Chapter Text
"Your White Honey, where is it?"
"Potion vials were shattered. Just the Swallow was intact."
"Where—and you took all of the Swallow just now?"
"And White Gull. In the saddlebag I still have Black Gull--"
"That's not what you need right now. Too much toxicity already. You didn't listen to me."
"I did listen. I mean, I tried. Oh, my head."
"You sound just like Dandelion. Don't move. I said don't move!"
--
"...probably multiple internal lacerations, a concussion..."
"Hey, Regis... Do you... need a moment, Regis?"
"What? No. Concussion, fracture of the—or fractures..."
"Really, if you want to be alone..."
"No, I don't. Please, not now."
--
"My silver sword. Aerondight, my sword, it's gone."
"You're awake again. Do you remember—?"
"You don't understand, I need it for killing monsters. That's what I do. Whether I like it or not—"
"I do understand. Hush, now. We must get you back to..."
--
"Hey, Regis?"
"It's Dandelion. Regis, get back here, he's awake!"
"Hush, not so loud... Regis needs a break..."
"What are you talking about? You're the one who needs to rest. Wait, don't close your eyes..."
--
"Having a home... it's the best."
"Hm? Oh! I swear I only just nodded off! I mean, I was resting my eyes for a moment."
"B.-B., you're the best majordomo. Marlene, you're the best cook. Ciri, you're the best daughter. And Yen, you're the best damn—"
"Stop right there, Geralt, or I'll write another song about you and Yennefer and she'll want to kill me again."
--
"Did I embarrass myself when I was out of it?"
"Not a whit. And if you're properly awake now, Priscilla and I can repeat our expression of gratitude to you, in full this time. We spent quite some time composing it together. Would you like it declaimed in the Lyrian manner or sung?"
"Gratitude? Save it for Regis."
"Funny you should say that. He said to save it for you."
--
"And write a postscript for Marlene: 'I am still in one piece, like a sausage,'" Geralt dictated slowly from the bed with his eyes closed. Everything hurt, especially his head right now, but yes, he was in one piece.
"What?" Dandelion stopped writing and looked up.
"Think, poet."
"The casing is intact but the inside is minced meat?" Priscilla piped up.
Geralt gave her a thumbs up with his right hand, which peeked out from under the covers. Dandelion rolled his eyes and dutifully wrote down the postscript, finishing off the letter that Geralt wanted to send to Corvo Bianco. The battered witcher was going to have to recuperate in Novigrad under Regis's care for a few weeks before he would be able to ride a horse again.
Regis cleared his throat. "The casing, as you call it, might not have remained intact if you'd been dropped from a few feet higher. You have a closed fracture, but it could very well have been an open one. And let's not go into detail about—"
"Yes, let's not," Geralt said.
Regis raised his eyebrows. Geralt didn't care. He wanted to think about his vineyard, his house, his desk, his books, his dining table—in short, all the comforts of home, his home, that he was looking forward to returning to.
Dandelion handed Geralt the letter to look over. Geralt took the paper in his right hand and rubbed it between his fingers gently. He didn't look at the words; he trusted Dandelion to write what he said. It hurt his eyes when he tried to concentrate too hard on looking at something, anyway. He breathed in the scent of drying ink.
"When can I sit up to write again?" Geralt couldn't turn his head to look at the person he was talking to, his neck being so sore, but Regis understood the question was addressed to him.
"Soon, I hope. You'll tell me when you feel good enough."
--
My head still hurts. They propped me up with pillows. Dandelion caught some fish. Who knows where from? Priscilla can cook well. They made fish soup. Regis, when he's not hovering around me, refines the tavern's recipes.
Geralt closed his eyes, put down the quill, leaned over the side of the bed, and threw up into the conveniently placed chamberpot.
Enough writing for now.
--
"I have bad news for you," Regis said as he entered the room in the morning with yet another herbal concoction for Geralt.
Geralt wracked his brain, but he couldn't remember expecting any news of any sort. "Hm. What?"
"Your silver sword—I couldn't find it in the water," Regis said, looking quite apologetic.
So that's why Regis was gone last night, Geralt thought. He hadn't heard anything, not even breathing, from the room next door. "That's it? That's the bad news?"
Regis cocked an eyebrow. "Well, excuse me for thinking your livelihood was important to you."
"I didn't mean it that way," Geralt hurried to say. "Thanks for looking."
"Hm." That sound of Regis's could mean anything from displeasure to genuine indifference. "Anyway, I did retrieve a rapier and dagger," Regis added as he handed Geralt the warm cup of herbal something.
"Rejk's." Geralt sipped the liquid. It soothed his stomach. "Do what you want with them."
"You really won't miss that sword?"
"Aerondight? If it's meant for me, it'll come to me again."
--
Regis and Priscilla go picking herbs together. Priscilla says it's a fun new thing for her to do. She seems happy to finally be able to go out freely again. That is not surprising.
Geralt paused to let his eyes rest. He looked over at the outline of the curtains, which were mostly blocking the bright sunlight, but which still let in just enough light for him to write by without overwhelming his eyes. He took up the quill again.
What is surprising is that Regis seems happy, too.
--
"It's good to have you here," Priscilla said as she tuned her lute at the kitchen table. Regis was washing their morning's haul of green matter and sorting them into piles for immediate use, for drying, and for further processing.
"It's good to be here," Regis responded. "I must say, it's wonderful to have a little corner of a kitchen to work in. It's been a long time since I last stepped foot in my old house in Dilingen. It's probably burned down long ago since the wars swept through the North. Or else someone has, I hope, made good use of it."
His old house? Yes, Priscilla thought, she could imagine Regis as a homebody.
"You and Dandelion have certainly done very well with the Chameleon," Regis continued, picking up a knife to start skinning some roots. "It's a lively place in the evenings, and in the daytime it's quite pleasant and quiet. It must be an interesting yet satisfying life, managing a tavern and cabaret." He looked up from peeling the roots and cast a benevolent glance round the kitchen. "What a beautiful home you've built together."
She caught the wistfulness in his voice. Watching his skilled hands moving nimbly with the knife, she could simultaneously imagine him living by his wits on the road.
--
Finally taken a turn for the better. Thought the nausea would never stop. I wonder if the letter made it to Corvo Bianco. Would love to hear from home.
Geralt paused his writing and rested his eyes out of an abundance of caution, then put the nib to the paper again.
So much to write, so many thoughts, now that my head is clearer. Here are just some. If it weren't for Regis, I'd be dead. If it weren't for Dandelion, I'd be dead. Good to have friends who insist on pissing into the wind, I guess.
I find it strange that I don't care about the sword. It seems like a dream, Regis telling me he couldn't get it back. I remember when I lost my swords in Kerack (Dandelion was there for that, of course; isn't he always there?) and I went to such lengths to get them back. Maybe the sword's not for me now. Maybe the Path's not for me now—
The nib slipped. Geralt's hand crashed into the inkpot, which was precariously balanced on a pillow on his lap. A mess was inevitably made on the floor. Geralt sighed and tossed the journal away to the foot of the bed.
--
"You want to go back to Corvo Bianco?" Dandelion asked. "In this state?"
"I'm just restless," Geralt said. He took the block and knife from Dandelion's hands and idly began whittling away at the soft wood. Regis had decided that it would be better for Geralt to also have a more tactile occupation while recuperating instead of straining his eyes and mind writing all the time, or thinking of something to write all the time. "Besides, my fracture's almost healed. I feel a lot better already. And I can't keep imposing on you."
"Don't use that language with me. Impose! What kind of friend would I be if I didn't welcome you into my home?" Dandelion shook his head. "Besides, what's waiting for you back there? Yennefer's away, Ciri's doing her own thing..."
"You'd miss your home even if Priscilla were away, wouldn't you?"
"I suppose I would."
"Well, I do miss my home." Geralt grimaced suddenly. "Oh, look what you made me say, now."
Dandelion smirked.
--
I got out of bed today and watched birds from the balcony. Regis was there too, communing with the local avian wildlife...
"Good morning, Geralt," Regis said, not turning around. He was leaning on the balustrade overlooking the street and occasionally scattering breadcrumbs by the handful, much to the delight of many pigeons, crows, and sparrows. "Careful of that uneven plank by the door."
Geralt shuffled sideways to avoid tripping over the wonky plank. "I can see," he said, but not grumpily. "Thanks for looking out for me. And taking care of me."
Regis shrugged. "No need to thank me; just continue getting better. You're doing very well, and you should be able to ride again soon enough. Don't strain yourself too hard, though. You should take a seat," he said, gesturing towards a little chair near the door.
"You're up early," Geralt observed as he lowered himself carefully into the chair. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you."
The quiet street was starting to get more foot traffic. People were waking up and starting to go about their business. Geralt watched Regis throw handfuls of breadcrumbs until the bread was all gone.
"That's the end of the tavern's stale bread from yesterday," Regis said to the birds as he dusted off his hands. "Time to head to the kitchen." He turned around. Geralt saw that there was a smile on his face. He was relieved to see it.
"Keeping busy, I see," Geralt said.
"Very. It's a tonic for body and mind. I get up and work, then I go to bed and sleep."
"And you sleep well," Geralt said emphatically.
The corners of Regis's mouth twitched. "If you're going to ask about dreams again..."
"Forget I said anything," Geralt said. He didn't want the smile to drop from Regis's face.
"Why should I? Let me put your mind at ease, for I see you're still worried about my sleep, my dreams, my supposed subconscious fear of you. We never did really finish talking in the city morgue, did we? As I said, I remember my dreams clearly..." Regis trailed off as a pigeon landed on his arm and started insistently pecking at his hand. He produced a crust of something from his coat pocket and pitched it far away. The pigeon flew off after it.
Geralt noted, to his dismay, that Regis was frowning.
"In my dream, it wasn't you standing over me with a sword. It was I who was standing over Dettlaff. And it was he who asked to be spared in my dream, not I."
Geralt nodded. He didn't want to say anything.
"I still don't understand why I dreamed that, since Dettlaff was, to put it mildly, proud," Regis continued. "He'd never beg. And he didn't, in the end. In fact, he let me do it. You saw how fiercely Rejk and I fought on Temple Isle; and you remember how Dettlaff didn't resist at all. In the end."
Geralt still didn't say anything.
Regis shrugged and smiled awkwardly. "Anyway, I hope that helps you. You don't scare me, witcher though you may be; you never have, in fact. It's time for me to head to the kitchen."
"Sometimes," Geralt said as Regis passed his chair on the way to the door, "we dream what we wish would have happened."
"I would have beautiful dreams if that were always the case," Regis replied, "and I would never want to wake up."
--
Dandelion hummed pleasantly as he stacked the new batch of posters advertising the latest show at the Chameleon.
"That's a beautiful little melody. And a new one," Priscilla observed.
"My muse has returned," Dandelion declared.
"Oh? Haven't I always been here?" Priscilla teased.
"The smile has returned to your face, the spring has returned to your step, et cetera, et cetera. In short, I am so very glad to see you back to your usual self."
"I'm glad to see you happy again, too."
Dandelion resumed his humming, set the posters by the door to take out later, and headed for the kitchen.
"Dandelion," Priscilla called after him, "you're glad to have Geralt and Regis here, aren't you?"
"Oh yes," Dandelion said, pausing in the doorway. "In fact, I'm going to look for Regis now. I hear he's made up another new recipe, but this time for an artisanal alcoholic beverage."
"Can we keep them?"
"What did I tell you about bringing home wolves and bats off the streets?" Dandelion scolded with an exaggerated frown.
Priscilla laughed.
"But really," Dandelion continued, "I think Geralt's had enough of being away from home. I'm sure he'll be off the moment he can hold himself up in the saddle. As for Regis..."
--
I will be ready to leave Novigrad in the next few days. They should have received my letter in Corvo Bianco by now. I think I shall ask Regis to come with me, at least until the Sansretour Valley. There'll be no rush; we can take the scenic, non-vampire-infested route, and I would appreciate the company. If only he could come back to Toussaint.
There was a knock on the door. Geralt fanned his hand over his journal to get the ink to dry quickly, then shut it and stuffed it under the pillow. "Come in," he said.
Regis entered with a cup of something that smelled decidedly non-herbal. Non-medicinal, anyway. "My latest batch."
Geralt took a sip. "Whew," he said appreciatively. "What's this one?"
"A secret," Regis said with a smile. "I think it's almost as good as the mandrake moonshine, even if I say so myself." He pulled out a bottle and pressed it into Geralt's hands. "Here you go. I see you've been packing up your things, so don't forget to pack this." He turned to leave.
"Regis," Geralt blurted out, "come with me."
But Regis had already left the room.
--
Regis was seated on a stool next to the stove, grinding away at some aromatic spices with a pestle and mortar, when he heard footsteps. He looked up to find himself cornered by Dandelion and Priscilla. He put away the spices and stood up.
"Tea?" he said, putting the kettle on.
"Gladly," Priscilla said. "How are things with you?"
"Well, I thank you."
They sat down around the kitchen table. "Thank you for everything," Dandelion began.
"Don't start that again," Regis said.
"Not just for the thing you don't want us to thank you for, although we do heartily, sincerely, knee-scrapingly thank you. We do mean for everything. You're a guest here, but not only are you taking care of Geralt, you're helping out so much with the kitchen, cooking, making great drinks..."
"I try to make myself useful," Regis said modestly. "It's the least I can do while in your home. But if I'm overstepping some boundary—"
Dandelion waved his hand. "Far from it. Perish the thought. In fact, we don't want there to be a boundary. Well, how shall I get to the point? You know, Geralt has a home, I have a home, but as for you—"
"Dandelion," Priscilla said pointedly, seeing Regis's expression suddenly change, "why don't you go see how Geralt is doing?"
Even Dandelion understood that he was being asked to leave them alone, and so he did.
"He's right, you know," Regis said, standing up to make the tea. "Don't chide him later for speaking the truth."
"That's not something I do," Priscilla said. "But you have to admit he could have put it better."
"For some things, there's simply no better way to put them. It's simple: I squandered my chance at domestic bliss a long time ago. There's no reason I should encroach on anybody else's."
"You wouldn't be encroaching."
Regis set three mugs of tea on the table, having clearly forgotten that Dandelion had left. Regis cleared his throat and stared at his mug, rotating it slowly between his palms.
"We can just sit here and enjoy some peace and quiet now that Dandelion's left the kitchen," Priscilla said. "Or we can talk about something else."
"You're trying to be considerate of me, which I appreciate very much," Regis said, "Well, to change the subject, as you've suggested: you've had many opportunities to ask me about myself while I've been about the house these past weeks. Yet you haven't. You're still curious about me, though; I can tell."
"There's no use denying it," Priscilla said frankly.
"I can hardly blame you. When a vampire turns up on your doorstep one day, shortly before a witcher... What would you like to know?"
"You're asking me? Well," Priscilla said, pausing to turn her mug to distribute its heat better on her hands, "how about you tell me why you came to see Dandelion in the first place? It's a long trek to Novigrad from Vicovaro. He must be a dear friend."
She must have chosen this seemingly light question to be polite, but the question nettled Regis much more than he expected it would. He brought his mug up to his nose and inhaled deeply, feeling the warm moisture dampen his face. "Hm," was all he could muster for the moment.
Priscilla watched him expectantly.
"We did travel together with Geralt, along with a few other companions, when Geralt was looking for his adopted daughter. Now, that's a long story in itself..." he trailed off. Why, indeed, had he come to see Dandelion, who had left the hanza just before they'd gone to Stygga to finally rescue Ciri?
"Dandelion did tell me that story—eventually. Between me and you, he was not proud of how he behaved at the end of that journey," Priscilla said quietly. "So you don't have to worry about hurting his pride if you want to tell me about that time in your lives."
Regis closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. "I'm trying to remember something someone said to us when we were about to leave Toussaint for Stygga. She said... she said that a sense of guilt, of atonement, was what had driven us onto the road with Geralt. Now, Dandelion was not there when she said that, and I can imagine that perhaps he was not driven by the same sense of guilt that some of us shared. But I certainly did share in it." He opened his eyes. "I don't really know what I'm trying to say."
"Say it anyway. Something will come out," Priscilla said with great conviction.
"I don't know what all this has to do with Dandelion anymore, really, but if you're willing to listen, I'll speak. I did reprehensible things in my youth," he said, "and I have tried to make up for them ever since. At the end of my journey with Geralt then, I, for all intents and purposes, died. One would think that would be the end of a journey of atonement."
"You're not dead," Priscilla said with a furrowed brow.
"Because I was, in layman's terms, revived, by a fellow higher vampire." Regis's voice grew very quiet. "Whom I then killed."
Priscilla unsuccessfully tried to hide her surprise.
Regis let out a very deep sigh. "I hate to justify myself, but I had to do it." He didn't sound convinced, even to his own ear. "He had lost control, caused a massacre, threatened many lives... Anyway, in doing what I had to do, I've taken on an even bigger debt, and I'm not sure there's anything I can do to pay that back this time."
"So," Priscilla said tentatively after a long pause, "the journey with Geralt and Dandelion and the rest... You came to Dandelion because he represents the incomplete penitential journey, which you seek to resume."
"Very neat; poetic, even. I like that interpretation, poetess," Regis said with a sad smile. "Unfortunately, I haven't yet died this time, but instead I've killed again."
"In the name of justice," Priscilla said with conviction. "That makes all the difference."
"Does it?" Regis put his mug down on the table.
"It does," Priscilla said simply. She could have said a lot more: about how she was no longer afraid, about how innocent victims were avenged, about how future disaster was averted; but she did not. "You're not acting in your own interests. Your sword is not your own. It's the sword of justice."
Regis blinked, stunned for a moment. He recovered quickly and smiled another sad smile. "If I'm to wield it," he said with a faraway look in his eyes, "I can't wield it blindly."
Priscilla looked over her shoulder to see if Regis was speaking to someone else.
His eyes snapped back to her, suddenly alert. "It's been a beautiful dream, Priscilla, and I thank you and Dandelion for it, but I must wake up to find what I'm looking for."
--
Dandelion came in all upset this morning and asked me what I'd said to Regis to make him leave suddenly in the middle of the night. I asked him what he'd said. Then we asked Priscilla what she'd said. And she told us what Regis had said. What the hell does that vampire dream about? Where the hell has he gone this time?
--
Regis lay awake in some godforsaken cave between Novigrad and Vicovaro, thinking of Geralt holding Aerondight, thinking of Geralt's catlike eyes, eyes that saw clearly in the dark.
--
The blindfold has found its way into my left hand. I see Themis's back. Her hand holding the scales is outstretched from her body and the mysterious bluish glow sketches the outline of her figure in the dark. We are alone together this time. But she is still waiting for me.
Time passes, or perhaps no time at all passes. I speak. "I don't want the blindfold. What I need are the scales."
"Why?"
I shrug, not from indifference, but from discomfort. My sword hand has grown tired. "How else can I know what I'm doing is just?"
The scales quiver in a breeze that, this time, I can't feel. Themis hasn't moved, and she doesn't turn around when she answers: "It is not for you to hold the scales."