the celler door.

‘Isn't that Tradi… what's he doing with that book?’ Jaskier whispers as a deafening crash broke through the yard.
A magnificent Griffin broke through the doors, hovering silently above the man's head staring deadly ahead at the man, a grey cloud absorbed itself into the creature whose eyes turned a murderous red but remained still hovering in the air. Waiting.

‘We have waste to much time; the Witcher has arrived. Kill Adva; I don’t care if you have to drag her out the whorehouse. Take her far from here and dispose of her. I will follow and take her book. Kill any person you see. This is my command.’ Tradi spat, snapping the book closed before disappearing into the night as the creature screeched into the air.

‘Fuck’
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The night was quiet; the tavern had long fallen into silence apart from the odd giggling woman or the occasional thud of someone moving in the rooms above. The moon hung high in the inky black of the sky, illuminating the workshop. Adva worked tirelessly in the silvery light, even in the near darkness her eyes could make out every mark she penned in the large book in front of her, the young woman eyes only leaving the stiff pages of the old book to carefully eye the brewing potion on the hearth. The concoctions needed careful and constant attention which was enough to keep the women from her rest, though her eyes were heavy with the want of sleep. Honestly, she couldn’t remember when she had slept last but she couldn’t, that itch clunge to her skin, it gave her restless energy. Damn that Witcher and his strange magic.

Resting the quill in ink, she stretched, feeling the soft clicked of her tired joints. Standing she tended to the cauldron and checked the various herbs that were drying and added more of her secret elixir to the leathers soaking in the trough she had cared away in the stone floor. Her room was a converted scullery, a crooked room, far away from everything, drafty and damp but it allowed her privacy to study, the room held a small selection of books, mostly one she had managed to buy cheaply from passing booksellers, some gifts from Cersi and Lord Fagen. The Lord of Brightwater had been very generous in her education. It would not be dawn for a good few hours, and the potion was coming along nicely but slowly, she could make use of the next few hours and start replenishing the various wares she sold or organising her ingredients but instead, she pours herself a glass of weak tea and sat herself back in the worn chair, it squeaking and squalling in protest as she did so as she picked up her quill and began to frantically glide her nib against the yellowed pages. Adva had written no more than a half-page when a muffled cry broke through the silent night air. She could feel every hair stand to attention and the impending dread fill her body. Standing shakily, Adva moved to the small window in her room; it was only a couple of inches high and just peaked across the ground in front of the tavern. The only thing to be seen as the gentle grass dancing in the soft breeze and the shining eyes of two rabbits that had broken cover in the night to hunt for food.

Tentatively, she pulled open the squeaky door, cursing as its sound cut through the night's air. Casting her eyes about, the landscape looked calm and tranquil only the gentle breeze was felt. Then another cry caught her attention. It was faint but in the silences of the night sounded as if it had been screamed.
‘Hello?’ Adva called out into the night, nothing or no one answered.

The bush in front of her shivered in the night, rustling as if something thrashed gentle from within. Adva advanced carefully; her eyes wandered the landscape. Peering over the dark fern leaf to see a large pair of red eyes glaring back of her. Time was still, she wasn’t sure how long she stood looking at these glowing eyes, she wanted to scream but her voice caught in her throat. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind; she could run, hide, scream or shout, throw a blast of magic or a rock. All of the thoughts faded into black as the creature growled and slowly slid forward. A glistened claw snapped out and clamped down on her waist; the tip of the claws pierced her skin.

The bird-like creature launched into the air, jerking her arm as it lurched into the air, her legs flailed helplessly in the air, and the ground disappeared from underneath her, eyes struggling to focus on something, anything. Pure evil seeped from the bird and fizzled against her skin; it felt wrong and dark. Her other hand clawed at its talons, her fingertips stinging as the sharp edge sliced into them, as she tried blindly to free herself in the face of the burning wind that attacked her face. After what felt like an eternity, the creatures movements halted as it let out a mournful cry releasing her from its steely grip. A soundless cry left her lips as she plummeted to the ground, her body jolted as it made contact with something solid. Opening her eyes, she came face to face with Geralt of Rivia, or at least that looked like him; deep black veins covered his face that was now a sickly white.

Adva didn’t have time to react before she was dropped onto her feet and the Witcher removed his blade from behind his back swinging it a deadly swish as it cut through the air. The beast was ensnared by a thick silver chain, that it struggled and strained against, she could hear the chain groaning with every pull. Reality began seeping in; the Griffin had tried to kill her and still might. The creature burst free, shards of silver ricocheted across the field, the feathered cat wiggled its wings as it launched for the Witcher. The fight was a ballet, elegant forces as he twirled and darted across the grass, the roar of the bird and the swish of the sword-singing as it slashed against the talons. The travelling bard appeared from nowhere shouting encouragement as he rushed over her side.
‘Yes, Geralt! Saving the damsel in distress. This will make a brilliant Ballard.’ The young man gushed at her.

Adva felt her grip loosening on what was happening; it felt like a nightmare. One minute she was caring for a young child in the healer's hut than being interrogated by a Witcher who was now suddenly defending her with his life, his own personal bard shouting his praise from the sidelines. When her brain was finally able to catch up she found Geralt being throw again a tree. A wave of angry surged through her as his body splintered through the young tree, and the breast roared around as it charged around at the two petrified companions. In her angry Adva body reacted in a way it had never done before, she forced her hand to waved over the ground and summoned a ball of water that gurgled and thrashed as it ranged in the air, without a second thought she threw the ball toward the cat-like creature. The creature flew back with a terrible screech.

Geralt readied himself its time to see the monster being pushed back with a bone crashing force of a ball of water. Adva stood in front of Jaskier or Jaskier coward behind her as the women eyes glowed a bright blue. The creature choked back water as its great talons scraped along the stones as in a deadly threat. Without a though, Geralt brought sword up above his head and sliced into the beast's wing, causing it to collapse on the floor then with lightning speed thrust his sword true to pierce the heart of the possessed creature, watching it sink to the ground.

With a grunt Geralt moved slowly he watched as her eyes returned back to normal, the aura around her was clear and bright, throbbing with energy and vigour, she smiled wearily at him which Geralt couldn’t help but smile back. There was a nervousness that took over her aura as her hand rung out in front of her. As he approached her mouth opened several times but no voice spoke out.
‘You have got to teach me that…’ Jaskier panted out. ‘…Will come in useful when Geralt runs off.’

‘Water Manipulation is a rare talent among Mages…unheard of in healer.’ Geralt grunted.

Before Adva had time to reply a smash caught her attention, turning her head to observed her house in the distance, a bright yellow glow shone through the thin window of her room. Even in the pain that stung her side she was well aware she had not left any candles burning, she never did, her eyes were well adapted to the dark. Another hideous clattered sounded out and she flung herself up the verge the beast had carried her down and back into her room.

Standing at her desk the Mage Tradi stood gripping a book from her shelves, starring angry at its pages. His hair was damp from sweat that glued his wavey mane to his forehead and neck. His green obs were wild and murderous as they turn to look up.

‘Is this it? Is this your book? Where are the notes? The spells?’ he spat, hand flailing wildly with the book. ‘I possessed a Griffin, murdered those pathetic fools for this? A bunched of scribbled gibberish? What does it all mean? Tell me or ill have that Griffin pull you whore friends bodies apart slowly and make you watch!’

‘Tradi….’ Adva pleaded stepping into the room entirely.

The man lunged aggressively; a sharp searing pain tore through her already exposed side. Where the Griffin had torn open her dress leaving weeping scratches, now were open in deep gouge. In Tradi’s other hand was her paring knife, a curved blade she used to prepare her potions, it glistened in the darkness, smeared with her blood. Geralt was suddenly there, his silver sword pushed under the Mages throat, the Witcher white teeth bared angrily.

‘You possessed a Griffin that is very dark magic. Any last words.’ Geralt spat against the man's face, pushing him harder into the wall as the weaker man kicked and struggled against him.

‘You cannot kill me! I now possess the book of ultimate power. I am invinsa….’ The man crumpled to the floor as the Withers blade cut through his throat, almost severing his head from the body. Blood viciously spurted out across the room, coating Geralt with a healthy spray and he sheathed his sword and picked up the book in clasped tightly in the deadman's hand.
Jaskier was now helping the young girl to her feet as she stared in horror at the deadmans body as its entire contest of blood flooded onto the floor. Her dark blue eyes rose to meet Geralt’s in a silent plea. It was only now that Geralt though of how young she looked and how small, something so innocent and tiny that in one brief moment it could disappear at the snap of someone fingers. The fact that someone as close as Tradi, someone she worked with could be a threat and not even realised the danger she was in. Or the fact she possessed something that made her a target, that was a deep worry at the core of his soul.

‘He wanted one of your books, why? What is so important that is would cause a Mage to possess a Griffin?’ Geralt eyed her suspiciously. The woman appeared shocked and confused, her heartbeat pounding at the breast, the magic that surrounded her hummed softly calling to him, demanding his submission.
‘I don’t…’ Her doe-like eyes pleaded with him for help understanding.

‘You don’t expect me to believe that.’ Geralt spat, he temper flaring violently in him, whatever spell she had cast was driving him insane; he didn't know if he wanted to choke the life out of her with his bare hands or push her skirt off and fuck her against the wall, the emotions that he felt surging within him were conflicting and overwhelming. Not since a child had he felt such an abundance of feelings, not since that night, his mother gave him away.

A whimper broke from her lips as she cast her eyes down to her side, her hand pulled away from the dark material of her dress to reveal the thick layer of blood coating her hand. Geralt looked down confused, frozen in surprise. There was so much blood in the room the coppery smells had mulled together he hadn’t even noticed the potent smell of apples and ocean intertwined with it. The rage he felt at her had clouded his vision, blinded him to the blood pool into her skirts. emotions pounded in his chest as he watched the woman crumpling into Jaskier arms.

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Chapter Text

Geralt quickly snatched the women from Jaskier’s arms before placing the young women on what he could barely call a bed. It was a straw mattress lain against the far wall; her body was limp against him as he arranged her body carefully in an attempted to slow the bloodflow. The bottom of her blouse stained a rusty red as the blood slowly seeped from the opened wound.

‘Igni’ With the muttering of the word, a flash of light flickering on the dozen of candles around the room, washing them in a warm glow. ‘Jaskier are you just going to stand there? Grab me a cloth.’ Geralt grunted as he pressed his hand against the wound.

Jaskier pulled a drying cloth from a nearby rake and tossed it at the steely-eyed Witcher. Geralt tenderly soaked the blood with the rag, pressing it the wound to get a clear look at the offending incision. The golden eyes drank in damages. There were five claw marks that left thin veins of red against her porcelain skin, faint and light, they had started to clot, and the bleeding had all but stopped. Above the slivers of red, just above her hip, a weeping gash of blood poured from a gnarled wound. The knife had been blunt, and when the insane Tradi had lunged for her soft skin it tore and ripped. It was not a mortal wound, no organs or arteries damaged but the blood that seeped out of the slash was alarming. Cersi was across the town and even on the back of Roach there was no guarantee that she would not have bled out. Geralt could stitch her up or brand her with an iron to cease the bleed, but even with his mutant eyes, he could not see the damage inside. Even unconscious, her body was so reactive, a slight shimmer of sweat began to develop across her skin, and every muscle was tense.

‘Fuck……’ Geralt pulled back and fished a vial from his pouch.

Uncorking the bottle with his teeth, he pulled back the cloth and tentatively poured the liquid on the bleeding. Swallow was toxic, he had never used it someone who was not a Witcher, but Geralt had been a Witcher for longer then he could remember, and the times he had heard it used the people died horrible deaths, burnt from the inside out. If they did their life was not worth living, driven made or deranged. The two men watched her skin bubble and shift as the wound sealed itself smooth, no rough scar tissue, just an angry patch of red. He let her eye search the area; just a few freckles dotted across her hip. His cat's eyes raced to her face looking for the signs, anything that could betray the damage on the inside. Gradually her body relaxed, melted into the thin mattress, sighing in contentment.

It was only now that he let his eyes scanned her body. The clothes she wore where ill-fitting, hiding a feast beneath. In the commotion, her skirt had racked up bunching around her waist ,revealing smooth shapely legs, thick and chunky thighs. They travelled up under her potato sack skirt to a work of art, her waist was narrow, flaring out to round plush hips. Travelling up her breast stood firm, parting to the side as she lay on her back. Most women wore corsets, but her figure stood proud and firm, unaided but the amour like clothing. Her neck was graceful, swan-like, leading up to her face, her curls swirled around her like a hallow, the light highlighting the gold of her curls. Her face was peaceful but dark circle marred underneath her eyes, and her cheekbones looked hallow, dehydrated. Her beauty was mesmerising but confusing. Geralt was thankful but concerned. He wanted her to survive but he knew there was something, something strange. Nothing he had ever heard of could endure a Witcher’s potion. A less … no it wasn’t possible

‘Hmmm,’ Geralt hummed as he picked up a moth-eaten blanket and draped it over her exposed body.

Jaskier stared over at his friend. The white-haired man was staring down, pensive at the women on the floor. Witcher with a heart he mused. It would be a great song. Or bedding the grateful damsel in distress whom he rescues from the clutches of death. Even better. Jaskier turned his eyes to the man on the floor. The mage, Tradi, he was cold and death, throat cut open, twisted in anger. In his hand there was a heavily ornated journal, it was a deep purple with what looked like peals sown onto the cover and gold thread stitched into the spine of it.

‘Well, what do we have here… he won't be needing this anymore. I could rebind it and put my song it …..I could even have is published. The Tales of the Witcher and the Bard….no the Bard and the Witcher.’ Jaskier pondered as struggled to release the book from the death grip of the corpse. Brandishing in the air in success.

The scent of the pages hitting the air cause Geralt's nose to twitch. A mixture of sour milk, pig and decay. Human Skin. Without a thought, Geralt snatched the book from the victorious Jaskier, inhaling deeply he could smell it now. Some of the pages where old, 30 years at least, and somewhere new, recent, days old. Probably from the victims of the Griffin. A Mage would never use human skin; only the most despised magic was held on human skin. Old magic, evil magic that even Elves feared, not even using it when the humans massacred them.

‘Geralt…. You get the join. A bard cannot live on his art alone.’ Jaskier whined, attempting to reach up to The Witcher.

‘Human skin possess bad magic… igni.’ Geralt growled as the book remained unheard against the fire smell. ‘This must be destroyed properly, in a purifying ritual.’ Geralt bite out as he tucked it into his bag, his eyes training in on the girl.

Jaskier eyes followed Geralt’s. The girls stirred slightly and curled into the mattress; a pained hiss escaped her lips as she grimaced, brow furrowed. The bard's eyes soften, she was a beautiful thing, it surprised him that she would be working in a tavern which was little more than a high-class brothel. Adva looked almost childlike, innocent and sheepish, dressing in rags, making her look frumpy and older. She could be little more than 20, an orphan probably or sold to the tavern as a child, didn’t know anything better and properly wouldn't leave till she died, either and the hands of disease or a patron. But then again he had seen her throw a gigantic ball of water at the monster, powerful enough to stun to allow Geralt to strike the fatal blow.

‘Will she be okay?’ the bard asked.

‘Hmmm’ was the only reply that Geralt gave. As he wiped her brow of a kitchen towel found on the back of one a chair. The white-haired man crammed his bulking frame a ragged chaired she had in front of a large desk. The chair was possibly the nicest thing in the room, soft and padded; it looked like it had once belonged to a wealthy merchant, woven with vivid colours and threads. Settled down into the chair, the thin, timid legs at the bottom snapped causing the base of the armchair to hit the floor with a thud.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glistening leather of a burgundy book, a journal that was too elegant for a mere kitchen maiden. Pinching it from the desk he examined it at the page it fell open. The words were curvey and neat; one letter flowed to the next if they could be called letters. It was not a language he had ever seen- not Elvish or the Elder language.

‘Fuck’ Geralt growled, wiggling himself into a comfy position and stretching his long let out in front of him as he settled his eyes on the women in front of him, the book lying in his lap.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
When the sun was finally up in the sky, Geralt left the woman sleeping, watched over by Jaskier. Geralt was certain that the Swallow he had used would take to ill effects of her, she slept peaceful and undisturbed even though Jaskier strummed his lute and practised and pondered his new hit. The tavern was now alive with the sound of life; they squeaked and squealed about the sounds of last nights battle. When the sun was high in the sky Geralt, with sword in hand, struck the head of the Griffin ignoring the cheer from the crowd that gathered at the back of the Tavern. The Witcher made his way through the town; no one bothered him, the people cleared a path, the sight of him bloody and carrying a severed head was enough. The guards at Lord Brightwater’s manor stepped aside without questioning him.

The Witcher found the way to his meeting room with ease. The scent of him was robust, old parchment and cheese, but it was mixed with another smell, the smell of Cersi, roses and honey, a sickly sweet smell that lingered in the air, temping. A smell mixed with the salt fragrances of sex. Sure enough, Cersi sat prompt up against a vase stand, looking at the greying lord as he busied himself with the accounts in the same dress as yesterday.

‘I have slain the beast.’ Geralt uttered, dropping the severed head of the mahogany desk, causing the Lord to look up from his papers.

‘A Griffin…you were right.’ Cersi grinned, cat-like as she moved to examine the head.

‘Interesting… it looks like the creature was hit with a water blast of some kind….whats wrong with its eyes’ the mage questioned as she examined it.

‘The price has doubled.’

‘I paid you to dispatch the beast, and you did. I will pay you the agreed amount.’ Lord Fagen gritted out, pulling open a drawer and tossing a large coin purse at the monster hunter, who caught it with ease.

‘Wasn’t as ssimplyas that, the best was being enchanted, controlled to stalk the people of Brightwater. I had to dispatch him to.’

‘Tradi’ Cersi winched as she sat upon the edge of the Lord's desk.

‘You knew?’ Geralt snarled at the sorceress.

‘I had my suspicions. Tradi was alleged to have been dabbling in dark magic, experimenting on his King’s people. The guild could never prove aanything, but it was enough to get removed from court. A mage without a king such a sad thing.’ Cersi shrugged.

‘Didn’t think to mention it before?’ Geralt nostril flared, as he looked at his friend with angry.

‘I didn’t have a lot to go on. Besides, I was quietly confident in you.’ Cersi spoke sweetly, playing with her blonde hair.

‘Hmmm. Doesn’t change a thing, the price has doubled.’

‘It is out of the question. The town has been damaged far too much. We will need every coin to rebuild, better and stronger.’ The lord bit back, acidly.

‘Now now, Fagen. Honest pay for honest work. Maybe we can bargain with Geralt. He is reasonable after all. There must be something that he wants. Or perhaps someone.’ Her tone was dripped in honey, but the inference was there, steel-edged and obvious.

There was silence between the three as they watched each other, ‘Tradi attached Adva. Wanted something from her. I will forgo the payment for Tradi for her. Her… powers would be helpful on the road.’
The Lord stood and slammed his fists onto the desk, enough for the whole room to vibrate at the force. ‘I will not allow you to take here anywhere. She is safe here. Take your money and go Witcher. Before I call the guard.’

Geralt grunted out violent puffs of hot breath. Something primal within him howled at this man; a poncy lord thought he had the power to separate him from Adva. He was never one to be told what to do, especially when it came to women. The magic he felt between them was intense; he didn’t believe it was a soulbond, things were myths, told to doe-eyed girls to give them hope in the bleak futures married to ignorant or foolish men. But he would be damned if he let Adva stay here. The two men inched closer together, centimetre by centimetre

‘Boys enough. Fagen…Love let me deal with this. I know what needs to be done. Go?’ There was an edge in her voice; it was forceful and almost harsh. The Lord slowly left, not before casting the evil eye at him . Awww the things a man in love will do. Geralt mused as the man slammed the door shut.

‘Sleeping with a Lord now? Ordering the poor man out of his own chambers. Hmm,’ Geralt folded his arms, looking down at the women.

‘Fagen is… protective. He was the one who found her abandoned all those years ago. He never had children; I suppose he looks over her in a way.’ Cersi sighed as she stood, brushing her hands over her crumpled dress that had probably spend the last night on the floor, before moving to the desk and pulling out a long dry bit of parchment.

‘Then why not adopt her? Why send her to apprentice at Tradi for him to abuse or to work in a whorehouse.’ Geralt snapped.

‘It is complicated Geralt…Sending her to Tradi was a mistake, caused this nasty situation. You need to take her away… far away. Take this’ Cersi spoke with a tired voice.

The parchment in her hand was a certificate, a certificate of service. Such documents were standard among orphans, women placed in service till they where 25, past from one owner to another. Only when the orphan married or was old enough was the person free, that was why most only lived very short terrible lives.

‘You want to help?’ Geralt was no fool, Cersi was a excellent mage but not without her own motives.

‘I don’t think Brightwater is the right place for Adva anymore. She seems to have outgrown it. You can buy Adva from Vivian, 500 coins should do it, and the young sweetling begins the new life together with an honourable Witcher. How long are you going to deny your bond? Take her with you there isn’t a force in the world that can keep you apart now.’

‘I don’t think Adva would be very happy to find her being sold from one person to the next. I don’t think she had a very good opinion of me after our first meeting. I have known you too long. What are you getting about this?’

‘Maybe not but entwined destinies will stop at nothing. Soul mate is soul mates Geralt, you know better than to mistrust fate. I am merely trying to stop your mistrust of emotions from killing you both. But heed my warning take care of her Geralt or dealing with me will be the least of your worries. Come you need to leave soon.’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
A hot sensation was the first thing she felt. Searing. Groggy, Adva woke, her body ached, and the right side of her body felt tight like the skin was too small for her body. Light pooled through the narrow window and onto a vicious read stain that smears from one side of the room to the next. It looked like…blood. Tradi. God, what had he done? Anxiety rose within her, eeverythingflooded back to her. The gods the glowing-eyed Griffin, the pain, the evil look that consumed Tradi’s features, the knife, the cut. Adva’s hand flew to her side, blood-stained clothing remained but no wound no scratches. She felt the pieces of her knife from Tradi hands; she knew she collapsed. After that, she had no idea.

‘The sleeping beauty is awake; you gave us quite a scare. Never seen Geralt so worried. Watched you will the sun broke in the sky.’ The companion spoke as appeared from nowhere.

‘I…What….Thank you…’ No word would work or seemed appropriate.

‘Jaskier…humbled bard at your service.’ The brown-haired man bowed with a flourish causing her to laugh.

The bard had a kind face, that was permanently smiling, even at the town square he looked happy, approachable, warm; a contrast to his friend. Adva couldn’t help but smile at him. Sitting up she cast her eyes around her room,; bookspulled from shelves, pages torn, most she never got to read, she had been trying to learn the ccommonlanguage, it was hard and so different from what she had been taught, she had been so close, but now it seemed impossible. Casting another glance around the room she spied broken furniture, herbs and potions spilt onto every possible service, it broke her heart a little, she had very little and what she did have was precious to her. Now she had nothing. Her blues eyes fell to her desk; her book was gone, the one thing she had from before, the last thing she had of them, her family. Tradi must have taken it… but the witcher killed him — the Witcher.

The man's voice broke through her thoughts as raised voices filtered through the worm-eaten wood. An argument, she felt the vibrations of the voices rather then what they were actually saying. Jaskier seemed to hear them too, as he inched towards the door.

‘My mother always told me it was rude to eavesdrop, why don’t we go and watch. I bet Geralt is going to cause a fight, he always does. Come on.’ The singer squeaked excitedly as he broke through the door.

It all honestly it was the last thing she wanted to do, last nights events had drained her, but she wanted to know what was going on and if the Witcher had her book. Standing caused her to groan, her side was on fire, red and inflamed, whatever they used worked, skin smooth and as it was, but whatever it was was slow to heal whatever damage was on the inside. Hobbing forward, she braced herself along the wall and down the hall to the main tavern.

It was still early, and few had graced the parlour, the only ones in the room were Vivian, Nesta, Cersi and Geralt. Jaskier perched on the sidelines. Nesta wrung her hands nervously, eyes widening as she saw her, instantly rushing to her, her light irises searching her face before she hugged her close, hard.

‘You must run. Vivian is selling your service to the Witcher. Take this. It not much but all I can spare. Take it an run.’ Nesta whispered into Adva’s ear while pushing a handful of coppers into her dress.
Adva pulled back, and eyes wildly followed her friend's frown. A joke surely, but the concern that burnt in Nesta’s eyes was real and true. They were as close as a sister and looked out for each other. Adva would brew potions and balms to help with overactive clients, keep Nesta healthy and pretty and Nesta would mother her, keep away unwanted advances.

‘550 is our final deal’ Cersi spat.

‘It’s a deal of 550 coins. I’ll sign her over. Pleasure, I will be happy to take her back when your bored of her…. She can be a bit of penny pure pants, it attractive in a way but get a little boring after a while.’ Vivian purred and she strolled away, jiggling a coin purse as she went.

‘Cersi! How could you?’ Adva gasped, backing towards the door, wincing as her tight skinned pulled around her healing skin.

‘Adva my dear… I didn’t want you to find out like this. Please understand it isn’t what you think… it will become clear soon.’ Cersi walked over pleading, pulling on of her hand into her own.
Snatching her hand away and stood back. Adva couldn’t help it, but she felt disgusted, she knew what happened to most of the orphans who were sold, they would go from one person to the next, most didn’t make it to 25. Slavery was what it was, just because she had no family, she had survived Tradi and she didn’t want to know what was worse than him.

‘Don’t touch me. I thought you were my friend… I am not going anywhere with anyone.’ Adva hissed.

‘I am sorry. I hope you will not hate me for this. Take this with you. It will help you understand. Please forgive me.’ Cersi pleaded, pushing a book into Adva’s hands.

Adva stared at the book for what felt like ages. The Witcher- A history. Turning her head up again she opened her mouth to speak, to argue, to plead but as soon as her eyes met Cersi’s a cloud of yellow flew out of hands, and she inhaled a lungful of bitter herbs, sour and nasty. The room spun, and her eyelids felt heavy, her feet could no longer support her body. The last thing she saw before her vision fell black were Golden orbs and the fate sound of a voice.

‘Take care of her Geralt. If not for her sake for yours.’

 

Chapter Text

Jaskier glared up at the man on the horse. Geralt has been his usual brooding self, riding atop of his trusty stead, the only difference since leaving Brightwater was now his had company in the saddle. Thrown across the worn brown leather, a sleeping form burrowed into the Witchers chest. The mop of curls fanned across her face hiding her, as she slept dreamlessly. Geralt had wrapped his cloak around her, as he lifted her up to sit side-saddle on his lap as he rode, protecting her against onlookers who sought to catch a glimpse of flesh. Dresses not being the most appropriate to ride in. The bard felt conflicted, Geralt was his friend, but he had just witnessed the Witcher buy a person from the inn. Not just a person a young women.

He was observing the side of her face that peeked out from her tightly wrapped form. The girl looked younger than him; her face was softly defined, innocent and pretty, more than pretty, striking, the type of girl who had suiters painting her likeness to try and win her hand or writes her poetry, now she was slung over a Witcher’s saddle, nestled against his chest.
‘You just brought a person. I can’t believe it. You brought a person.’ Jaskier finally screeched into the air. They had been travelling for more than five days, his mind preparing an elegant argument, demanding to know what was going on, but instead, a splutter of words fell from his lips. ‘you actually brought someone. You do some pretty dark shit, questionable things but you have never brought a person. Let alone a girl. What are you going to do with her? Actually don’t tell me, not actually do, no don’t. I know what happens to those poor orphan girls. I just can’t believe you would buy one…’

‘I brought her freedom, bard.’ Geralt grunted, looking down at the snuggling girl.
The Witcher looked down at the sleeping woman, whatever Cersi has blown in her face had rendered the women into a deep sleep, but he could see signs that the substance was lifting, but there was enough space between Brightwater and the road they were on to deter her from running off. Adva shifted and mumbled something indecipherable before she repositioned herself in the crook of his neck, her lips brushed against his golden skin, sending a shiver of pleasure down his body. The last two days had been pure torture, to feel her warmth through his thick armour was the worst suffering he had ever endured, he wanted nothing more than to strip them both of them of every stitch of clothing and feel skin upon skin. Geralt groaned lowly as her lips ghosted over his skin. The sooner he reached Kaer Morhen, and Vesemir, the better, whatever this bond was between them was not something he knew of, it was unknown territory and therefore dangerous. Geralt only wish was that she remained asleep till they got there.

‘What… so she is going to be free, you freed her… actually freed her. She can leave… get on with her life.’ Jaskiers face broke into a bright smile. ‘I knew you wouldn’t do a thing like that; there is a place in Vevan that we could leave her, a friend of mine owns a tavern… said he would leave it to me one day ha! Rosemary and Thyme, it is a decent place, she would be looked after there.’ the singer gushed.

Geralt ignored the bard and rode on a few more feet till he came to a perfect patch of land and dismounted, carefully to stop the girl from falling as he went. Letting her slide down the saddle, he carried her bridal style to the foot of a tree. Gentilly, the hunter, brushed a stray curl behind her ear. His shark-like eyes followed her features, pale honey skin and plump pink lips parted with a soft snore. Geralt smiled tenderly as he rubbed his calloused thumb over her parted lips.

‘Bronn is a decent man; he will keep her. His son is about her age; you never know it could be fate. Would make an interesting song.’ Jaskier grinned plopping himself down in the stump of a tree.

A vicious growl rose in the monster hunters throat. ‘She isn’t going anywhere, Adva is staying with me and not going near any tavern owners son.’

‘So she is free…to stay with you.’ Jaskier gawked.

‘Hmmm.’

‘Geralt… you have been hunting monsters too long, your beginning to act like one. Adva is a person, living breathing women, whom some dark wizard tried to set a Griffin on and then got sold and knocked out with weird powder. How do you think she is going to react when she wakes up…. She is going to wake up, right?’

‘Listen to me Bard and listen well.’ Geralt gritted out as he menacingly took a step closer. ‘There are things happening that you cannot comprehend, things that even I don’t fully understand. Adva will be staying with me till I figure out what is happening; whether you like it or not, if you get in my way I will unseem you balls to brain, understand…. I liked you better when you didn’t talk, the last five days have been bliss.’ Geralt grunted as he laid out his bedding and carefully tucked Adva in.

Jaskier eyed him with care, the grump side of him was expected but never this…hostile. The singer watched as Geralt pulled the blanket around her shoulders, never in the entire time he had known the cranky man had he seen Geralt this tender, aside from Ciri, but this was different. Even with Yennefer, there was not this level of this…sweetness; the care was considerate and almost loving. Geralt was sure to put her on his bedding each night they stopped, kept the fire going and rubbed a cooling lotion on her side. Adva’s side was healing nicely no longer the harsh crimson. The singer watched as the monster hunter pulled a dead leaf from the mass of curls before he stood adjusting his sword on his back as he moved.

‘I am going to get wood, keep on eye on Adva.’ Geralt grunted as he marched off into the wilderness.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jaskier strummed his lute idly, and his eyes lingered over the sleeping form. The fading light brushed against her hair softly; it made her appear angelic, she skin glowed lowly, she was indeed stunning, swan-like neck leading to a voluptuous figure. A million questioned threw through the singer’s mind; this girl seemed normal, innocent, just another girl caught up in the mess of the world. But nothing was as it seemed, he saw her launch a blast of water at the Griffin, saw it attach her, saw Tradi madness that consumed his eyes, even in his dying moments that rage still filled his mind.

The bard began to hum along as he plucked at the chords, brows furrowed as he stared at the sleeping form as she stirred before snuggling back down. Jaskier had lost count of the years he had known Geralt, and he trusted him, for all his menacing and boarish ways, and despite his protest, Geralt always did the right thing because at heart he was a hero and that is why Jaskier trusted him. Jaskier trusted Geralt not to do anything underhand but there was a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t put into words. The thought slipped from his mind as a soft gasp caught his attention as the swaddled figured bolted upright.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva blinked, her eyelids fluttered several times as the world in front of her came into focus. The sky above her was transitioning from day to night; the light was just descending into darkness. The trees where willows, the leaves were dangling over her, gently dancing the wind above her. The women pressed her eyes together as a pinched pain throbbed at the bridge of her nose.

Groaning, Adva pushed herself up on her elbows sleepily taking in her surroundings. It was a clearing, surrounded by a dense wall of foliage, vivid greens and soothing browns. Across from her, the young poet from the tavern stared at her with wide, terrified eyes. Pushing herself up further the blanket she had been enveloped in fell to her waist, and the sweet scent of spiced wood bombarded her senses.

‘Your awake!’ the bard exclaimed as stood placing his lute against the fallen tree he had been resting on.

‘Where am I?’ Adva said shakily, eyes narrowing at the man who stood hesitantly as she unsteadily stood to her feet. She felt as weak as a newborn calf; she managed to make a couple of steps before her legs gave up from under her. Jaskier lurched forward clamping his arms around her, as they collapsed in a pile.

Having his crouch pushed up against a plush butt was something Jaskier enjoyed immensely and the squirming made the sensation all the more pleasurable. After all, he was a man and the position would make even the most devoted man feel something but Jaskier, though he was many things was a gentleman. Squirming out from under her, he was able to pull her up against the fallen tree and flop back next to her.

Adva roughly rubbed her eyes as she tried to get her world back into focus; her mind was a flurry of pictures and noise. The last thing she remembers was… Tradi, the Griffin… gods the Griffin…. Her side and then Cersi and the Witcher and that weird powder.

‘Oh, my gods……Oh no…no…no’ Adva hissed as she tried to stand.

‘Shhhhhhhh shhhhhhh please be quiet it okay!’ Jaskier cooed. ‘Geralt…Geralt….. Gods sake where is he…how long does it take to collect some firewood.’ Jaskier muttered to himself.

‘Be quiet! Be quiet; you kidnapped me!’ Adva snapped scrambling to her feet, resting her body against the tree and her legs become slowly accustomed to taking her weight.

‘Well technically… Geralt brought you….’ Jaskier rambled before the words died suddenly on his lips as he was stared down at the furious blue eyes of a woman enraged.

Adva grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands, the silky wood of the neck of the hazel lute and swung it half-heartedly at him before her chest began to heave dramatically.

In her entire life, she had never been outside of Brightwater, her own little world, safe and comfortable, till the Griffin invaded it and god knows what Tradi had to do with it. Panic surged through her, bile rising through her throat which she swallowed back down.

‘Put me lute down… I have had it since I was 12…please...’ Jaskier begged, holding his hands out in surrender.

‘Where am I?’ she demanded.

‘We are in Kaedwen… well near Kaedwen.’ Jaskier stated inching closer, earning a harsh glare and the instrument raised slightly higher, causing him to take a step back.

‘ Kaedwen?... Kaedwen that is almost a weeks journey from Brightwater…How….How long have I been asleep?’ Adva didn’t need an answer the pity in the man's eyes was enough to tell her all she wanted to know. Cersi had put her to sleep to allow some Witcher to carry her off into the world with some paper that essentially made her his slave.

‘I need to go….I want to go back… I am leaving.’ Adva whimpered as she lowered the lute, which Jaskier snatched back and pressed it to his chest like a mother with her child.

‘Thing is…Geralt.’ Jaskier sighed in relief as the hulking figure of the Witcher silently emerged from the bushed with an extensive collection of sticks and logs. The white-haired man froze as he saw the shivering figure of the curvy brunette.

‘Fuck…’ Geralt cursed as he dropped the pile of wood and clicked his fingers with a crisp, satisfying click. ‘Igni’ and with the single word, the fire roared to life with a crackle and a spit.

Geralt had thought the powder would have lasted for another couple of days, despite all Cersi’s skill her dreamless slumber powder was well below par. Geralt growled deeply as he stood to his full height to survey the small women, her clothes were dishevelled and ragged from the 5-day ride, feature tight with terror as she looked between both the men. A soft tugged pulled ar his heart as she stumbled away from him as he stepped towards her, the smell of fear thick in the air.

‘How dare you!....Take me back right now.’

‘I don’t think, so me baeg yn.’ Geralt purred as he stopped in front of her.

‘Take me back right now; I am not something you can buy and sell. Take me back home.’ Adva snarled, angry filled her eyes as a laugh rolled through his body.

‘Do you really think you have a home now? Tradi set a creature free to attack the people of your city because of you. For some silly book. Your friends sold you to me without so much as an ounce of hesitation. Is that somewhere you want to go back to. Even without all that I still wouldn’t let you, if Tradi suspects something about you, something that he could use others will find out. You wouldn’t want to put others in danger…do you?’ Geralt purred in his usually velvet tone; one perfect eyebrow arched quizzicly as he looked down at her.

‘Geralt!’ The young bard shriek as he gawped at the Witcher.

Tears breamed Adva’s eyes; it was all too much. Everything had happened too fast she could keep up, it was too much to process. Everything she had ever known was gone, but if the Witcher was right how could she go back? What Tradi did was mad, he had always been obsessed with power and it was only so long before he did something like this, but Adva has never thought he would do something like that. The book was just that a book of notes, a journal of thoughts and facts, nothing to kill for. If there was really something more, something dangerous going on she wouldn’t be the one to endanger anyone.
Silent tears rolled down her face as she dry heaved into her hand and crouched down against the log. Jaskier knelt next to her as curled his arm around her as the woman shook and gagged with anxiety, tossing the Witcher a scathing look as the singer attempted to comfort her as her world collapsed around her.

Geralt eyes narrowed as he watched the cuckolding bard tended to the exkitchen maiden, a deep burn bubbled away in his gut and regret pricked against the back on his mind. This was why he didn’t talk; he only dug himself into holes. The white wolf opened and shut his mouth several times trying and failing to think of things to say to comfort. Rage simmered under his skin as Adva nudged closer into Jaskier’s shoulder as her gags stopped and her cries turned into little whimpers.

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me baeg yn- My Little One
Sorry for going AWOL for so long. Hope this makes up for my absence.
What does everyone think? I hope it meets up with expectation. Hopefully, the next chapter will have some significant Adva and Geralt interaction. Still working on how that is gonna work out. Once again if you have anything you want to see please leave a comment.
I am working on Part Two of Fated Destiny if anyone is interesting.

Chapter Text

Geralt’s cat eyes followed the two walkers with predator-like focus. A deep growl pushed itself from his chest as he watched Jaskier knock his shoulder against the women gently as he told her another tale from his repertoire. The Witcher’s eyes narrowed as the Adva chuckled weakly and attempted to push him back. For the past three days, they had been travelling through miles of muddy roads and dense woodland; it was beginning to take its toll on the young women’s body. Despite Geralt’s best efforts Adva refused to join him on his horse even though he could see the slouch in her figure and the exhaustion in her features as they travelled. It took all of Geralt’s free will to stop himself from yanking her up, throwing her across his saddle. The smell of apples and the ocean was teasing him; he needed it closer; he wanted to bury his face in her neck and drinking in the heady scent. It was craving, a need, a yearning, burning him from the inside out.

In the darkening sky, there was a dim glow in the near distance, a small town. The Witcher surveyed the town for a moment before returning his gaze to his new travel companion. She had been subdued since her eruption the days previous, choosing to ignore his presence and focusing on the babbling bard.

‘Geralt…Geralt there is a town...wine…meat and beds. Think about it…real-life beds. Soft, fluffy warm beds. Come on Geralt lets stay the night. We might even find a new tale...or at the very least, a warm bath and a change of clothing.’ Jaskier prodded, shinnying his best puppy dog eyes at him.

Adva look up silent at the two men, there was almost a playful banter of faux hated from the older man. In truth she didn’t care where she slept, a bed, a muddy hole on top of a bed of nettle as long as she got some rest, her body ached, literal ached, she was used to being tired especially in the last weeks in Brightwater after the attacks, but this was on a whole other level. The sort of tiredness that seeped into your bones and made you eyelids feel like lead. Adva wrinkled her nose, the clothes she wore were stained, bile rose in her throat as she runs her hand over a sticky rust colour stain on her dress, a mix of hers and Tradi’s blood. It was only then she realised she hadn’t had a change of clothes since Brightwater. The same dress that has a massive slit in the side where Griffin’s talons caught her, an overshirt had been pulled over the bodice, and her old cloak flung round her. It covered her modestly, but she dreaded to think what a state she looked. She hadn’t bathed in a week, no hairbrush or fresh clothes, she had nothing, every possess she had ever own was gone, everything she owns was currently wrapped tightly around her body. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Staring up at the Witcher, she could feel his heavy gaze on her but refused to look away; instead, she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. It didn’t take a Witcher to see the line of water collect against her lashes. Casting his golden orbs back the town he sent his jaw in a tight clench as he urged Roach onwards.

‘Hmmm’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Heavy spices filled the air, sage and rosemary, cinnamon and nutmeg. Merchants voiced echoed through the street as people rushed from one place to the other, in a rush to get the last of their supplies before darkness fell. Upon reaching the town gates, Geralt dismounted his horse and led him through the dwindling crowd. People parted allowing the trio to slip through, edger eyes cast upon them, intrigued at the white-haired hulk of a man.

Jaskier pranced across the ground, strumming his lute softly, making the pretty young girls laugh behind their hands as he blew them kisses. Adva fell as little way behind the pair, eyes scanning the town stalls as she went. People chatted and bartered with the tradesmen; carts served the busy people with spiced ginger cake and pies as they rushed off home, the hearty smell of soup lingered in the air. A low rumble bubbled in the girl's stomach cause a pale blush to spread across her cheeks as the Witcher turned slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye as a seller pushed his wares. Jaskier was on the other side of the street purchasing spare lute strings and bathing salts from an overly busty young woman.

Flashes of vibrant colour caught her eye. Rich pinks and orange against the vivid blues and reds. Rolls of cotton, silks and velvets in every colour imaginable. They were hanging against the wooden frame where a full range of garments, headdress, bands, girdles, overcoats, cloaks, tunics, gowns and dresses. The blue eyes searched the overladen walls that hung various outfits. Fingering the soft cotton of a deep red dress, she traced the simple gold embroidery design that framed the lace corset of the bodice. The next thing that caught her eyes was a dark leather underbust corset, with a cross-hatched design. Never in her life has she seen such a garment; women in the brothels often wore such a thing but made of flimsy silk or whalebone to tuck and frame their waist and push their bust-up. This, however, was a work of art, probably made for lady judging from the quality. Next was a basic blouse one in royal red and the next in aqua blue, in the softest cotton.

‘Ahhh madam, you have excellent taste…those colours would complement your skin…madams’ figure is exceptional… perhaps a tighter corset, it would empathise your hips and waist.’ A chirpy deep voice cut in.

Out of nowhere, a large jolly man bounded in her eye line. The merchant was dressed in an elegant doublet, in a brilliant shade of emerald green. Fine white whiskers framed his plump red cheeks; a large belly jiggled when he laughed. The violent greeting almost made Adva flinch back in shock, but his large friendly smile relaxed her tense shoulders. The old man waddled over and lifted up the dark leather corset and inspected it with glee.

‘I pick up this little thing in Nilfgaard year ago…it belonged to a master craftsman…see this leather work he almost went blind making it. I could not part with it to a lesser specimen of womanhood.’ He gushed as he held it up firmly against the curly-haired woman.

Adva shrieked back as the man touch, bumping into the broad chest of the brooding Witcher, who glared down at the pudgy old man.

‘Ahhhh this must be your husband… such a handsome couple…perhaps I could persuade you with some undergarments for the lady…’ the man winked up at Geralt as he pulled out several nightgowns. A simple thing, of plain sheer cotton cut in a princess style. Followed by a short lacey thing with a silk ribbon belt. A deep red blush moved across her face as Geralt peered down at the man with an unwavering gaze.

‘Geralt…Adva…where are you? I found a tavern!’ Jaskier bellowed.

With a sigh of relief, Adva darted off toward the tavern, leaving the orange eyed man behind.

‘By gum, you gotta good one there…a homely figure, a good hand full there’ The man crowed as he hung the garments back on the rack.’

Geralt’s eyes burnt into the merchant as he moved around the stall, minutes past before the silver-haired spoke. The man busied himself with plucking various garments from the walls of the stalls and folding them neatly into a bundle.

‘I need some clothes for my…wife. We left our last town in a rush.’ Geralt grunted out.

The man smiled up as she continues to fold what looked like a dress into the bundle. ‘I thought so… a husband like your self can’t have a woman like that dress in rags. These should do…’ the man smiled pushing the buddle across her.

Geralt glanced across as the bundle before his eyes danced across the stall. Never in his life had he taken an interest in women’s clothes, yes he appreciated the women who wore them, but as most of them end up on the floor or ripped apart, the wasn’t much point it taken an interest. However, in this instant, he took his time to access each item, ignoring the man grinning like an idiot behind him. He had seen her finger some of the items before and picked up the garment and throw them over his arm. Glancing around he examines the remaining items, there were several lovely dresses but nonpractical for travelling long and hard across the country. The golden-skinned Adonis picked some oiled skinned brown trousers and riding boots.

Geralt tossed 30 coins into the man’s hand as he picked up the role of clothes. Grunted at how light her purse now felt.

‘ere take this.’ The older man grinned at Geralt as he tossed the underbust corset. ‘I’ve had this thing for five years, and I couldn’t let it go to a less worthy filly. You’re a lucky man, and she is a lucky woman don’t know many men that would toss down 30 coins for their woman. You must be quite enamoured.’

‘Fuck’ Geralt grunted as he turned and left in the direction of the pub.

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Adva sat in the snug of the pub nursing a small cup of mead from the pitcher Jaskier had brought before fluttering off after some barmaid with gorgeous Auburn hair and a pale, freckled face. The tavern was nice, large and open but most importantly, clean. Taking another sip of mead, she cringed as the yeasty drink run down her throat. It was sickly sweet and crisp in flavour but most importantly strong, the fumes for the drink along where enough to make her lightheaded.

Sighing, she forced down another gulp and rested her back against the oak seat and closed her eyes as her mind wandered over past few days. It took all her will power not to let the overwhelming emotion to pour from her. The shock was beginning to wear off, and she flight between hatred and gratefulness, she still couldn’t get her mind around what happened or why.

‘Well hello, little girl…looking for some fun?’ a voice roared drunkenly as his clumsy plopped himself down on the bench beside her.

‘Hullo love… fancy coming outside for a bit?’ the man slurred as he sloshed his flagon around.

‘No, thank you. I am waiting for my friends.’ Adva wrinkled her nose as the overpowering stench of ale the attack her, attempting to push herself to the other end of the bench.

‘That doesn’t make matta… they can join, well as long as they got nice tits.’ The man leered at her as he snatched his arm around her pulling her to him.

‘What do you think you are doing?’

Adva had never been so relieved to see anyone in his life. The hulking frame filled up the archway, his eyes were full of rage, burning away.

‘Nothing mate…Didn’t know she was your whore. Though mate I would have thought you’d have better taste…this one looks like she been dragged through a bush…though she properly has.’ A creepy laugh pushed itself through his teeth, making him hiss like a snake.

The brunette cringed as he laughed; it made her feel unclean. There had been those sorts back in Brightwater, lecherous louts who often tried to pitch her bottom as she walked past.

Geralt cleared to the other side of the room in two long strides. The supplies cast across the table as his gloved hands crumpled as he lifted the letch off the seat by his collar. The man's feet dangled off the floor, kicking weakly as the skilled arms of the Witcher lifted him higher. Adva tensed, the look in his eyes was murderous, raw and untamed, a look that she had never seen before.

‘You even look in her direction again, and I’ll gut you like the yellow-bellied fish you are.’ Geralt roared chucking the man across the floor where the landlord slammed down the pewter flagon he had been polishing to drag the man up.

‘Cumm ere Rodrol’ The older man grunted and pulled the young man by the scruff of his shirt and ejected him the muffled scream from the front of the door with a dull thump.

The landlord hurried over with some ale and a board of cold meats and cheeses, placing the offering in front of the pair with a grovelling apology before escaping promptly back to the bar.

Automatically, Adva began pouring a dishing out the mean onto the Witcher’s plate; cheese was soft and crumbly with a sharp smell. The meats moist and juicy, beef, chicken and pork, serves with chutney and mustards and thick slices of brown bread.

‘You know you don’t have to serve, you’re not a tavern wench anymore’ Geralt purred from deep in his chest.

Adva cast her eyes down and retracted her hand from the jug and placed them by her sides. It was right; she wasn’t anymore; she wasn’t sure what she was anymore. Plucked up and removed from everything she knew, stuck in an unfamiliar town with the man who had uprooted her not a penny to her name. A pained groan fell from The Witcher’s lips, so soft she was sure she imagined it. His face was pitched and concerned as he gazed at her.

‘Where is Jaskier? The bard should have stayed with you.

‘He went to sort out the rooms. A young maid was helping him.’

‘Typical’ Geralt quipped, taking a gulp of a cup in front of him and wolfing down a thick slick of tender beef, a trail of juices travelling down his chin. Adva’s eyes transfixed as tongue darted out and collected the delicious droplet.

‘Look..’ Geralt swallowed a mouthful. ‘I got you some clothing… and a few other things you might need..’

The Witcher voice was impassively soft now, almost inaudible, the deep rough sounds that made her feel safe. In front of her, he pushed a large bundle of clothing. Adva recognised them instantly from the market stall, the lush red and blues in the softest cotton she had ever touched, brown shammy trousers and a pair of boots. Digging deep a brush and soap lay on top of the red dress and undergarments. At the bottom of the bundle was the beautiful leather corset. Never in her entire life had she had new clothes given to her, instead of living on hand-me-down and cast of given to her from the working girls, that she had to stitch together into something respectable. These were her clothes.

‘These are for me, and I don’t need to do anything to keep the? No strings attached?’ Adva asked slowly, unsure and cautious.

Geralt looked up and held her gaze as he ripped a crust of bread with his teeth and washed it down with the last of his ale and refilling his cup. ‘What do you take me for? They are your clothes.’
Deep blue eye flickered across the expressionless face, her pupils darted to the deflated purse, no longer brimming with the coin from Brightwater. The Witcher had spent hard-earned coin to purchase clothes for her when he could have just thrown a pile of rags at her. No longer could contain the question that burnt at the back of the throat.

‘Why did you take me?’ the question sounded small, but it has the power to stiffen in his seat.

‘Because you weren’t safe there.’

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Adva’s mind reeling as her mind process the series of event that lead her to where she was today.
Carefully she asked her next question. ‘What Tradi did…the experiments… the things he did…Am I really in danger? Did he really do all those awful things to get to me? Did they all die because of me?’

‘They all died because Tradi of Brownstone was a cunt. People like Tradi want power, don’t care how they get it. That is why I took you, your safe with me. Most mages are so concerned with their self they don’t care who they step on to get it…or at what cost especially if it other people.’

‘Do you know many Mages?’

‘For my sins…and there are a lot of those.’ Geralt dryly joked as he shoved a chunk of cheese into his mouth.

Adva smiled warmly across at him as she brought the clothing onto her lap to sort out. ‘Thank you… I have never had clothes like this. Thank you.’

Air rushed from her lungs as the man gave her a warm smile. It lite up his entire face, it was inviting, and a tingling sensation sparked across her body. It caused her to wonder why she had never seen him smile, most of the time he strutted around with a permeant scowl, the disdain that kept everyone at a distance.

‘Aww fuck, don’t cry.’ Geralt growled, he sat straighter in his chair, looking alarmed.

Reaching up, Adva was shocked when her fingertips met the dampness on her cheeks. Geralt was quick, so quick that she didn’t even see him move till she felt him thick arm awkwardly curl around her shoulders, pulling her body to his. A strong pulse on energy ran through her, and her heart slowed, and the nervous anxiousness that she had been carrying round in the pit of her stomach for the past three days disappeared.

They sat like that for a few moments while Adva dried her eyes, he scent was comforting, spice, ginger and cinnamon and cedarwood, she could get drunk of the smell, and subconsciously she felt herself melt into his arms and his arms tighten around her nestling her into his chest.

‘Ahhhh Geralt that is where you are. A tiny problem with the rooms. The tavern only had one room available. The delightful Griselda has selflessly allowed me access to her bed chambers, but you two have got to make some arrangement… should be too difficult seeing how you to cosy up as soon as I let you out of my sight.’ The bard sang playfully as he slid into Geralt old seat.

Jaskier settled himself down and picked at the tray of food I fronted of him and poured his cup of ale. Adva moved away out of Geralt arms and instantly became fascinated in her cup, taking small sips as Geralt glowered at the man in front of her.

‘Oh Geralt there was a man asking about you’ Jaskier mumbled his mouth full of cheese and meat.

‘Who?’ Geralt bite out.

‘Him’ the bard pointed as he stuffed another slice of pork into his already stuffed mouth.

Adva cast her eyes across the sparsely populated tavern to a group of three men, cautiously glancing at them. The trio stared suspiciously at the men as they whispered to one another. They were men of quality, at least for this small town, clothes of good quality, fur-lined cloak and full leather boots. Geralt’s hand inched towards his sword as they made their way across the small room.

‘Ahhhh Geralt of Rivia it is an honour to have you and your wife into our unworthy town.’ A middle-aged man greeted bowing lightly. ‘We hope you and your wife has been well looked after…we have something of a problem that we need help with.’

‘How much?’

‘Wife?’

Chapter Text

Three men gazed down apprehensively at the Witcher, who in turn stared unblinkingly up at the men. Out of the village, Tolstoi, Bradger and Miska had been nominated to plead with the Witcher. Tolstoi was the oldest, at plump age of 55, he still owned all his teeth and only owned a few white strands of hair. A blacksmith by trade, born with a hammer in his hand and will properly die with one in his hand. In spite of his age, his body still heads the thick muscles of his youth, maintained by hard, honest work. The second was Bradger, the town miller, the second eldest at the age of 51, he had come from the next village, when he married the town clerk’s daughter, Bethany. Despite being four years younger than Tolstoi, his hair was complete grey and receding rapidly at the temples, his frame over-ripened with the freshly baked cake and bread he prepared. Finally, there was Miska, the town treasurer, the youngest and the smartest. Thick wavy locks of gold-framed his face, golden skin finished off with deep green eyes. The robes he wore where immaculate, well made for a man of his position. The University of Oxenfurt educated, that was till the war and like so many idealistic men had gone off to fight, and somehow he had survived and ended up running out the last of his days in a small backwater town.

Miska cast his eye toward the glowering man. Even seated, he almost fell at there shoulder, the armour was reinforced, and old and two large swords lay to his left, fingers tentative stroking. His companions were interesting. A young man, looking no more then 20 sat scribbling of a wad of parchment, the youthful feature makes him an appealing sprite, dressing in a cavalier fashion, flamboyant and attractive. The women, on the other hand, was intriguing. Fresh-faced and innocent. Shapely brown eyebrow frame deep blue eyes, soft pink lips parted in a pleasing smile. Her clothes were shabby, dirty from the travel she no doubt had to endure. The clothes seller, Olso, had said she was the Witcher’s wife, a much-loved wife for if anything was taken from the Witcher buying her a king’s ransom in clothing.

In honestly, she wasn’t what he expected, he expected a heavy breasted whore, with the dress so tight she burst through it. Instead, he was met by a curly-haired beauty. Young and innocent-looking, with deep bags under her eyes.

Miska's eyes narrowed as they came back to focus on Geralt of Riva. ‘100 silver pieces, is that enough?’

‘Depend on what the problem is.’

‘Drowners’

‘How many?’

‘I could lie, tell you a lesser number…but 50 if not more.’

‘Hmmm, I admire your honesty, a characteristic seldom held by treasurers. I tend to find those who control money untrustworthy…200.’

‘120’

‘150’

‘…deal’ Geralt thrust a gloved hand out and one by one, each man shook his hand. ‘Take me to the pit. I need to see what I am up against.’

Miska nodded frantically, a soft hum vibrating up from his throat, and she thought. ‘Acceptable…Acceptable. I will have Tom set up accommodation for your…friend and Wife. He only has one good room but…’

The youthful man cut him off, looking up from his writing. ‘I won't need a place to stay, a… generous citizen has already offered me the use of her bed. So beauty is her soul that even stars are jealous.’ Jaskier gushed.

‘…right..Well, I will have Tom make up the room for you and your wife….I’ll have a hot bath prepared for her…’
‘Actually…’ Adva cut in.

‘My wife will be going straight to bed; she is exhausted after her travels.’ Geralt cut over. Standing. ‘I will meet you by my horse, and you can show me this infestation and don’t touch Roach.’
Miska nodded slowly look at the frowning women but obediently left the couple to their argument.

‘I am not your wife.’ Adva hissed.

‘It would be best if they thought we were. I don’t think that you want another incident. I’d hate to have to start gutting men.’ Geralt rumbled lowly as he stopped to her level.

The woman’s eyes darted to the main room of the tavern, seen through the archway of the snug. Barbaric, snarling men pushed and roared at each other while, beer and ale being sloshed around the sodden floor as young barmaid dodge past groping hand a shiver of disgust run down her spine. Adva’s eyes snapped back to the swirling ginger orbs in front of her, his brows were downturned in concern, and lips get in a firm line. As much as she wanted to slap his controlling face, the logical side could see the reasoning behind it. She had seen the very worst things that a man could do, most of the women turned to the whoring lifestyle because they had no male protection and either way they would be subjected to the savage nature of man, at least at the brothel they would get paid for it.
Adva nodded slightly, watched as the mirth re-joined his features and the dimple in his cheeks flashed a toothy grin. Geralt stood to his full height, towering over every man than with a good foot to spare. Adva had to look away to stop herself from ogling the way his leathers tighten around his body as she moved and the way he though the saddlebags of his shoulder without so much as a strained groan.
‘Stay vigilant. I will be back soon. There is a dagger in the bag.’

‘Don’t worry Geralt Ill look after her.’ Jaskier smiled glancing up at the white-haired man.

‘I was talking to Adva’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Water cascaded over pale flesh as Adva pour another jug of steaming water over herself as she massaged the hair oil into her tangled hair. Once she was satisfied, she dunked her head under fully before resting herself against the warm brass of the tub. Jaskier had abandoned her for freckle ginger woman with the kind smile and come to bed eyes, leaving her to crawl into a warm bed. The bed was the softest Adva had ever slept in. A large double bed with feather pillows and thick down blankets, within a minute she had fallen asleep, much to the amazement when she awoke the next morning, she had thought she would be up worrying about the Witcher’s return. When she awoke the sun held itself high in the sky, most of the town had probably been up for hours, but Adva was determined not to feel guilty as she lounged in the warmth of the water.

Geralt has still not returned as a surge of fear bubbled inside her, but it meant she could indulge longer in the soothing silkiness of the water without interruption. It gave her a few moments of peace to mull over the raging thoughts in her head. Part of her was beginning to understand, Tradi had always been a horrible, abusive man but she had never thought him capable of such a malicious act. Then again she never thought Veronica would sell her and to a Witcher, who despite buying her like a common whore on the streets had been caring a diligent in his care, catching and roasting her rabbits to eat on the road and buying her more clothes that she had owned in her entire life.

The feeling that surged within her collided with such ferocity it made her dizzy it forced her to sink into the depths of it till the only part of her body visible was the surface of her face. She could just leave, Geralt wasn’t holding her prisoner, but if she did leave he could find her, no matter how well she tried to hide her track, he could sniff out the faintest of traces. If what he had said about Tradi was right, she would be a danger to everyone around her. Tradi has always been after power, but the length he went for her book was unthinkable. The book was the last thread of who she was, the elegant handwriting in an unknown language that only she could decipher. It wasn’t even as if she or that book where that important, just nonsense scribbles Lord Brightwater hadn’t sent her off to be a mage and Cersi was perfectly happy just to let her hang around, learning from like a child on his mother skirt. Her little bit of magic was nothing compare people like Cersi. An ominous fear ran through her, what if Geralt had taken her with him to one day run his sword through her.

Adva’s eyes snapped open as the bathtub began to vibrate across the floor, spheres of shimmering water began to swirl above her. Outside the perfect mid-day sky darken, the wind picked up and bellowed against the wall. The dying flames fought viciously with unknown sources of force as it ricocheted across the room. A shrill gasp escaped her mouth. The orbs of water came crashing down with an almighty splash.

Wiping the water out of her eyes, Adva looked around, the room was completely normal, apart from a few puddles of water, the only evidence of what had just happened. Leaning back against the tub, a deep dread overcome her, what was happening to her?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva wallowed in the water till all warmth had disappeared and she forced herself to leave the safety of the water and wrapping her body in a fluffy towel sitting down at the makeshift table as the door quietly knocked and Jaskier’s companion for the night, the auburn-haired beauty popped her head around the door.

‘Oh, my lady Rivia your up.’ The girl bobbed lightly in a makeshift bow as she fully entered the room.
The brunette smiled lightly as she looked at the girl. ‘It Adva, I’m no lady…and you don’t have to bob to me; I’m not some noble.’

The girl hesitated in the doorway as she observed her with curiosity; both women looked at each other for several long moments before Adva cut the awkward silence.
‘Can I help you with something?’

‘Jaskier sent me up to see if you were alright… he thought you might be homesick or struggling to dress. He is such a caring person with a beautiful soul.’ The women gushed as she attractive flush caressed her cheeks as she swept into the room fully, obviously high on whatever budded between her and the bard last night.

Griselda keen eyes searched the women in front of her; the women looked much better than the night before. Pale skin freshly scrubbed, revealing a healthy glow and soft ringlet had begun to form. Her figure was now revealed from underneath the frumpy clothing she had arrived in, she was short and curvy, broad hips and small waist. The bust was full but pert. It was clear to see why the Witcher would marry her; she was stunning, otherworldly the way her skin glowed. The women seemed sweet, kind but shy, not a type that a man like a Witcher would normally go for.

‘Right let's get you ready…your husband has been mooching around since the earlier hours of the morning’ Griselda cooed picking up the brush as beginning to comb through Adva’s mane.

‘Geralt’s back? Why didn’t he come to bed?’ Adva frowned as the woman began to play with her hair.

‘He mumbled about not wanting to wake you up. That so romantic. My departed husband Merriweather wasn’t so gallant, day after our wedding he went hunting, came back clashing around in the wee small hours of the morning three days later, threw up and passed out snoring on the bed. Such a pig of a man, god rested his soul. I was lucky married off at 16 was too soon. I got left with a little house and my hymen broken in, left me to ponder the pleasure of the flesh.’ Griselda whispered the last part with a wink, running her hand over her shaking the freshly brushed locks in soft curls.

‘Speaking of the pleasure of the flesh…what is it like to bed a Witcher? I have heard they go through mutations…does it affect their cock? Like is it longer or thicker? ’

‘I…I…wouldn't know.’ Adva spluttered, her face glowed a bright red.

‘You’re his wife! Are you tell me you married the man without trying the goods? You have to try them after..?’ Griselda gasped in shock.

‘Ehh.. well… we only just got married, and Geralt is a romantic… he wanted to wait till we were in a comfortable place…till it was right.’

‘Ohhhh you poor thing… this is your honeymoon and Miska and the other idiots spoilt it by offering him a contract.’ Griselda pushed out her bottom lip as she rested her hand on her shoulder in comfort.

‘But don’t worry me and the other women have our ways…we will have you in that wedded bed before you know it’ Griselda winked a mischievous green eye at her. ‘Till then though we will have to use your feminine asset till sending him int a frenzied heat, he doesn’t look like the kind of man who likes to be teased.’

Adva could barely comprehend the slip of a woman who looked barely older than 19 suddenly became this wanton advisor as she picked through the brother Geralt brought her and through the various garment at her.

The person in front of her in the mirror wasn’t one that Adva recognised. Griselda had dressed her in a deep red blouse and rich brown trousers that cling to her every curve from her plump thick thighs to toned calves. The carved leather under corset gripped her waist empathising her figure in the most alluring way all finished off with leather boots with a small hill giver her figure a bit of lift.

‘When I first saw you I thought you were pushing above your weight will a hunk like that but now I see it the other way around. Honey, you are going to drive him mad.’ Griselda purred with a devilishly smile.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was safe to say Adva had never felt uncomfortable in her life, and she descended the stair and headed towards the snug. Geralt was a hard man not to miss; he sat in the same place as last night, his hair pulled back tightly and look slightly dishevelled, as he growled at the te man from last night.

‘…your lucky the drowner only gashed him…keep your men out of my way and let me do the job you paid for.’ Geralt growled, slamming his drink onto the table, sloshing the amber contents onto the wooden table.

‘Sir… I think that it is best we do this methodically. Slow and steady, take them out one by one. If we don’t….’ Miska's voice trailed off as he noticed the two women appear behind the Witcher.

Geralt could smell Adva before he could see her. The smell of her lingered in the snig of the tavern even with her tuck safely upstairs asleep. As soon as she opened the door, the Witcher’s senses were over some with her scent, it intoxicated him with its heady fragrances. Geralt kept his eyes on the man in front of him in annoyance, only glancing up when he heard her stand next to the table. Glancing up her had to do a double-take. Freshly bathed, she glowed, literally glowed, bright blue eyes sparkled as she stared down at him, her plump bottom lip caught between her teeth as he looked innocently down at him. Golden eyes wandered down her body as he took her in, a thick, shapely body greet him wrapped tightly in a burgundy blouse the crosshatched under corset laced tightly around her waist highlight her shape and giving the breasts an indecent outline as the blouse wast pulled tight against them. Geralt's eyes ogled her legs as skin-tight trousers covered them, giving him a perfect view of her body.
Miska scrapping the legs of the chair on the stone floor pulled Geralt from his appreciations as the treasurer pulled out a chair for her with roaming eyes. Geralt stared darkly at the man as he curled a muscular arm around her pulled her down to the bench beside him, glaring at the man.

‘Adva! If beauty be in the stars, you shall outshine all of the heavens’ Jaskier sung as he sat perched at the end of the table with his quill.

‘Is he drunk?’ Adva asked, concerned.

‘No, just an idiot.’ Geralt rumbled lowly, cause the woman in his arms to giggle loadly.

‘Adva perhaps you can talk some sense into your stubborn husband. He wants to march sword in hand into the den of the drowners, sword in hand without any backup…’

‘I told you already; your men are a liability. They don’t know their arse from their elbow.’ Geralt growled.

‘There are too many of them. They cant be poisoned or attacked; they heal right up.’

‘That is why my silver sword is the best options. I can set fire spells that the beasts are vulnerable to…all I need is for you to keep your men the fuck away from me. They showed their competence yesterday.’

Adva became all two are of the tension in the room between the two men, feeling the way Geralt arms tensed around her waist. Griselda moved round the stand next to Jaskier filling his cup, who in returned kissed her hand sweetly.

‘It is out of the question. If you die in this foolhardy attempt, we will be stuck with these creatures.’ Miska calmly stated, straightening out his robes.

‘Your concern is endearing, but I am a Witcher. I know how to kill drowners. You want me to kill off two or free a day, that would take months, all the while they grow in numbers as they drag more and more people to their graves.’

‘Miska, you are a treasurer, not a witcher let him do what he does. He’s impatient to get his honeymoon started. He was kind enough to cut into his nuptial celebrations to help us. Let him do what he does best.’ Griselda pleaded.

‘Honeymoon?’ Miska frowned looking at the couple.

‘Yes, they have just got married. Leave them alone.’

‘I am sorry…’ A million thoughts passed through his head as he pondered upon this new information. ‘Maybe it would be best for you to do it you way. Good day then.’ Miska stood, kissing Adva on the hand as he left without another word.

Geralt’s chest vibrated against her side as he watched the man's form disappear.

‘Ahhh jealous love. I’ll leave you three alone; I need to help in the kitchen….I’ll see you later’ Griselda purred, kissing Jaskier chastely on the lips.

‘Newlyweds?’ Geralt smirked as Adva pulled away from his grip.

‘I panicked. She started to question me about…the thing?’ a deep blush filled her cheeks.

Geralt’s arms burned with needed to pull her back to him but instead shifted closer to Jaskier to look at her fully. Her scent was so pure now it was obscene, that alone caused him to strain against his breeches.

‘Questions? What questions?’ Geralt teased, with a devilish smirk.

‘Just questions…. Can we drop it please, I'm traumatised enough.’

A few moments of silence passed between them, the only sound Jaskiers quill scratching on the paper could be heard above the low rumbles of the tavern. Geralt eager eyes taking in every each of his fake new wifes, her heavy breathes causing her breast to strain against the material hypnotising him.

‘Why don’t we set a silver charge in the cave, it would kill most of them and then you could finish the rest off.’ A small voice cut through the silence

The witchers eyes travelled up to rest on her face, ‘the silver fumes would weaken them, and the fire would kill most of them. It means you would have to take them all on at once.’

‘Hmmm, interesting…and how would we make them? Have you made them before.’

‘Well I don’t but on principle…with your help… we could….’ Adva voice died in her throat as she cast her eyes down.

A sturdy finger lifted her chin, forcing her to look into the bronzed face of the Witcher.

‘It is a good idea. We will make the charges tonight. I will then place them in the caves. While you and Jaskier stay in the tavern, understand?'

Adva nodded happily and took up a swig of her drink, beaming at the two men for the first time since Brightwater. Geralt removed his hands and look above her head to the treasurer lurking across the tavern eyes trained on the couple.

Chapter Text

Adva bounce from foot to foot as she led Geralt stall to stall. Surprisingly, Geralt had given her the list and let her haggle with all the market sellers and allowed her to load him up with supplies without so much as a groan. Despite her self-consciousness on her new outfit the former kitchen maiden felt liberated wandering the town in fully fitted clothes, and the fact her skirts didn’t get caught on the sharp piece of wood anymore or trip her up. Trousers were a strange thing to wear but felt liberating. Casting a look up at Geralt Adva could help but laugh as the colossus of a man willing carrying parcels and bundles.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Geralt question from behind the mountain of purchases.

‘I never thought I’d see a big scary Witcher carrying my packages.’ Adva laughed, hurrying ahead, giggling as Geralt head peaked out with a mock scowl.

Adva smiled as she handed the man the coin for the silver and added it to the bundle, ignored the stares and whispers that she heard as they made their way back through the village and down toward the riverbank.

‘Can you believe that he chose her….’

‘Filthy mutant.’

‘Why isn’t she carring that. Man’s got to have her trained, gotta know ‘er place.’

‘Whore… but he is going to take ‘er down the creek, fuck her against a tree.’

‘They shouldn’t let him within 5 miles of the town.’

‘Look at what she is wearing?’

‘God that girls got a sexy arse…so has the Witcher.’

They made there way through town and toward the little dock outside of the town. It was a shack of decaying wood and wrecked wooded pier that Fisherman and merchants launched themselves from. The Witcher dumped the supplies on the floor by a large oak stump, resting on his knees he began to pull the various ingredient onto the stump and light a small fire from the twigs nearby. Settling down the other side of the budding fire Adva mirrored his pose and began helping him sort the ingredients.

‘Does it bother you?’ The question cut through the pleasant silence before she could even register it was her voice.

‘Does what?’ Great replied not to look up as he blew on the fire. Small streams of white smoke curled up before disappearing into nothing.

‘Them calling you things behind your back. Didn’t you hear them?’ Adva furrowed her brow as the man continued huffing into the twigs.

‘I am a Witcher…we hear everything. Don’t you mind.’

‘Course I do. But then again, what do I care what ignorant people think of me.’ Adva answered.

‘Hmmmm.’

‘I don’t think you’re a filthy mutant.’

‘How would you know. I did buy you. Snatch you away from all you ever known.’ Geralt growled, resting his gloved hands on his thighs, golden eyes staring intensely at her.

‘You did. I was and am angry at you. But I don’t think you’re a bad person; you saved me when you could have let Tradi kill me and then kill him.’

‘Hmmm’

It was amazing how much a Geralt could convey with a simple hmm. Range from content to annoyed, angry to happy. Adva was confused. The mood of the Witcher wherever changing, on the road, he would bring her a freshly roasted rabbit or an extra blanket but with his next breath growl at her. She was almost beginning to think he cares for her; this stupid charade was enough to get her thinking that he cared for her safety, there was no other reason he would want her to pose as his wife. Maybe in the next town, she could pretend to be Jaskier wife and could avoid Geralt altogether.
Shaking her head, Adva cast her eyes down fiddling with the strip of silver into powered fillings. Geralt looked over at her golden eyes burning into her as he watched she shave down the silvers and crushing them into a fine powder between two stones. Adva was a diligent worker, a bead of sweat started to form on her forehead, pants of hot breath puffed through her lips as she pounded heavily against the rock, with every hit her breast jiggled attractively in her blouse framed by the corset. A straw curled escaped her mane of curls; he yearned to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.
‘Ah fuck….I didn’t… fuck.’ Geralt scowled himself.

‘Could you tell me how to make the charges’ Adva smiled up weakly as she spooned the powder onto the leaves.

Wordlessly, Geralt measured the various ingredient into the leaf bundles and found Adva following his every move, replicating it with the other bundles. The work was methodical and measured, precise. They worked in focused silence, Geralt took all the bundles and forced them into wooded containers and cut the fuse. Adva followed his lead and began cutting the fuse from like pieces of wick
‘Here’ Geralt said softly covering his hand over hers to adjust the length of wick she was cutting to an inch longer. Adva eyes trailed up the man’s hand, up his arm to rest of the man’s face who was staring intensely at her. A wave of energy pulsed between them. It was the same feeling when they first met, the feeling that made her drunk and lightheaded. Now however it was more intense whenever he touched her a surge of electric forced its way through her, but even with the glove covering his hand, she could feel the force lash against her skin, building and building, reaching for something at the centre of her body. The stream next to the couple, stilled, no rolling waves of small animals causing ripples against the water. Just perfect stillness. Droplets of water rose from the surface of the water hanging in the sky like a diamond. Fish swirled in the large orbs of water, in the small droplets, some had flowers, water Lillies and brooklime stood ornamental in the drops of water.

Adva and Geralt hand-turned in sync to watcher the spectacle, it was beautiful. In the sky above the cloud received back, and the overwhelming heat shone down at them. The wind died in the air, leaving them with the perfect summer day weather. The energy buzzed excitingly between them, and a hum rung out in the girl's ear with deafening ferocity. Panicked, Adva snatched her had away violently panting hard. Geralt watched amazed as the droplets sunk back to the water soundlessly and the waves began to appear once again, the cloud rolling back into sight and the gentle wind picked up again.

‘What is hell is wrong with me!’ Adva screech looking down at her burning hand. ‘My power has never been this strong, with what happened this morning and now this…’ Adva begin to babble unintelligibly. ‘Maybe Tradi had the right idea…’ Adva paced the small patch next to the bank

Geralt stood and stilled the pacing girl with a hand resting on her shoulder. The hum was back but this time soft and gentle, soothing her as he looked up at the Witcher. An unfamiliar warm smile warmed his face as he looked at her tenderly, his lips parted several times but no words formed. There were concern and frustration in his eyes, but his actions were comforting to her, he didn’t reach for his sword or threaten her, just smiled at her. Stepping closer, his clothed hand slide to her hair, while he craned his face down. Adva watched frozen as he his face inched closer, eyelids slowly closing and thick lashed fluttered his skin again. Her eyes started to shut slowly, almost as if they were unable to tear themselves away from the sight in front of her when Geralt eyes flashed open, no longer the golden orbs but a deeper amber replaced them, like fiery lava but they didn’t rest on her; instead, they opened up to a cave mouth a little further down the bank.

‘Stay here, if I am not out in 5 minutes, run back to the town.’ Geralt gripped the curvy women arms and twisted her round to stand back against the stub as he pulled the charges from the floor and rushed toward the cave.

‘Geralt’ Adva called after him, but he had vanished from sight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

3 minutes. The white-haired man had been gone for 3 minutes. The longest three minute of her life. Chewing on her thumbnail, Adva paced. She had busied herself with clearing away their supplies which had consumed all of the minutes. The seconds past slowly as she watched the mouth of the cave.

‘Lady Adva’ a voice called pulling her away from the vigil of the cave.

‘Oh, Sir…If you are looking for Geralt, he has just gone into the caves.’

‘No…No I was looking for you actually.’

‘Me?’ Adva frown deeply as the man approach further.

‘Yes, I feel the need to discuss something with you. I fear for your safety.’

‘Safety?’

‘You aren’t married to that Witcher are you? If he has stolen you away from your family, I can help you, little dove.’

Here was a chance to make her way back to Brightwater. All she had to do is open her mouth and plead for help from this man. She opened her mouth, but the running water caught her eyes. All her life, she had been forced to bend to other people will, to serve them like a usable tool to be thrown away or sold to the highest bidder. For the first time in her life, she felt powerful and free, the magic within her surged and flowed freely and even in the circumstance of how she ended up with Geralt she was… happy almost.

‘Of...Of course, he is…’ Adva started, but a mighty explosion blew out from the cave. The pale brown puff of dirt and dust rose from the cave and steadily filled the air.

‘Geralt! GERALT!!!’ Adva screeched as she rushed toward the opening to be firmly pulled away by Miska’s strong arms.

‘Adva stop…Stop. His gone…god knows if any of the creatures survived. Adva…Adva listen’ Miska shook Adva from her hysteric, his nails digging deep into her arms.
‘Get off your hurting me.’

‘It will be okay…come on…come with me.’ Adva tried to twist her way out his grasp.

A garbled sentence chocked out of his mouth as he let her arm slip out of his grasp. A hideous green creature emerged from the water, slimy and grim. Seaweed and sludgy slid of the body, or what you would call a body, a thick trunk of toxic green scales and webbed hands and feet. Gnashing teeth snapped against the air filling it with nightmarish shrieks. The beast sniffed the air homing of the thin bead of crimson leaking from the ten half-moon dents in her arms. A blood-curling scream filled the air as the lurched forward. Another and another emerged from water till half a dozen surround the couple.
Miska flinched back, foot catching in an upturned root, smashing himself unconscious on the stump of the tree. Fearful eyes watched as the creature inched forward, snarled and biting at the air as they moved. Flexing her fingers, Adva tried to calm her racing heart, with a deep breath, she contorted her hands and summoned a swirl of water towards the beasts. The monsters stopped, startled before a bellowed roar shook the ground, the creatures shook off the water and lunged once again toward her.

‘Miska…help please.’ Adva whimpered, fearing to take her eyes away from the creatures. The man groaned lightly before sinking into a deep unconsciousness.

Adva could feel the rancid breath against her skin. The smell was enough to make her retch, fishy like a 5-day old catch and the smell of decaying vegetation. A whimper escaped her mouth as all seemed lost. The hoard of creatures posed readied to attack, glistening claws to glinted murderously in the sun. The drowner took a deep sniff and stopped, tilting its head. The other copied and halted their movements and every so slightly edges back. A whine chorused throughout, as they scrambled back. Every now and again, one swiped forward with a barked forward. Adva dragged up another shot of water and latched it toward the cowardering downers, sending them back toward the opening of the cave.

The swish of a blade cut through the air. Unholy screams echoed across the walls as the sound of meat slamming against the stone with a wet smack. Out from the smoke, a bloodied and angry Witcher appeared from the dust, growling. The beast gave a war cry as they rushed at him, claws brandished. Adva was amazed as Geralt manoeuvred between the drowners, swishing his sword elegantly as he moved. His combat was an art, a dance of brutality and speed. When the dust had settled the carved-up bodies of the drowners lay on the floor, blood soaking into the ground.

‘You hurt?’ Geralt gruffly barked.

‘Let me phrase that again; your hurt’ Geralt snarled as he tore his gloves off with his teeth and ran his fingers over wounds.

The wound where merely scratches, nothing more than a trickle of blood split. Geralt inhaled deeply and exhaled sharply. The overpowering scent of Adva invaded his senses; it was a calming smell, but then the pungent smell of the treasurer, forces itself upon the Witcher’s nose. His scent was not unpleasant, a mix of old paper and musk, but it crawled its way over the women scent as if trying and failing to overpower hers.

Geralt released the women are and with dark eyes cast his eye over the landscape, his trained witches scene taking everything in and replaying the events in his head.
‘Coward of a man he touched you..’ Geralt steadily advanced on the unconscious man, flexing the sword provocatively.

‘Geralt stop…please.’ Adva stepped between the Witcher and the unconscious Miska.

It was a pathetic attempt, Geralt, if he wanted could push her across and skewer the treasure without any effort at all. Adva had her hands firm pushed up against his chest feeling the straining muscles, and the deep rumbled rolling within his chest. It was almost a primitive sound, a sound that scared her and thrilled her at the same time. A foreign feeling pooled at the bottom of her stomach and warmed her in places she didn’t even know she had.

‘Please…it doesn’t matter. Can we just leave.’ Adva looked up at Geralt who in turn gazed down at her.

The Witcher was silent for a few moments as he repeatedly inhaled before resting his forehead against hers. Adva had to stop herself from gasping at the intimate position. Staring up, she watched as the Witches eye fluttered closed, and he inhaled deeply.

‘I can smell you.’ He moaned, rubbing his forehead against her more, causing a shiver of pleasure to run down her body.

‘Arghhh….’ A pained groan sounded from the ground cause Adva to jump away.

Geralt snarled at the man, sheathing his sword and hoisting him up to his lapels, shaking him roughly. With blood splattered against the face, the Witcher looked like death himself. Miska squirmed under the hold, his feet dangling a right two foot off the floor.

‘If you EVER touch her again. The only thing they are going to find off you if that pitiful cowardly cock nailed to the town square. Got it? GOT IT!’ Geralt threatened lowly.
‘I wasn’t… doing anything…’ Miska struggled in vain.

‘That why she has hand marks on her arm… You are going to pay my bounty, and we are going to leave at daybreak tomorrow, and if you so much as look in her direction again I am going to rip your stomach out through your nose… Now march. You are paying me in full.’ Geralt snapped, throwing the man to his feet.