Chapter Text
Esha and Geralt first met while Esha was documenting a particularly unusual fjord in Skellige. Esha, having been raised as a clan warrior, then having abandoned that way of life to seek training from druids, had been on their own path for several years now. Their desire was to seek out and document the continent’s many natural wonders, believing them to pieces of a grand mystical and magical puzzle. This particular fjord was the fourth wonder they had visited thus far that really showed promise.
They were busy sketching a roaring waterfall when they spotted a horse and rider approach the opposite edge of the chasm. The rider, white haired and broad shouldered, dismounted and surveyed the obstacle in front of him. Esha stood and folded away their sketches. They watched the white haired man pace back and forth, examining the fjord, the skies, and then the landscape behind him. Esha spotted the two swords strapped to his back as he turned - a witcher. Curios. They’d always wanted to meet one.
Esha waved a hand in the witchers direction to catch his attention. Then they gestured to a particular rock face that was more surmountable than the rest. The witcher nodded his thanks and began to make his way down. Esha tucked the rest of their drawing materials into their pack and also began to journey into the fjord to meet the mysterious man.
“Thanks for the tip,” the witcher spoke once they were on solid footing just off the banks of the raging waters.
“Not a problem,” Esha replied. They stuck out their hand,
“Esha.”
Geralt met the hand with his own in a firm shake, “Geralt of Rivia.”
“Are you lost?” Esha questioned.
“Not exactly. I’m on my way to a village past the mountain there, taking a shorter path than the main road. I could swear this fjord wasn’t hear the last time I passed through.”
Geralt looked up and down the edges of the chasm.
“It wasn’t,” Esha stated. “It is relatively young.”
Geralt nodded.
Esha pointed to the route they had taken down into the fjord. “The best way up is through there. Should be enough footholds for your horse to make it with only minor troubles.”
Gerlat nodded again, taking the reigns of his horse. “Here that, Roach? Should be fun.”
“Did you name your horse Roach?” Esha smiled.
“Yes,” Geralt grumbled.
Esha gave the beast a few small strokes through its mane and Geralt walked it past them, heading towards the path out of the canyon.
“Once you’ve reached the mountain, follow the route south, not north. It’s a bit longer but a much fairer trip than the other.” Esha watched as the witcher began to climb the path.
“Good to know”, he thanked them, then he paused for a moment before offering an equally useful advisement. “I’ve seen signs of a Leshen near these parts. Be on your guard.”
“Thank you.” Esha nodded, reflexively grasping the hilt of their longsword. A leshen wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before, but they really weren’t looking to encounter one alone out here. Maybe they would cut their current expedition short and head out to the next destination in the morning.
After a night of rest, Esha woke to the embers of their fire and the rushing sounds of the fjord. They completed one last sketch with measurements and packed their many tools onto their horse before heading off.
Several hours of riding westward passed before they encountered any signs of another humanoid. The sounds of a horse’s distressed whinnies called their attention to a nearby clearing. They could see distantly a well equipped horse backed onto some boulders, just out of range of a couple of wolves nipping at its hooves.
Esha slipped from their saddle and drew their longsword, leaving the horse behind and stalking steadily towards the beasts. It wasn’t long before they had their attention.
The pack began to turn away from the horse and rush towards Esha. Esha stopped moving, holding steady with their sword out ahead of them. Just as the beasts were reaching a deadly range, Esha gripped their hand into a fist and yanked it through the air. Immediately, the earth in front of them was torn up, dirt and rocks ripped from the ground and towards the wolfpack, disorienting the wild dogs, even knocking one to the ground. Esha finished the rest of quickly with their sword, a few precise strikes bringing the beasts whimpering to the ground. Cleaning their sword quickly, Esha made note to come back for their pelts once they had investigated the horse.
Once at the horse, Esha’s brow furrowed with concern. It was Roach, unmistakably. But then where was Geralt? Esha calmed the panicked beast before kneeling the ground. The hoof tracks led from the woods, following them would surely lead to another clue as to what befell the witcher. But if whatever lay in the woods was powerful enough to kill a witcher, was it such a good idea to go after it? Esha stood, their fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the worn leather corner of their journal. Fuck it. They had to know what was in there. Esha marched off towards the woods.
The hoofprints lead to a small creek. Around the creek the ground was disturbed by signs of a battle. Following these disruptions led Esha to the recognizable signs of the death of a leshen. And from there, staggered footprints, sloppy and dragging, heading towards an outcropping of boulders. Esha hurried over.
The witcher was laying on the ground, his back against a rock, his hand over a wound on his side. His eyes were completely black, his skin pale. A few empty bottles of potions laid around him. His breath was present, but barely. His eyes didn’t seem to see Esha even as they kneeled in front of him. Esha delicately moved Geralt’s hand from his side, revealing the nasty gash that was still healing. It didn’t look to be infected, which was good. But it was still bleeding and it seemed Geralt was all out of potions. Esha removed a sack from their hip and began to sift through several of the herbs within. Drawing out the correct stem - short and leafy with a purple flower, they ground the buds between their fingers and collected the bits into the palm of their hand. They raised the bits to Geralt’s mouth.
“Spit,” they instructed. Geralt either couldn’t hear or couldn't respond. Esha frowned. They closed their hand around the bits and removed their glove from their other hand. Then they tilted Geralt’s head back, and nudged his chin down, opening his mouth.
“Don’t you dare fucking bite me, Withcer,” Esha cautioned.
Then they stuck their index finger into the witcher’s mouth, swiping it under his tongue to collect saliva. They wiped this saliva on their palm with the flower bits and repeated the process several times. In the end, the bits mixed with the saliva to form a salve, which Esha wiped generously around the open wound.
“That should help with healing,” they informed.
Esha reached into a separate satchel and withdrew a small glass vessel filled with yellow liquid. They poured a few drops of this into Geralt’s mouth and moved his chin to close his lips, encouraging him to swallow. “And that should help get some energy back.”
Esha sat back on their haunches and tidied all their things away, before allowing themselves to sink onto the grass and lean their back against the rocks next to Geralt.
“Buck up, Witcher,” Esha patted his arm with a little more force than they meant to. “I really don’t know what I’d do with two horses.”