Chapter Text
Another successful contract finished, and Geralt headed to Novigrad. It wasn’t a city he frequented often, but there were a great many things to look forward to there: an inn with a proper bed, a tailor for a new set of clothing, and (more likely than not) Dandelion.
His friend enjoyed the city, and if he wasn’t in Oxenfurt, stirring up trouble at his alma mater, he was most likely in Novigrad (when he wasn’t with the Witcher, that was). They’d not seen each other since Geralt had headed north the previous fall, and after spending the winter in Kaer Morhen he’d returned south and had yet to stumble across Dandelion.
Since fate was misbehaving, he’d have to give it a bit of a nudge.
Once in the city, he easily found the inn where the bard was staying, although he was surprised to be told that he hadn’t been seen in several days. No matter, thought the Witcher, he’s most likely in a creative funk, only allowing prostitutes in to see him. He would let Geralt in though, he always did, and the Witcher could regale him with stories of monsters, and Dandelion will fill him in on whatever absurd gossip was going around at the time. The poet would also know a tailor where he could get a new jacket, and then, perhaps, they’d head out on the Path together.
A coin tossed at the innkeeper got him the location of Dandelion’s room, and an order to tell his friend that he only had a day left on the coin he’d paid so far. Geralt nodded, handed over another day’s rent, and walked upstairs.
“Dandelion!” Geralt knew as soon as he opened the door and saw the poet that something was wrong. He was horribly silent, his knees drawn into his chest, just sitting alone and naked on the bed.
The room reeked of perfumed oils and the numerous scented candles that surrounded him. If not for his Witcher senses, Geralt might never have noticed the other, underlying scent: heat.
“Oh? Oh, hello there Geralt. How are you?” Upon closer inspection, Dandelion was pale, underweight, and seemingly dehydrated. All the typical signs of a neglected omega (ideally, an alpha would have made him eat and drink, but the poet was clearly alone).
“I’m well, Dandelion,” he said, stopping several feet short of the bed. “How are you?”
The poet huffed. “Fine.”
“Do you want me to leave or-”
“No.” Dandelion waved to a chair by the bed. “Please,” he said. “Be my guest.”
Geralt sat. He’d not seen Dandelion in heat since the time in the woods, and while he was more than able to control his alpha urges, what he found more difficult to control, was the growing concern and pity.
“I- I tried a new medication.” The poet winced and scratched the back of his head. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”
Geralt slowly reached forward, picking up the glass vial beside the bed. “This?” he asked.
Dandelion nodded. Geralt removed the stopper, sniffing the contents. “Poppy.”
“Yes,” Dandelion replied irritably. “Something I noticed far too late.”
“Why would they think poppy would help?”
“I don’t think they did.” Dandelion scowled. “I’ve had a long while to sit here and think, and I’ve decided that it was no accident.”
“They’re tricking omegas into revealing themselves?” Geralt guessed.
“Yes. But rather than fall victim, I holed myself up here. Thankfully I had enough coin to pay for the room for a week in advance.”
Geralt didn’t want to think about what would have happened if Dandelion’s week had run out and he’d still be there alone. “You could have gone to a whore house-”
“And been recognized?” Dandelion scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It would be the end of my career.”
“Where is your medication?”
“I’m out,” Dandelion snapped. “And I haven’t the coin for another vial at the moment, so I’ll wait this heat out - and it’s almost over, thank the gods - save up, and hopefully be able to purchase another before the next heat.”
Geralt was already standing. “Where can I get it?”
“Geralt I- No! No, you’re not buying it for me!” The poet seemed startled by the offer, blinking up at him.
“Why not?”
“Because, Geralt, it’s expensive.”
“I have the coin.” He’d been planning to spend it on a new jacket, perhaps some new tack for Roach, but Dandelion’s needs seemed far greater.
“No-“
“Dandelion,” he said firmly. “I insist.” The look he gave him must have convinced the poet that if he didn’t tell Geralt where to go, he’d find it himself and cause a ruckus in the meantime (either that or it was a side effect of the heat, where he couldn’t refuse an alpha. Geralt hoped that wasn’t it).
“Alright,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “But you’ll have to let me pay you back-”
“You’ve never let me pay you back when I’ve been skint.” Geralt shook his head. “We’ve always helped one another when needed, Dandelion, I don’t mind.” Personally, Geralt didn’t see why Dandelion’s medication ought to be different, but then again, it was something the poet had always been strange about.
Dandelion finally gave in, giving Geralt instructions on how to get to the herbalist, and exactly what to look for. “If you’d like, I’ll send the innkeeper with water for a bath.” When Dandelion opened his mouth to protest, Geralt quickly said, “I barely smelled you, so long as you’re dressed, I doubt they’ll notice.”
“I- well, I must confess it sounds rather nice.”
Geralt nodded, tossed him a short knife from his belt, and said, “Stab first, ask questions later,” as he walked out the door.