Chapter Text
After all has been set and done, Geralt fell into an old pattern. One monster after another, hours became days became weeks became months… Ciri has visited him few times, lesser than he would’ve wished, but he knew better than talk about it. Instead, he enjoyed her stay. They spent hours laughing, bickering and drinking wine from Corvo Bianco. The days after her arrival, they usually took long breakfast, slow and steady, until they left together for another monster-slaying job.
She always stayed only for a few days, and then she left for the Path again.
A hug, followed by warm smile and promise.
„Geralt?“
„Hm?“
„Take care of yourself, would you?“ she lingered with her gaze on him longer than he felt was necessary. As if he was getting old and senile and… Vesemir would’ve laughed at her concern.
„We are Witchers. We don’t die in our beds.“
He pushed that thought away. Maybe he was getting older, when his heart sank at the memory of his mentor. Sentimental.
He nodded. „You too. Don’t get yourself killed. Seen you… you’re bit blind on your right. Might wanna be more carful.“
„Hey! I’m always careful.“ Her words were warm and cheerful, even though it didn’t quite matched her concerned eyes. She stepped into his arms again and hugged him tight.
„I meant what I said.“
„Yeah, yeah. Off you go, now.“
She stepped back and mounted her horse. She gave him a smile followed by mischievous wink, and then she was off. Geralt watched as her horse grew smaller and smaller, followed by clouds of dust. He waited until she disappeared, and then waited a few moments after that.
The sun was slowly setting behind the horizon, the early evening followed by fresh breeze.
Geralt sat down on the porch of Corvo Bianco, closed his eyes and sighed. He left his mind wander without purpose.
Two years. Two years after Dettlaff. After Regis leaving. He thought about him often, even though he would never admit that out loud. He thought about things he could’ve said, or done differently. Few nights after their encounter with Dettlaff, when he was all alone, he dreamt about blood running through the streets of Beauclair, about Regis stepping in before Dettlaff could’ve lunged at Geralt. He dreamt about dark eyes and voice that seemed to ease any pain. And then, he dreamt about the promise of vengeance upon Regis from his own kin.
He tried to understand why Regis has chosen him over his own blood brother,, especially since Regis was so set upon helping Dettlaff instead of hurting him, or hunting him. How he felt obliged to him and even after all this, he helped Geralt to slay him. But nothing was… reasonable enough.
And Regis was ever so reasonable, was he not?
Geralt’s mind was always as its wits end once he started to think about this. He wanted to ask Regis himself as much as he was glad he didn’t before the vampire has left. Would it change things if he knew?
He heard steps and then BB’s polite cough. Even though after short while, Barnabas-Basil got accustomed to his master’s strange abilities, such as knowing, when person was approaching long before any other normal human would know.
But he never questioned it, nor did he decide to change his manners for that account.
„Excuse me, Master Geralt.“
„Hm?“
„The dinner is ready, if you would be so kind and follow me inside.“
„Of course,“ Geralt got up and stretched his legs and arms, before following BB into the house. He listened to Marlene and BB talking about new reparations of the vineyard, which included building a few new houses and repairing old ones for the staff.
The harvest has been more than enough from the last year and with the income from the wine, Geralt wanted to repay his staff’s hard work. Along with that came a new set of tools into the kitchen for Marlene followed with nice dresses for the cook and new books of accounting, history of Beauclair’s wine in several volumes and better reading glasses for BB.
After all that spending, Geralt had still more than enough, thanks to his contracts in Toussaint.
He considered himself lucky, indeed. Witcher and prospering vineyard owner?
Vesemir would’ve probably smacked his shoulder and gave him a few lapses around Kaer Morhen for feeling this content. Eskel would’ve nodded approvingly while Lambert would’ve probably called him smug prick.
His brothers had visited him a few months ago. After an evening spending together, drinking and talking about the state of the world, Keira and Triss had left to the city while his brothers stayed and drank and laughed and… well, all three of them vomited in the bushes behind the house.
They were really getting old for this.
They didn’t stay long. No one ever has really stayed long at Corvo Bianco.
Yennefer had visited him for a few days while she was staying in duchessa’s court for whatever reason (it was Yennefer after all, always thinking three steps ahead in the intricate scheming of politics). And then she was gone, too, with kiss on the cheek and wink (when he thought about it, Ciri almost perfected them to Yenn’s level).
Dandelion usually came with Zoltan, sometimes alone, once or twice with Priscilla, but they too never stay long. Dandelion got into duchessa’s good graces and then again fell out of them. Twice.
„I will be back in four months. Or five. I think that would be enough for Annarietta to cool off.“
„One day, she will rip your tongue out,“ said Geralt, slowly shaking his head.
„Absolute nonsense. Believe me, she would miss it singing about her good graces and unmatched beauty,“ the poet grinned while adjusting himself in the seddle of his horse. When he looked at Geralt again, his face fell unusually solemn.
„Geralt, I was… wondering…“
„Oh, that’s never a good sign.“
„Shush. Didn’t your mother tell you to not interrupt people when they want to express their concern for a dear friend?“
Geralt sighed. „What’s on your mind?“
„Well, as I was saying… I was thinking whether our dear… sharpy-teeth friend has visited you in the past… year or so…“
His chest tightened. He shook his head.
„No. He is anathema to vampires of Beauclair, remember? Would’ve risked his life coming back.“
Dandelion was uncharacteristically silent for a few moments.
„Have you heard of him ever since…“
„No. Not ever since.“
Dandelion shook his head. He forced himself to smile. „Alright, then. Silly me, thinking to be lucky enough to see our dear vampire friend again. Oh well, all in due time, I hope. You know, before we all die while he will be wandering in… whatever dark caves of Continent.“
„You know that Regis never lived in a…“
But Dandelion has already spinned a tale to feel better: „Imagine the dampness. The smell of rocks and dirt. Those caves are usually occupied with other creatures. Beasts. Monsters. But I guess, with someone as easy going as our barber-surgeon, he would quickly get accustomed to having a… cave-mate? Geralt, help me with the wording here. You are the witcher. How would you describe a fellow monster living with you in one place?“
Geralt felt the tension slowly leaving him, but still he felt slight worry brought up by Dandelion’s question.
„Hm. Maybe a friend-in-cave?“ Dandelion was scribbling onto small piece of paper while his horse whinnied impatiently.
„Two monsters in cave always mean trouble.“
„Ugh, of course, a witcher would only think about his trade. But there can always be more story to it,“ Dandelion smiled and foiled the paper back into his pocket. „Alright, then. But in all seriousness, Geralt. If you ever hear about him… Send me a message. Strange as it seems, I would like to see the rest of our hansa together. One last time.“
Geralt frowned at the poet. „Dandelion, are you dying?“
Dandelion looked like as if Geralt threw at him the worst insult possible.
„Excuse me?“
„I mean, you’re talking as if you’re on your dead bed.“
„Ha-ha. Joke all you like. I just think it would be nice to see each other. All of us. Just like the old times. You know, reminiscing, drinking, all that kind of sappy stuff. Will you let me know if Regis will… ever show?“
„Yeah.“
Dandelion smiled and for a moment, all his dramatic flair was gone. „Thank you, Geralt.“
„No need. Give Priscilla my best from me.“
His friend grinned after that. „Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. I will definitely give her my…“
Geralt gave Dandelion’s horse a slap. The animal darted forward, almost knocking Dandelion off its sedle. Geralt couldn’t help but grin after Dandelion shouting at his horse to slow down while trying to grip the reigns more tightly and get hold of the situation. A few moments after, as all the poets would say, he rode off into the sunset.
This visit was more than half year ago.
He thought about his friend’s words more than he would admit. About their shared worry over Regis. He considered going to Orianna, maybe ask her whether she knows something about Regis, but he doubted she would help him for free. Not to mention, whether she would actually know where Regis is.
This time, he finished his dinner earlier. After his walk around the vineyard, he saddled Roach and left for a quick ride to stretch the horse’s legs since he was more than few days without witcher’s job. He let his mare set the pace, let her stride through the streets, and then took off in the fields. Once he felt she had enough, he slowled her steps.
The sky above their heads darkened, but neither of them minded. Geralt took care of all the monsters from nearby vineyards and fields, so he could enjoy the ride without worrying about nearby giant centipedes, or archespores.
He remembered not so long ago, he was taking Roach into the woods, riding to abandoned cemetery. He heard his own voice echoing in his mind. Meeting a vampire in cemetery. How cliché can you get?, followed by light chuckle.
He would’ve lied if he said he never visited the crypt once Regis was gone. If he was in the area, passing by the cold stones of people buried and forgotten, he always made his stop there.
Just… checking, whether the crypt is still empty and unoccupied. A wraith could’ve made its lair there. Or another vampire, or only gods know what else.
Once he was inside, he almost, almost heard the quiet humming, the bubbling of whatever Regis has just brewed, the clinks and clacks of vials and bottles. But there was always only silence that surrounded him, nothing else. Regis’ stuff was long gone, the dust was slowly setting in. The air was no longer full of strong herbs, which always slightly tickled Geralt in the nose. Even though he complained about Regis’s smell, more than once, he really didn’t mind.
„You know… I can sense you almost miles away. Not very subtle for someone who is usually known for creeping up on people and drinking their blood.“
„Hah. That’s because I let you know ,my friend,“ Regis retorted while hunched over his books.
Geralt paced, here and back again, impatience slowly seeping into each of his step.
„How long will it…“
„As long as its needed.“
„Even brewing of witcher’s potions don’t take this long.“
Regis chuckled slightly, still not looking away from his work. „I am not holding you hostage here, Geralt. You can go as you please. Once I’m done, I will send one of my raven’s after you.“
„It would probably take them time to find me. No, I will wait here,“ he forced himself to sit down.
„Good. I quite enjoy your company, impatient as it may be right now,“ Regis finally looked away from his work and smiled, ever so slightly showing his sharp teeth.
For a second, Geralt forgot how to breathe. Just for a second.
„Other people’s presence usually bother me when I need to work,“ continued Regis. „But yours, well… maybe it’s the slower heartbeat. Or the attitude that help me keeps my wits sharp.“
Geralt snorted. „Maybe, you just want someone to listen when you talk. And I consider you as friend, so I have to endure it.“
„Ah. That might also be true,“ Regis smirked.
Geralt shook his head and took a deep breath. The smell of strong herbs have always eased his own thoughts, once they got too loud, too unkept to think straight.
Those were the missing days when they looked for Dettlaff on Anna Henrietta’s orders.
He missed the smell. He missed the days, the evenings of drinking strong moonshine, the talking, the reminiscing.
Fuck, I’m really getting old, he thought, and yet, he turned Roach towards Mère-Lachaiselongue.
Once he got there, he argued with himself for a few seconds before he stepped towards the door. He pushed them open. His breath hitched a little and he reminded himself that it was all just a precaution. He knew nothing was there since his last visit which was… a week ago. His medalion probably would’ve been humming by now.
Just to be sure, he descended the steps and entered the crypt. His eyes immediately accustomed to the dark surrounding him.
A second passed.
He heard a soft rumble. Someone was moving above him. He heard quiet rustle of cloth.
Immediately, he drew his sword.
For a second, he hold his breath and made another step.
Dusty stone floor under him creaked.
Fuck.
Something moved with inhuman speed towards him.
Geralt lunged forward, sword ready to face the unknown opponent.
He saw something in the corner of his eyes, slashed his sword towards it, and then…
Clank. The metal made sound, stopped by long sharp claws. He heard angry hiss, dark shadow in front of him has formed itself into human-like body.
The witcher wanted to step back, give himself a space, and then…
„Geralt? What are you doing here?“
His breath was suddenly caught up in his throat. He immediately lowered the sword. He felt waves washing over him, hot and cold at the same time. His chest tightened. For a second he thought he was only imagining things.
Imagining…
„Regis?“
The vampire in front of him shook his head, and then chuckled as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. The fangs and sharp claws were already completely gone. And then Regis spread his arms wide and hugged him. Geralt had to take a sharp breath.
Then he caught it, the all too familiar scent of strong herbs that surrounded him as if it was with him forever, ever since he remembered.
He came back, he thought and wrapped his hands tightly around Regis.