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"Did you know that Oxenfurt boasts the largest indoor garden across the entire Continent?" Dandelion questioned as he side-eyed Geralt. They had been walking all afternoon and Dandelion had almost run out of topics of discussion. He strummed his lute lazily as he kept up handily with Roach.
"Hmm…" Geralt grunted but the bard had been traveling with the Witcher for… so long, off and on, by this point. He'd actually caught the man's attention with that. Not that Geralt didn't usually pay attention to his musings, Dandelion had learned, but to actually get interaction in return? Truly fun.
"Indeed! It was a joint project between the Academy and several wealthy patrons." Dandelion thought back fondly to his last trip through there. "One of the founders is a lovely Countess who pays exceedingly well for me to compose her love songs." He played a favored minor chord progression. The Countess thought it sounded 'hauntingly beautiful' and requested it to be featured in all her commissions. He strummed lightly as he walked, playing through the first of her songs, but he didn't sing.
"Dandelion," Geralt started when the song faded away and Dandelion deigned to walk in peace for a while.
"Yes, Geralt?" Dandelion asked once he realized that Geralt was not going to talk unprompted.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was as gruff and gravely as ever, reading cold and callous to anyone who didn't know better. Dandelion could hear the unsaid 'with me' at the end of that, however.
"I told you, Geralt. I wanted another adventure!" He flung his arms out to the side, letting his lute bounce gently against his chest, spinning in a light circle. "I feel terrible that I was so caught up in getting the Chameleon up and running that I couldn't help more." He caught Geralt's eyes, and allowed the sincerity to bleed through his performer's mask. It had been an age since they'd travelled together like this. A small smile formed on Geralt's face at that. He'd heard the unspoken 'with you' as well then.
"What about the Chameleon? Will it be alright without you for the whole season?" Geralt asked and Dandelion waved it off.
"Zoltan's a decent enough business-dwarf to not let her sink. And I convinced Dudu to come by as often as he can to work his magic with the books." Dandelion winked up at the man on his horse.
"What about Priscilla?"
"She's doing marvelous. She can talk completely again, and she should be back to singing by the time winter sets in again." Geralt was smiling again and Dandelion skipped to get ahead of Roach's steady clop. "Now, what about your brothers? How's Ciri?" He asked, slinging his lute around to sit on his back, leaving his hands free.
"Ciri's good." Geralt started hesitantly, as always. There was always so much reluctance once they crossed paths again, Dandelion thought. "She's headed to Skellige to congratulate Cerys on her new title."
"Good. That girl needs some more friends than a bunch of gruff old witchers and a handsome young bard." Geralt couldn't hide the snort of laughter at that.
"Young? You? Since when?" Geralt teased and Dandelion scoffed offendedly at him.
"I'll have you know I don't look a day over 25." Dandelion snarked back, throwing a stylish hand up to his face as if saying 'see'?
"Says who?" Geralt asked back, disbelief coloring his tone. And just like that, they were off. They traded jabs and barbs back and forth all day, at an easy amble down the small dirt road, as they searched for contract and coin in the backwaters of Redanian, heading toward Ghelibol.
"We should visit the Gardens, next time we go through Oxenfurt. Maybe at the start of winter?" Dandelion asked softly as he sat and stared into the fire. It was nighttime now, and they had just finished setting up camp. Geralt was still brushing Roach down off to the side, but Dandelion was sitting on his bedroll, lute packed away and notebook in hand.
"If you'd like." Geralt said after a minute. There was still an awkwardness between them, one that the years apart had created, as they drifted through life, but it would mend. This one might take more time to do so (Geralt had stopped the world from ending! And Dandelion wasn't there! It was an outrage! How dare he!), but they'd get there. They had all the time in the world, after all.
Dandelion smirked.
"That's why I'm inviting you."
"Welcome to the Oxenfurt Botanical Gardens!" The girl who had opened the door greeted them in an overly-chipper manner, but it did feel genuine, to give her some credit. Dandelion smiled back at her with all the charm and grace he possesses (which was a lot, in his opinion) and she flushed, but Geralt elbowed him gently in the side and they moved on.
"You're holding up traffic." Geralt grumbled as he leaned closer to the bard. Dandelion just rolled his eyes before he grabbed the witcher by the hand and pulled him down a random pathway. Dandelion had been here enough times to not get lost, but he let them amble around.
There were all kinds of plants in here, growing in little pots here and there or in large beds. Some of the more fanciful students who had volunteered during its start-up phase had trained some of the plants to grow into shapes.
All throughout the walk, Dandelion kept up a soft yet continuous narration of what he could remember about the plants, or the people that had tended them.
Geralt hummed and grunted and growled, but the small smile never left his face. Even though the temperature was much higher inside than it currently was outside, the flowers had mostly died away, leaving lush green foliage.
"We should come back in the spring, when all the flowers are in bloom. It's terribly romantic, walking with a lover through a whirlwind of petals." Dandelion spoke as he pointed to a small tree. It's branches had been shaped up and out in beautiful arches. "That's one of the cherry trees. They open the top glass when they bloom and the slight breeze makes them fall like rain."
"Feels formulaic." Geralt grunted, a small frown appearing on his face for the first time. Dandelion just rolled his eyes and bumped their shoulders together.
"It's romantic." Geralt paused for a moment and Dandelion could just barely hear him take a deep breath through his nose. "Smell something you like?" Dandelion teased with a snarky grin across his features. He had led them to the back of the gardens, where the plants were more practical, arranged in neat rows or clumps. Geralt paused and looked around for a moment before he stepped just off the path up to a small scruffy little plant.
"That's arenaria." He said, bending down to examine it more closely. He brushed a delicate finger against one of the closest leaves. There were small little clusters of it all around for a dozen paces. "And that's ranogrin." He pointed to another plant nearby. There were even a few little yellow flowers still left on the stalks.
"Did I fail to mention that this is also an alchemy ingredient repository?" Dandelion asked, smug as Geralt looked sharply over at him.
"It's what?" Geralt asked, in disbelief.
"Oh yes. They ask all the wandering herbalists to bring in plants from all over the Continent. They have quite the rare collection now." Dandelion spoke proudly as Geralt stood back up and brushed off his pants.
"And it's free for anyone to take from, especially witchers." A female voice added from a little ways down the path, catching both Dandelion and Geralt off guard. A smile lit up Dandelion's face when he saw the woman walking closer.
"My Lady, what a surprise and honor!" He greeted with a bow as she stopped close to them. She wore a pale teal and grey dress in what Geralt could only assume was the current fashion, and had her grey hair pulled up into a braided bun. There was a small basket of flowers hanging from her arm, and thick yet fashionable gloves tucked into her belt. She wore her years well, and smiled politely at them.
"Master Dandelion," She greeted warmly, "What a surprise to see you back in Oxenfurt. Last I had heard, you'd dropped everything to run off adventuring with your witcher again." She glanced at Geralt, appraising him discreetly but with no open hostility.
"Ah, indeed, my lady." Dandelion smiled.
"To think, you wandering the Path at your age." She smiled at the offended noises he made at that remark but then she stepped slightly closer, looking at Geralt straight on for the first time. "What if your White Wolf gets tired of having to rescue an old man from every drowner or nekker you pass by?"
"Geralt!" Dandelion whined, throwing himself onto the witcher's arm dramatically. "I am perfectly capable of keeping myself from such trouble! Tell her! Defend my honor!" Dandelion pleaded from Geralt’s arm.
"You fell on your ass and ruined your good pair of pants when I told you not to go near the river until I made sure there were no drowners two days before we got back to Oxenfurt. I think the Lady's right." Geralt grumbled as he tried and failed to shake the bard from his arm. Dandelion wailed at that and held on tighter, and the lady laughed at their antics. It was higher pitched than what Geralt expected, but it was a genuine laugh.
"Now now, Sir Witcher, we don't want to impune Master Dandelion's honor!" The woman said with a sly smile toward the witcher.
"Gods above he does that well enough himself."
"You are an ass, Geralt of Rivia!" And with that Dandelion shoved off the witcher's arm and 'harrumphed' away, folding his arms and not looking at either of them. "I was going to introduce you both, but now I don't think I will."
"Oh, you flatter yourself." The Lady shot back at him. "As if you haven't been introducing your witcher all throughout the Continent for decades now!" And Geralt laughed at that, a soft little thing, barely more than a breath. But Dandelion heard it and turned to face him in shock. Geralt did not laugh around strangers.
"My Lady, I think you just did the impossible." Dandelion said seriously. "You made my witcher laugh." Geralt rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, fixing the bard with a firm gaze which Dandelion ignored.
"Geralt, dear, this is Countess Mignole. She has been a lovely patron of mine for several decades now, and is one of the main patrons behind these lovely Gardens." Dandelion introduced smoothly at that, and Geralt gave her a polite nod.
"It was at my insistence that the potion ingredients be grown here, and that any who have need of them be able to collect at will." Mignole stated proudly. "I had a long fight with the rest of the backers for this project on that, and I would love to see my efforts rewarded." With that she held her basket out toward Geralt. It was filled with several rare ingredients. Ingredients that are only used in witcher potions. Geralt took the basket carefully.
"The Countess is a great supporter of me and my efforts to improve Witcher reputations." Dandelion said softly as he also recognized the ingredients in the basket.
"Have you explored the swamp areas yet?" She asked and Geralt shook his head no. "Would you like to accompany me there, Sir Witcher?" She asked politely and held her arm out just a bit. After a glance to Dandelion, who had a sneaky look on his face but was approving, Geralt took the arm and she swept them back down the path from the direction she had approached them from.
Dandelion walked ahead of them, taking back up his flighty and somewhat unreliable narration. Mignole walked with Geralt at a comfortable pace, and he was so surprised at this turn of events. What kind of noble, even a minor one, is so comfortable being this close to a witcher. And Geralt was sure that he'd never had any interaction with this Countess.
They came upon another back corner of the building, and Geralt was blown away. There, in the middle of one of the small pools, was a tree. It stood about as high as him, shaped carefully up and into a hook. There were no branches on it, just a carpet of leaves along the outer rim exclusively.
"Ah, this is from my own gardens. Lovely, isn't it?" Mignole asked lightly as Geralt stopped as close to the tree as he could.
"Would you like to tell the story, my lady?" Dandelion asked gently.
"No. You tell it so much better, bard." Mignole answered after a moment.
"This, dear Geralt, is a fig. It has many different myths and legends across the continent, but my favorite meaning, and the most prominent, is longevity."
"People plant them with the hopes for a long life." Geralt added, familiar with the stories. "There are tales of people being struck down for trying to harm them."
"Any substance to those rumors, Sir Witcher?" Mignole asked before Dandelion could speak again. Geralt hummed a little sound and shook his head. Mignole smiled before turning her gaze back to the bard, giving him a small nod to start the story.
"This fig was planted for another. So the story goes, at least." Dandelion started, going into a more lyrical style with his words.
He described a young lady who met a dashing rogue in the market one day. Their eyes met across the busy street and it was love at first sight. He stole into her bedroom that night, and they talked until first light. He continued doing so for months, as often as he could.
They fell in love, of course, and she begs him every dawn to stay. They both knew he couldn't, she was a noble lady, and he was nothing but a thief from Ofir. It continued for months, and they made their desires known to each other, passionately, many times. It was nearly a year their affair went on, until the rogue got complacent.
A noise from down the hall startled the lovers apart, and in his haste to disappear, he left his shirt. The lady grabbed it and hid it underneath her bed, just in time as her father barged into the room.
A bounty was put out, but the thief was never seen again. The father found the lady a good match, a good noble son who would take care of her. But her heart had been stolen that night, the only remnants being his left behind shirt, and the seeds from the figs they had eaten that last night.
"So the lady planted the seed, in the hopes to keep her thief safe from harm. It grew, and she tended the plant into half a heart." Dandelion waved his hands out in the full shape of a heart as he looked at the tree. Geralt tilted his to the side just a bit.
"I can see it."
"Doesn't Master Dandelion tell such amazing stories?" Mignole asked with a sigh, the picture of a swooning maiden, as she leaned more heavily against Geralt's arm. Geralt caught the glimmer of a tease in her eyes and found that he liked this gentle lady. She teased the bard with the same gentle understanding as himself.
"I get the feeling there is more to this story than the bard's pretty words." Geralt spoke softly, just loud enough for Mignole to hear. Dandelion had moved onto the next plant in the pond, and Geralt let them take off at an ambling pace behind him.
"Of course." Mignole answered back. "The tree was already on the estate I married into. I found letters in the attic from the lover, all unsent. She professed her love for decades to her thief. When I found them, I knew her story should be told properly." Mignole smiled softly as Dandelion gesticulated wildly about as he talked. "I met Master Dandelion by chance, at the beginning of his rise to fame." Geralt groaned at that mention, dismayed when Migole hummed a few bars of 'Toss a Coin' under her breath.
"That song." Geralt huffed and Mignole laughed lightly.
"That song. Of course, any bard that could woo the Continent into appreciating its Witchers would be able to tell my story properly."
"I've not heard any of these songs." Geralt said after a moment's thought. He knew most of Dandelion's repertoire by heart, and this story was not in any of them.
"He hasn't sung them yet. At least not publicly." She sighed, a small frown on her face. "Said he hasn't met the right crowd to debut it at yet. It doesn't bother me, mind. He's published the lyrics in several of his poetry books, without the music. He got the story out there, and when it came time for this Garden to be built I knew that the tree should be moved here as well."
Geralt hummed thoughtfully but said no more. His thoughts kept wandering for the rest of the afternoon as Mignole wandered about on his arm and Dandelion talked animatedly. Eventually, they parted ways at the entrance to the Garden.
"Thank you gentlemen for such a wonderful afternoon." Mignole said graciously with a genuine smile as they parted ways.
It had been a very pleasant afternoon for the Witcher. No one really bothered him in Oxenfurt anymore, used to seeing him traipsing behind the bard. They were staying at a nearby inn, and Geralt immediately went to the stables to check on Roach.
He stood brushing her for a long time, until he could hear Dandelion's lute being tuned softly, and the first few of his vocal warm-ups. It was time for his performance for the evening crowd at the tavern. Maybe it was the peaceful afternoon, or the sense of nostalgia that came with the bard wandering with him, but Geralt finished up with Roach in a hurry after that.
Geralt slunk into the back of the crowded tavern just as Dandelion jumped up on the back of a chair (there was no stage here) and strummed the first few chords of one of his more popular drinking songs. He glanced about just a bit, making sure all eyes were on his peacocking, before he truly began the song in earnest.
It was a pleasant evening. Dandelion sang his heart out like he always did, putting on a performance for the crowd. The owner himself brought out Geralt's meal, whispering just loud enough over the music and background noise of the rowdy bar-goers that his larder was almost empty, and would be before the night was out. The food was on the house for the night being the best night he'd had all year. Geralt thanked the man and dug in, grateful that the portion was extra large.
Dandelion had started to play slower songs, now, as Geralt finished off his meal. There was a plate set aside for Dandelion after his performance. There was a request for ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ which Dandelion started easily when someone slipped into the empty chair across from Geralt. A shock of blonde hair up in a bun with bright emerald eyes peeking up at him from behind her fringe, and Geralt smiled.
“Ciri!” She grinned back at him warmly as she delighted in catching her father off guard. “What are you doing here?” He asked as she leaned across the table to give him a tight hug.
“Looking for you, of course.” She said softly before drawing back, kicking her chair to the side enough to see where Dandelion had gotten his second wind. He was belting the chorus of an old Redanian drinking song as he danced across several tables, the crowd cheering and singing along loudly. “B.B. is starting to worry you got lost.”
“We were going to start that way tomorrow. Dandelion insisted we visit the Botanical Gardens before we headed back to Tousaint.” Ciri brightened at that.
“Is he coming too?” Geralt nodded and Ciri clapped her fingertips together in a soft clap. “Good! It’ll be nice to have the whole family together this year.”
“I take it Eskel and Lambert are already there?” Geralt questioned after a moment and Ciri nodded.
“Yeah. That’s why I volunteered to come and find you!” She said, a smile still on her face as she watched the bard. “He’s such a great performer, even after all these years.”
“Yeah.” Ciri made to stand, and Geralt threw out a hand. “Stay,” he asked softly, grabbing her wrist. “he’ll want to chat with you afterward.” Ciri just laughed and shook off his hand.
“I’m going to get drinks, Geralt. I’m not gonna disappear on you. Besides, I thought I could shorten the journey.” She walked off toward the bar, laughing at the look of disgust that crossed Geralt’s face at the mere mention of a portal.
The bard played on till well into the night, and the people loved him, as only Oxenfurt can, and Geralt and Ciri had a lovely conversation at the back corner table, hidden partially in the shadows.
When he finally collapsed into the chair next to Geralt, Dandelion stared at Ciri for close to a whole minute before he realized who he was seeing.
“Ciri!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms open for a hug. She indulged him with a smile. “Did you see my performance? Come on, how was it?” He asked as they both sat back down.
“Honestly?” She questioned, a sly look already on her face.
“Of course! I expect nothing but the most honest appraisal from you.”
“Hmmm…” She placed a finger up to her lip like she was in deep thought. “You were brilliant!” She finally relented and he smiled, preening just a bit under the praise.
“Of course I was!”
“And not at all out of practice from wandering the Path this year like I expected.” She added on, teasing. Dandelion wrinkled his nose at her in response.
“Bah! Can you believe this, Geralt? You’re own daughter doubting my capabilities!” Dandelion threw his hand out toward her, looking at Geralt, the smile on his face betraying his emotions. Geralt just hummed a little noise that he left open to interpretation, knowing it would annoy the bard. “You’re just as bad!”
“Where’d you think I got it from? Certainly not you.”
It was easy banter between the three of them, even as they got up to leave. Ciri hugged them both tightly around their necks as they exited the tavern.
“I’ll be back in the morning for you then, yeah?” She asked, leaving the option to take the fast way to Corvo Bianco.
“Yeah.” Geralt answered after Dandelion shot him a pleading look. “See you tomorrow.”
Ciri’s portals were always different, but they made it in one piece to Corvo Bianco with Roach the next morning. Sure enough, Barnabas-Basil was waiting at the stable for them, immediately catching Geralt up on the happenings of the vineyard from the year vacation. Eskel and Lambert both had already arrived, and Yennefer had promised to pop in a few times over the winter.
“Is Vesemir coming?” Geralt asked, looking between his brothers. The solemn expressions that overtook their faces was answer enough. “Oh. He’s still up in Kaer Morhen, then?”
“Yeah. I tried to convince him to come with me, but he wouldn’t budge.”
“Stubborn old fucker.” Lambert grumbled.
“Oh, I do worry about him though.” Dandelion lamented as he stood his lute up on its stand in the main hall. “All alone all winter, up in that drafty old ruin.”
“It’s home though.” Geralt responded, but he paused for a moment. “Dandelion, that Countess we met in Oxenfurt?”
“Yes. Countess Mignole. What about her?” Dandelion asked, not understanding the sudden change in topic.
“Eskel, Lambert, describe the fig tree in Vesemir’s greenhouse for Dandelion.” He shot a look at his brothers, who looked confused, but complied.
“It’s curved out from the base and up. It’s about as tall as us before it dips back down. Vesemir shaped it like that on purpose.” Eksel described, painting the curve out in midair with his hand. Dandelion looked shocked at that.
“Oh! The fig tree!” Ciri added in. “That’s the tree that you learned that bit of magic for, right?” She asked and Eskel nodded.
“Spent six months on the Path decades ago learning how to care for the thing and tracking down a mage that could teach me a spell to keep it alive.”
“Fucking waste of time, if you ask me.” Lambert grumbled but was ignored.
“I forget you have a bit of talent for other magics than the signs. He grafted those other plants all over it too, so it could be useful.” Ciri said with an eye roll. “Like a plant has to be useful to want to care for it.”
“Geralt, are you telling me that Vesemir has a fig tree in the shape of half a heart?” Dandelion asked after a moment, a knowing look crossing his face finally.
“Now that you mention it, it could be a heart.” Eskel agreed. Everyone turned to Geralt, who had a very smug expression on his face.
“Geralt… I know that look. You’re planning something.”
“I’m going to need everyone’s help on this.”
And with that, they got to work.
“Vesemir!” Geralt yelled as he entered into the main keep of Kaer Morhen, Ciri just a few steps behind him.
“Geralt?” The old man’s voice called from the kitchen, where a fire could be seen in the large hearth. The duo crossed the chilly stone hall quickly enough, pushing into the kitchen with purpose. “Thought you’d all gone to winter in the wine country.” It wasn’t a question.
“We did. We missed you.” Ciri said as she stepped up to give the man a hug. He hugged her back gently, so gently; always careful with her. “I’m staying there all winter as well.” She pulled back, a large smile on her face. “Come visit?”
“Bah. You didn’t miss this old wolf.” He turned, going back to tend the fire. Ciri shot a look at Geralt. So much for this being easy. Geralt sighed.
“Please, Ves?” He asked quietly, putting as much emotion he could into his voice. That got a small twitch from the old man, but he didn’t turn around. “Just for a week. Ciri will portal you back no exceptions if you don’t enjoy it.”
“Cross my heart.” Ciri added, stepping into his peripheral vision with her hands clasped in front of her, eyes wide and pleading. Ciri rarely used her unfairly still adorable puppy eyes, but Geralt heard the heavy sigh the moment she won.
“Fine, pup. But I will come back in a week’s time.” Vesemir grumbled before turning away. “Let me pack.”
“Just the essentials.” Ciri called with a smile on her face.
“I have a still!” Geralt added when he heard Vesemir shuffling off to his alchemy lab. Muttered grumbles answered him which Geralt pointedly ignored. Geralt shared a look with Ciri, sneaky and sly and loving. At least this part was going well. They could only hope the rest of it was too.
Vesemir was suspicious. His boys were hiding something.
But he couldn’t figure out what.
The first day was… fine. Vesemir hadn’t been around this many humans in… a long time. Too long. The servants at Corvo Bianco were happy, and didn’t flinch in fear from him, which made him feel too many emotions to process all at once. Barnabas-Basil kept all the humans in line, and was a surprisingly nice conversation partner. Marlene was an amazing cook; Vesemir did not even pretend otherwise. He was both shocked and not to find out she had been a wight that Geralt had saved.
For the most part, his boys left him alone. Geralt was usually off riding Roach through the fields, catching up on his own work around the estate (making sure no monsters had moved in during the summer months he’d been traveling). Lambert and Eskel asked to train in a little area just outside the garden every morning, but then disappeared as soon as they were done. Ciri had been there every night for supper, but portalled away first thing every morning. And the bard…
Well, the bard had been holed up in Geralt’s bedroom. The only signs of life were the faint scratches of a quill, the rustling of parchment, and random bursts of chord from his lute. Trays were left for his meals, and even Geralt did not enter or disturb the bard.
“This is normal for him.” Ciri had soothed on the second day. Geralt had come inside for breakfast, smelling of hay and horse, having slept in the nice stable with Roach (the stable was probably nicer than his bedroom, if Vesemir was being honest. Geralt made sure to take care of his girl.).
“Master Vesemir, would you like a tour of the grounds?” Barnabas-Basil asked the third morning, keeping the old witcher out in the vineyards themselves all day as he spoke at great length about the history of the place.
“This is the still-room.” Geralt said as they entered the small little room hidden in the cellar on the fourth morning. Vesemir kept himself down there all day, marveling at the quality of the instruments and tools. Vesemir was maybe starting to enjoy his stay.
“I AM FINISHED!” The bard slammed open the bedroom door as he yelled, making everyone at the table jump, on the fifth night. He promptly swayed into the empty chair across from Geralt and passed out on the table.
Yennefer arrived the sixth day during dinner with a ridiculous amount of luggage, which she stashed into Geralt’s room.
“Hello, Vesemir. Enjoying the sunshine?” She asked as she sat herself in the chair next to him, all elegance and courtly manners.
“Hello, Witch. Come to take over another residence that isn’t yours?” Vesemir shot back, making the woman raise an eyebrow at him and smirk.
“Someone’s still touchy, I see.” She raised her glass in a toast and Vesemir growled at her.
“Why don’t you come help me gather herbs in the forests, Vesemir?” Ciri cut in between the pair before any more shots could be fired.
“Fine.” Vesemir answered after several minutes with an irritated grumble. Ciri beamed at him and they spent the next several hours outside in the surrounding forests, walking and talking and picking herbs.
The seventh day dawned and Vesemir slept in just a few hours. As much as he did enjoy himself this week, he could tell the boys were on edge around him, especially Lambert. While the youngest’s anger had mostly burned out by this point, he still grumbled and complained around the eldest Wolf. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. His pups had found this small measure of happiness, between themselves and all these humans, and Vesemir wasn’t going to impose himself between them.
So, it came as a surprise to find no one at all in the dining hall, despite it being time for breakfast. There was a small covered basket on the table, with a note attached to it. It was Geralt’s neat and cramped handwriting on the page.
Wanted to do something nice for you.
Meet me by the stables.
Bring the food.
Vesemir sighed, but picked up the basket anyway. He stepped out into the brisk morning air and took a deep breath. It was nice, this little vacation. And although it did get cooler here during the winter, it never got properly cold. There were a few of the humans wandering around doing their morning chores as Vesemir walked down to the stables, and they all nodded politely or called a short greeting as he passed. Vesemir returned every greeting, still marveling at being welcomed for the first time in… decades, at least.
Eskel was standing at the stables when Vesemir approached, not Geralt like he was expecting. Scorpion was standing next to him, tacked and saddled and ready to go.
“Morning Eskel.” Vesemir greeted, and Eskel returned it, scratching at his scars absently.
“Morning.” They stood there for several minutes, awkwardly waiting on each other before Vesemir held up the basket, a question on his brow. “Oh. Right. Everyone is going to meet us down by the water.” There was the faint scent of a lie in the air, but not enough to call Eskel out on. “Thought it’d be nice to get Scorpion out on the road for a while.” Vesemir rolled his eyes at that.
“You’ve been planning something.” Vesemir let the accusation loose, and Eskel grinned back.
“Make sure you tell Lambert that you figured it out before we left. I won the bet.” Eskel looked pleased at that, and Vesemir rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else. “Alright, let’s go.” And he nodded at the horse. Vesemir grumbled but acquiesced, enjoying the pleased expression of Eskel’s as he climbed gracefully into the saddle. Eskel took the basket and Scorpion’s reins and led them down the road at a steady trot.
“So,” Vesemir started once they got out onto the main road. “How long have you been planning this?”
“It was Geralt’s idea, and about a week before he and Ciri came got you.” Eskel admitted, unconcerned now that Vesemir had figured it out. “We helped plan everything, once it was decided.” They traveled for a few hours like that, east and over the less well worn paths. They didn’t come across many people out, but it was nearing midday before Eskel stopped dead in his tracks, halting Scorpion as well.
“Shit.” He cursed, under his breath. “I forgot something.” He admitted after a moment, not looking up at Vesemir. The old man sighed and let out a small huff of laughter.
“We can go back together?” He offered but Eskel shook his head no.
“No, they’re already waiting on us as is. Look, just keep on this path, cross the bring, then a left at the fork. You should be able to see the blanket from the road. I’ll be able to run back faster on foot.” Eskel gave the directions and Vesemir nodded. He handed the basket up before taking off at a brisk pace directly through the underbrush surrounding them.
Vesemir just shook his head. Leave it to his boys to fret for weeks about this then forget key parts the day of. He trained them better than that. It couldn’t be helped now, however; so with a click of his tongue and a pull of the reins Vesemir set off with Scorpion down the road. He didn’t push the horse any faster than they had been going; after all, this was his vacation time, too.
Soon enough, Vesemir had crossed the little bridge, and took the left at the fork. He could see a small serene lake and took a moment to just breathe. The air was so nice and clean here, away from the pollution of the big cities and vineyards.
He really did need this break, away from the constant toil of work up the mountain.
Food was plentiful here; no having to carefully ration what little he could find or buy at the tiny town at the foot of the mountain. People were respectful, even those outside of Corvo Bianco. It was a short trip to the big city next to the palace for anything they needed, and the merchants didn’t double their prices just because they were witchers.
But, he would need to return to Kaer Morhen soon enough.
So he would enjoy this last day.
He spotted the blanket easily enough, where several other baskets were waiting, but no one else.
That was odd.
Vesemir dismounted Scorpion easily before spotting a picket line already tied between two trees. He tied Scorpion to it, double checking his halter carefully, before he sat down on the blanket. There was a faint breeze coming from the lake, cooling even in the midday sun, and Vesemir loosened the hard leather padding from his shoulders. He’d be able to hear anything approaching long before they could get close enough to attack.
Half an hour passed in serene peace before he heard another horse trotting up the path, from the opposite way he had travelled. He could recognize Roach’s gait in his sleep, so he didn’t bother getting up. He was comfortable, all stretched out on the blanket, with the warmth of the sun and the cool of the breeze. Roach came around a bend in the road and stopped.
With a sigh, Vesemir sat up and glanced over her way, ready to give his boy a scolding, and the words died on his tongue.
That was Roach, no doubt about it. But instead of his largest boy sat a woman. Her hair was solid grey, but still healthy and full, pulled back at the base of her skull and a flower tucked gently next to her ear. She wore a simple dress of teal and slightly darker grey, with a beautiful belt made from basilisk hide he’d guess from the way it shined in the light. She was aging, but in that graceful way that queens and noble ladies always seemed to, with a soft fragile smile on her face.
She had something clutched to her chest, like a lifeline.
It was red and silver and looked so damn familiar.
“Hello, Vesemir.” Her voice was soft and sweet and sounded exactly like the voice that sometimes haunted his dreams, when the nightmares would give him a break.
“Mignole?” He breathed, eyes wide and fearful. She dismounted from Roach with the practiced grace of a lady and Vesemir took the opportunity to scramble to his feet, all the decades of witcher grace and agility thrown out the window. She stepped closer to him, like something out of a dream.
They were within arm’s reach before she stopped, staring up at him. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall.
“...I brought this… for you…” She held the gambeson, HIS gambeson, up with shaking hands. She took a sharp short breath before she raised one hand up, gently cupping his cheek with it. “I should have done this decades ago.” She smiled, as she moved her hand gently down his cheek to his chin, where a long-healed jagged scar remained from a bad hunt.
And then she pressed her lips to his.
The gambeson fell to the ground as Vesemir wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, kissing back fervently.
It was perfect.
They kissed until they couldn’t breathe, then kissed some more. It was gentle, and passionate, and conveyed every emotion across the decades. Eventually, Vesemir picked up Mignole without breaking their kiss and settled them onto the blankets.
They did have to talk, and talk they did. They broke into the baskets, which were filled with both their favorite foods and several bottles of (very good) wine. Vesemir regaled Mignole with accounts of his hunts, raising his boys, and even training Ciri. Mignole spoke of her late husband, a good man with money that passed away young but left her well-cared for. She spoke of the programs she had championed in Oxenfurt for the poor, the children, and the non-human. She spoke of sponsoring a poor up-and-coming bard who had taken to travelling with a witcher, determined to rebuild their reputation, and the large collection of Vedyminaica she had built.
“It started with your gambeson, of course.” She said with a laugh as she petted the item in her lap. “From there it grew. I made sure that the items in question had been found, not stolen. I was always very clear that I would not allow anyone to harm a witcher for his gear.”
They stayed on that blanket until nightfall, watching the dusk settle around them peacefully. It was the best day Vesemir had ever had.
Eventually, the pair gathered up their baskets and climbed atop their mounts and rode back to Corvo Bianco, where all his guilty children were waiting.
“You all look so smug.” Vesemir drawled as he stood in the doorway, Mignole snuggled comfortably under his arm, gambeson clutched tightly to her chest again.
“We wanted to do something nice for you.” Geralt grumbled in that very specific way that meant he was terribly embarrassed.
“My Lady,” Dandelion had stood and bowed, “I believe I have finally found an audience for those songs you’ve commissioned from me.” Mignole smiled and nodded.
“Yes, Master Bard, I do believe now would be a good time for them.” And Vesemir led his lady to the head of the table, where his chair sat open, and the space on his left. Dandelion grabbed his lute from the stand in the corner and strummed a few chords while Marlene and Barnabas-Basil brought food from the kitchen. They took their seats with the rest of the witchers as Dandelion started to sing.
He sang of love, found and lost, the ‘Thief of Her Heart’ that he had written ages ago. The next song was ‘Will You Ever Come Back?’; the story of the lady pining even though she continued on. It was hopeful, asking her lover to come back someday. They were some of his best works, truly, each carrying a silly little melody in them that she had fallen in love with the first day she’d heard him sing. Mignole had assumed that was the end, but then he struck a new chord.
“I still have faith in you/ I see it now.” He sang softly, sweetly. It was her silly little melody; but she had never heard this piece. She glanced a look over at Vesemir, who smiled softly at her, rubbing a gentle thumb across the back of her hand.
“Do I have it in me?/ I believe it is in there.” A story about the Lady overcoming her own fears to go find him.
“The joy and the sorrow/ We have a story/ And it survived.” The thief reunited with his lady, still faithful and in love.
A happy ending.