Chapter Text
Geralt was running for his dear life.
This situation of his would have surprised everyone who’d known him longer than a week, probably a day, not to mention himself. Though, on the contrary to the common beliefs, Witchers are not daredevils. Yes, none of them would die in their own bed due to old age, but who would not be willing to prolong their lives, even just for a little while?
Vesemir used to say to him and his wolf brothers that for a Witcher, escaping at the right time should not be counted as shameful.
“It’s called strategic retreat.” he stated.
So, there he was, scampering off, no, no, strategically retreating. Though his situation was far worse than a decent retreat should have been. He’d been tracing this monster for three days and located it in a shallow cage on a steep mountain. After he had wounded it by his crossbow, the damn Griffin stretched its wings and fled in the direction of Roach. How could it possibly know it was there? Maybe it was pure luck. Nevertheless, the horse was in shock and threw the saddlebag onto the ground. The animal dived drastically and made a bee line to the petrified horse. In desperation, Geralt cast an Igni without a second thought. On the positive side, the Griffin was inflamed and howled in pain, crushing to the ground, and Roach escaped from its dirty claws at the last second; on the negative side, the flame burning on the animal set fire to his saddle bag and the one of the bombs inside. Judging by the effect, it might be the ‘Dragon’, because the scope of its explosion was larger than others. It sent him to the ground, the silver sword flying from his hands and falling off the cliff behind him.
Then, weaponless and without supplies, the only option left for Geralt was to flee. The badly-wounded-but-not-yet-dead Griffin gathered its last of its strength and rushed to at him, eyes blooded. There was a steep slope dotted with bared rocks, and Geralt descended the slope half-running, half-slipping.
A plan formed in his head when he made it to the plain field. Sprinting to a pine tree and hiding behind it, he waited patiently for the Griffin to approach. When the right time came, aiming at its wounded chest, he cast an Aard with all his strength left. The shock wave broke through its breastbone and ripped its heart apart. With a mountain-shaking roar, the monster fell and raised a cloud of dust that temporarily blinded him.
After Geralt retrieved his silver sword, his saddlebag in rags, and the terrorized Roach, it had almost been dusk. It took him another hour to trudge back to Gulet, the town where he got the job. When he offered his client the head of the Griffin as proof of having finished the job done, the farmer screeched and threw a small and not-well-filled money-bag into his hand, slamming the door to his face. Geralt shrugged and walked back to Roach, guiding her to the first tavern he could find.
Before he pushed open the door to the tavern, he had pulled on the hood. He was enough today. There was no need for causing other troubles. The owner of tavern was kind enough to offer him a room and a stable for Roach without farce. He chose a table in the dark corner of the room and sat down. After putting a pint of ale in his stomach, Geralt felt a little more like himself. Relaxed a bit, he sank into the cushion of the chair and glanced through the whole tavern, not seeing anything special. He let his thoughts wander.
Now three days since him arriving in Gulet, the dark shadows hanging over the town were still dense, eluding an air of melancholy. People roamed the street with a face of accidie. They talked distantly, and their eyes cold. The decorations along the road indicated that a festival was coming, but it seemed to Geralt, celebration in such place seemed obligatory.
It created an illusion of steadiness, of eternity, as if the small town had always been the same isolated, traditional and barbaric place since the day it was born. Both the rulers and those being ruled, were doing the same things their ancestors had been doing since one thousand years ago and their sons and daughters would do in the next one thousand years.
And the worst thing of all was that he needed to stay in this gloomy place for another couple of days, because of the explosion caused by his own bomb. His backup armors and swords were resistant to the explosion, but his potions and oil for the swords weren’t so lucky. Little pieces of shattered glass were still sticking to his ripped saddlebag. It would be suicidal to walk into forest without them. Everything he used to hunt would launch at him: Kikimores, Werewolves, Phamtoms…
Geralt sighed heavily at the thought of this. Right at this moment, his dishes was served, which brightened his mood a little. He pulled the chicken in front of him and ripped off a leg, starting to chew in satisfaction.
As the night grew darker, the little empty tavern gradually filled with various kinds of people. A bard was singing at the far end of the room, two elves were chatting cheerfully beside him, and a group of young men were haranguing and laughing, faces flushed with alcohol. A couple of barmaids were giggling at the corner and eyeing him. Geralt turned his gaze away.
Just some ordinary people in a ordinary tavern. A romantic may deem the scene warm and loving, but Geralt was not one of those people. He knew some undercurrents are surging behind the surface of calm water.
But, the music flowing in the air was quite smooth and comforting, Geralt found himself humming to the tune, fingers tabbing the table subconsciously. He took a deep breathe, trying to ease his nerves.
Hope nothing bad would happened tonight. Then, he’ll go and grab some herbs for potions and -
“Oi! You! Where have ye got that beautiful shining necklace on your neck?”
A bulky man sat by the young man’s table raised his voice and throw a question at one of the two elves sitting across the bar, standing up. Black tattoos covered most of his chest. Geralt closed his eyes. Yep, he knew something like that would come. The standard procedure of picking a fight.
“It’s…” the elf wearing a leaf-shape necklace adorned with pearls obviously felt offended and tried to spit out “it’s none of your business”, but his companion gave him a warning look so that he said, “it’s from the alchemist living three blocks from here” instead, in a more friendly tone.
“I don’t believe it! You elves are thefts!” the man approached him with his gang backing him up, circling them and blocking every possible escape route, and he continued to accuse them of the crime they’ve never committed, “This necklace are mine! Isn’t it, boys?”
“Yes! Yes!” shouted the others.
“If he wants it, just give it to him. Just to avoid trouble.” murmured one of the bystanders now gathered around the shouting crowd.
“Look.” said the elf in pearl necklace. His voice was shaking now, clearly frightened by the roars. “There’s some misunderstanding here. If we can calm down and solve this like civilized people…”
“I will tell ye what ‘civilized’ mean, you criminal race!”
Cheering emitted from the circling gang as the man triumphantly raised his fist, but he would never hit his target. Before the man even noticed he was here, Geralt had already grabbed his arm and threw him over the shoulder.
Fuse was lit. The bar was suddenly in total chaos. The bulky man howled in pain, lying on the floor with his dislocated shoulder. His friends launched themselves at Geralt, and the two elves previously shrank to the corner suddenly gathered their strengths and decided to help. One of them hit one of the attackers with their dish plate. Though caught in the middle of the fight, Geralt was defending himself with ease, for all he needed to deal with were just some drunkards in a ordinary town. Barmaids were screaming, someone was yelling “stop”, and when he threw one of the men across the table, his hood fell off and he heard a cry:
“Witcher!”
Geralt sighed. He’d better leave this town before he outstayed his welcome.
Once he made sure no man in the gang harassing the elves was standing, he pulled the hood on again and walked out of the door. He needed some fresh air.
What Geralt did not realize was that the music had stopped at some point.
*
He went to the market to get what he needed the next morning when the sun just rises from the horizon. The market was a run-down little spot near the centre of town, fresh fish and crisp green veggies were piled up in booths and stalls. A weathered carriage rested at the corner of it.
Some ingredients in the Maribor Forest potion were quite rare, Geralt knew, so when the herbalist selling petals of lilies at the market told him that she didn’t had the things he wanted and he needed to wait for the alchemist to come, he wasn’t surprised at all.
“How long am I going to wait?”
“Oh, it depends.” she smiled, “he will be here when he feels like it. No one really knows when.”
Getting used to bad luck, Geralt just shrugged and carried on wandering the little market. After getting everything else he needed, he decided to wait beside the carriage at the corner. A couple of weathered benches were scattered around there.
He sat down and waited. As time passed, the sun was hanged high up in the sky, and there was still no trace of any alchemist-like man approaching the market. Just as Geralt was contemplating whether he should leave and ask around for employment, a shouts broke out from the far end of the place.
“Stop him!”
“Catch the Bastard!”
Firstly he noticed a squad of town guards rushing across the muddy market; then he spotted a man in colourful, flamboyant outfits running in front of the guards, bumping into people along the way. Geralt narrowed his eyes at the scene. The man was sprinting in a unnatural, dramatic way, as if he had been an actor on stage. Wearing a doublet the colour of red wine and an off-white shirt, he was in a fanciful hat with an egret feather stuck into it. He looked like a traveling bard without his lute.
The escaping man and his pursuers attracted a fair amount of attention. Girls were giggling, kids were laughing and men were jeering and chanting. Driven by his curiosity, Geralt promptly stood up to have a better look. It seemed that the man was running towards the huge carriage not far from him.
In a blink of an eye, the most bizarre thing happened:
As soon as Geralt stood up, the bard turned his head and without warning, look directly into Geralt’s eyes, like he had known Geralt was there all along. There was approximately forty feet and dozens of random people between them, but the gaze was unmistakably aimed at him. Nailed to the spot by the gaze, Geralt was stunned.
The moment only lasted a second. After that, the man was blocked from his sight by numerous others. It passed so quickly that it would be mistaken for illusion if Geralt had not been a Witcher. When Geralt tried to concentrate and stretch his neck to see, the bard slowed down and the guards caught up with him, crashing him down to the dirty ground.
Noise was too loud to make out any words meaningful. People were gathered closely around the scene and Geralt found himself shoved to the back of the crowd. Still dazed slightly, Geralt shook his head and glanced around slowly. His mind whirred with possibility.
What happened? What is he doing? Why is he here?
Oh, he’s here waiting for the alchemist, who may have the ingredients he needs for Maribor Forest…Sulfur, Nilfgaard vodka, fungus…
He turned and headed for the booth occupied by the alchemist. To his surprise, the man had arrived. He was a ordinary fellow with a long, hooked nose, greeting Geralt at the sight of him.
“Ah, Witchers. Along with sorcerers, witches, and mystics, all my loyal old customers.” he nodded and smiled, revealing his yellow teeth. “What can I get for you?”
“What do you know about the farce up there?” Geralt asked without a second thoughts. This question surprised himself, as if his mouth acted on its on behalf.
“Oh, that.” the alchemist quirked up his lips. “It’s quite a hot topic now. It’s about a traveling bard. He arrived two days ago. I saw him and his horse crossing the street, playing his lute. It’s hard not to notice, for his…” the alchemist gestured for the hat and the clothes.
“Anyway,” he continued, “they said a girl was raped by him right under the noses of her brothers, the sons of a famed and powerful family in town. They’ve gone so mad that they was going to kill him right at the spot but the girl begged for their mercy. So they locked the girl in her room and put the bard in jail. That’s all I’ve heard. As for that,” he pointed the spot the crowd gathered with his chin, “the bard was trying to get away, I assume?”
Something doesn’t add up. Geralt frowned. The victim of a crime begging for the criminal? It sounded strange. Could use some digging.
A small voice inside reprimanded him for meddling in other people’s business again. He should’ve dropped it. But something kept bugging him, and he couldn’t shake off a feeling of unease.
“Thanks,” he replied, “Emm. Oh, I need some materials. For my potion. Do you have sulfur here?”
“Of course. Anything else?”
*
When he returned to where he had seen the bard, the noisy crowd had already been dismissed. No trace of special smell, partly because the market had so many kinds of different smells mixing. No more information could be found in the mouths of villagers, so he circled back to where the pursuit had started. The soft earth was scarred with hoof prints and heavy wheels, and the vegetables were mashed to the soil. Among those Geralt recognized a wheels print that belongs to a wagon that must used for transferring prisoners.
“Gotcha.” Geralt murmured. He followed the print and crossed several streets, making a few turns, and finally, the trace disappeared in front of a solemn building, with a sign that read “Court”. At least, it was more solemn than the rest of the buildings in town. Compared with courts in other towns and cities Geralt had been, this place could only be called a “den”.
He circled the place and found two guards at the front. Lucky for him, there was a ladder that led to the second floor left unguarded. He crouched and sneaked to the bottom of the ladder and began to climb. Reaching the second floor, Geralt tiptoed through the corridor and few closed doors. This place was as silent as grave, allowing him to make a bold plan. A large door that seemed led to a hall emerged in front of him, and there was only one guard left.
This is easy. Hidden behind the corner, Geralt cast Axii, and the guard blinked a few times, seemingly puzzled.
“Leave here and don’t talk to anyone.” Geralt murmured, and the guard obeyed. Walking to the door, Geralt pushed it open and slipped in.
He found the right place. This was the courtroom. Now there was nobody here except an old man in judge’s robe, leaning against the bench. As he approached, Geralt realized this man was snoozing quite soundly. His body stank with beer.
Geralt hesitated for a second and slapped the man in the face.
“What…” the sleeping judge started to move, but he didn’t seemed coming back to himself yet. “Guilty… he’s…guilty…”
“The trial’s over, your honor.” Geralt huffed. “And now you’re going to tell me what happened here. Who is guilty? Why did you deem him guilty?”
The drunken judge glanced at Geralt’s swords on his back. Suddenly he seemed terrified and sober enough. He sat up straight and threw his arms in the air.
“Fine. Fine! I’ll tell you! Everything!! The bard! He raped the girl! Her brothers said so! All four of them! They are elevated in ranks and ability! And I was told that the bard must receive a death sentence because he violated the sacred tradition in this town, which is, women in celebrated family only fuck and marry her brothers! To keep the bloodline pure! Then I did so! Are you sent by them? Are you here checking if I’ve done what I was told? Then go back and tell them I’ve finished the job!”
His heart grew cold as the judge mumbled on and on. At the end of his speech, Geralt’s fists were clenched, the nails digging deep into his palms. He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, then asked:
“Have you seemed the girl? The victim in this case? What did she say?”
“No. Women don’t have a say in here. He raped her so it was her brother’s right being violated. It’s none of her business. They asked for a death sentence, then the bard got a death sentence.”
“Where’s she now?” Geralt managed to say through his teeth.
“Her house, probably. Locked in her room. Wait, why do you care? Who are you?”
“Just give me the address.” Geralt snarled. The judge seemed to be intimidated by his stormy face. An address slipped through his shaking lips.
Geralt left without looking back. He resisted the urge to slam the door or punch the old drunken fool in the face. He jumped off the ladder and rushed to the address in a smooth move, not knowing what he was doing exactly, for his heart was filled with burning rage now.
Why would such place ever existed? Why would women be treated as possessions?And the bard, the criminal in the case, would he be the victim instead?
And why would he looked at him at the precise moment at the market? As if… no, you are over-romanticize things. You are seeing things that’s not there…as if he had been searching for help. And he knew Geralt would.
Geralt hated the word because it had never done him any good, but now there was no other words or explanation for it, because…
It felt like destiny.
The town was small. Before Geralt knew it, he had made it to the house where the girl was in. It was a two-floored house, which was built in bricks and seemed more decent than most of the thatched cottage in town. He circled to the back of the house, jumped on a couple of bales of hay piled up at the corner, and vaulted over the handrail, falling quite elegantly on the balcony of the second floor.
There was a girl sat by the window. Geralt’s appearance made her jumped to her feet, eyes widened. Geralt held up his hands to show he came in peace.
They looked each other up and down. Then, after a minute, Witcher broke the ice first:
“I won’t hurt you. And,” he added with a chagrin, “believe it or not, I’m here to help you. I just need to ask a couple of questions. Firstly, you are the girl they claimed…the bard…” he stopped. How to put this without causing any pain?
“Yes! I am!” To his astonishment, the girl’s expression relaxed immediately. She opened the door to the balcony and ushered him in. Closing the door, she turned to Geralt and lowered her voice:
“You can call me Sheen. There’s someone guarding the door. Please get me out! The front door is locked and the balcony’s too high… We need to hurry… oh, poor Dandelion.” she shook her head with tearful eyes. “What I have gotten him into.”
“Dandelion?” this name did ring a bell. “Is he the one -” he paused, trying hard to recall the gossips he heard from the Metelite Temple and other villages, “performing at King Ervyll’s court? And another court I can’t recall the name. They called him ‘Master Dandelion’, is that him?”
“Oh he used to perform in court? I don’t know any of those.” Sheen shrugged. “I heard people called him ‘Master Dandelion’ though.”
“Fine.” it doesn’t really matter if he heard about the bard before. He reached out and managed a friendly smile, “the name’s Geralt. Glad to meet you, Miss Sheen. I heard about the case and you were imprisoned, and I became suspicious. We must go, now.”
“Agreed.” Sheen’s expression turned serious.
She swiftly put on a cloak and pulled on the hood, holding Geralt’s hand and Geralt helped her drop to the pile of hay on the ground with ease.
Less than half an hour later, they situated themselves in Geralt’s room in the inn. Sheen sighed in relief.
“Why are you helping me?” suddenly she turned and faced Geralt, frowning, “you are a Witcher, I see. Did someone pay you? Was it Maggie?”
“I am paid by no one and I have no idea who this Maggie is.” Geralt replied dryly, having expected this suspicion, “I just hate to see innocent people suffer. Now if you are so kind to let me know what happened…”
Sheen peered at him suspiciously. Then, her shoulders flopped and her head lowered.
“Thank you.” she murmured lightly. “Maggie’s the only friend I can go for help now. I really don’t know what to do. My parents and everybody in this town believe it’s my brothers’ birthright to marry me. But I hate them so much. Yes, they love me, but only as a precious object, like a valuable vase or a fragile doll. I’m suffocating here. I’ve never been treated as an individual. So…” she took a deep breath.
“Last night, I was feeling so low that I went to the bar on my own, because my parents were pressing me to marry one of them, or, they implied, all of them. That makes me sick. Then I saw him in the tavern, the bard, Master Dandelion.” she smiled nervously, immersed in sweet remembrance. “I flipped. The way he looked at me. I, I can’t…”
“Skip that part.” Geralt grimaced. “I can get the gist of it. What happened next?”
“I knew he was just flirting and looking for a lay, but I don’t care.” she fixed her gaze to the ground, “we had a good time, partly because I was elated on how I really act on my behalf once. Then my brothers found out… and they took everything from me.” Looking up, her eyes were filled with tears.
Geralt remained silent, waiting for her to finish.
“I heard when I was locked in the room that they were going to hang him by dusk tomorrow.” suddenly she clenched Geralt by the sleeve, “he was caught because of me! I have to do something! I -”
“We will get him out.” Geralt assured her, patting her on the shoulder briefly. The whole truth emerged out of the water, and a plan formed in his head. But there was still few points that left uncleared.
“What are you preparing to do, Miss Sheen?” he asked. “Are you going to go back to the life you had before and marry your brother? Or do you have other options? Somewhere you can go? Make a living on your own?”
“No! I’m not going back!” squeaked Sheen, her voice filled with panic.
“Then what are you going to do?”
Silence was pervasive in the room, as heavy as stone.
“You need some time to think it through, Miss Sheen.” said Geralt, “It’s too hard to reach him when he’s in the prison. I would suggest we get to him right before the hanging, when less guards and more bystanders are around. I sincerely hope that no blood would be shed, and that depends on you.”
“Me? How is that do with me? I can’t fight or protect people with a sword, like you…” Sheen hesitated.
“Everything.” Geralt looked her in the eyes and she did not shrink. “You can be brave. You can tell them the truth. There are so many things powerful than a sword, Miss Sheen. If you can dissuade the guards from standing in our way, things would be much easier for us.”
“I’ve never…” her eyes widened, sweat breaking from her forehead, “I, I don’t know. I don’t - ”
“Just sleep on it.” Geralt turned to leave. “There’s bread in the bag on the table, for dinner. You can use the bed in the room, and I’ll meditate on the balcony.”
Sheen watched him leave, pulling her own skirts nervously.
*
Meditation is unlike sleeping in many ways. When you sleep, you dream. When you meditate, you think. Meditation was an important part in Witcher training, which helped them psychologically and physically ready to face the beast they were about to slay, and Geralt had learned it the hard way. He touched the light scar at the back of his left arm.
He thought of Sheen, the girl who was relegated to a family property; of this town, the presumptuous and fatuous people; of himself, of the alchemist, of the Griffin he slayed, and of the bard, Dandelion. Why would he decide to help the bard just because of a mere glance? Like he trusted the man subconsciously. Like he knew he wouldn’t commit the crime he had been accused of. Just a whim? Witcher’s instinct?
Night had fallen and gone. When the gigantic bronze bell housed in the Bell Tower struck nine times, Sheen stepped out of the room and Geralt opened his eyes. He could barely recognize the girl in front of him. She was vigorous and full of hope and light was in the eyes.
“I’ve made up my mind.” she declared, “I will stand on the scaffold and tell everyone the truth. I’ll leave this town and do whatever I really want. I don’t know to be anybody’s wife and trapped in this small town for the rest of my life! After we get Master Dandelion out, I’ll go and find Maggie. She’s my childhood friend and lives nearby. She has always encouraged me to leave. We can open a bakery together, or we can travel to other cities… I have my whole life unfolding in front of me!”
Geralt smiled before he realized it. He stood up and stretched his sore legs, letting out a soft sigh.
“Great.” he replied, “I will get us some breakfast. You stay here, in case someone recognizes you and reports to your brothers. Then, the only thing we need to do is to wait until dusk.”
“They must’ve discovered that I’ve disappeared.” murmured Sheen.
“Anyone who wants to get to you must face me first.” Geralt reassured her.
When the dusk came, they’ve had everything planned out. Sheen offered to slip back to the tavern to retrieve Dandelion’s lute.
“I owe him this.” she said guiltily. “I dragged him into this mess. I will be careful. I promise.”
“Then I’ll take him here. Meet us here later.” Geralt said.
Sheen nodded. They rode to the main street that led to the town square where a huge gallows was set, a small group of children playing and chasing each other around it.
“Who’s going to be hung, mother?” A girl asked a woman who looked like her mother.
“A bad fellow. A criminal.” her mother answered.
Geralt pursed his lips hearing this.
“That’s why I will be brave. I’ll clear his name.” said Sheen from behind, obviously heard the conversation too.
Geralt nodded and say no more. They hid in a shadow casted by a storage rack discreetly. Scarcely had them reached there, noise and commotion emerged out in the streets from afar. People were gathering, and both Geralt and Sheen held their breath. The girl’s body was shaking slightly, and Geralt patted her on the hand to calm her down.
The wagon carrying the bard showed up within their sight. And there were no more than two guards surrendered him.
“Come on. Let’s go! Let’s do this!” Sheen whispered urgently behind him.
“We have to wait until he gets out of the wagon. I don’t want to kill anybody to get the key.” Geralt whispered back.
They sat still, watching the whole scene unwrapped in front of them. The bard was escorted to the gallows, and from this far, he was blocked mostly by the excited villagers circled around the gallows.
“Time to go.” Geralt said.
He urged Roach forward. They were under attentions. Even the bard who now stood on the scaffold turned his head to their direction. He could heard the rapid heartbeats of Sheen behind him and he prayed internally that nothing went wrong.
“Be the hero and save your Prince, my princess.”
After they squeezed through the crowd and Sheen was about to dismount, he said with a voice that only she could hear, and she smiled. He watched her yelping and shouting the truth to the crowd, people around him gasping and putting their hands on the mouths.
It went well. Geralt sighed in relief. The guards were frozen to the spot by her subversive words and her bold behavior, not daring to stop her. Maybe they had never seen a woman daring to do things like her did. They thought women were weak, fragile, delicate, trophies for men.
They were wrong.
“No more time for talking.” he called out to the bard mumbling his gratitude to Sheen, “We’re not safe yet. Miss Sheen, meet us at the place we’ve agreed. Master Dandelion, jump on.”
For the first time, the bard raised his head and looked him in the eyes, and he smiled. The smile lightened his slightly tired face and Geralt understood why Sheen was so attracted to him in the first place. Despite his terrible hat and funny clothes, he has a pair of cornflower blue eyes must have made him very attractive to women.
Without a word, the bard jumped on Roach and wrapped his arms around him. The aroma of various flowers enveloped him, which was astonishingly strong given the time this man spent in prison.
“March on, Roach.” he ordered.
*
They took a detour to avoid tails, so it took at least half an hour before they returned to the inn Geralt was staying. The bard was unusually quite, probably still trying to recover from the shock. Exhausted, Dandelion flopped to the bed the moment they entered the room. And Geralt took his time packing things up, waiting for Sheen to come back patiently, during which the bard peeked from the corner of his eyes, obviously picking the right time to speak. And he thought Geralt didn’t notice.
Geralt patiently waiting for that as well.
“You were the one at the tavern.” Finally, the bard broke the silence when he had done packing. And now up close, he surprisingly found himself recognizing the voice.
“Yes, when you played.” he had no choice but voice his discovery. Turning to face him, he braced himself for harsh comments on Witchers or his scars or whatever incoming.
“No,” Dandelion said, “When you defended two elves from a bunch of drunkards.”
He didn’t see that coming. This surprised him more than he was allowed to show. He didn’t quite remember the bar fight himself. Some parts of him took a interest in the man in front of him immediately, other parts shouted for him to stay back and don’t trust others in an instant.
“Not important.” finally, the latter part won and he dropped his head and stood up.
“Miss Sheen will be here soon. She’ll explain the rest of the details of our plan to you and get you out of the city through a secret tunnel, then we’ll escorted her to her friend Maggie’s place.” he said.
“Your plan? How does that have anything to do with you? Why are you helping me? I don’t even know your name!” Dandelion demanded.
Fine, the right question came.
“The name’s Geralt. Of Rivia. As for why I’m helping you,” he paused for a long while, “take it as a professional curiosity. I saw you running through the market and did some research.”
“Oh, a Witcher’s profession, you mean?” the bard indicated the his eyes with two fingers briefly. There’s an insolent smile on his face, “but I don’t have anything to pay for your service, Master Witcher. Geralt, sorry. See? All my stuff has been taken by the guards, or the four brothers. I don’t know. Oh my lute and my scripts…”
“There’s no need.” he could feel the frustration in his gut, and he decided to beat around the bush this time. “I’m not only helping you. Miss Sheen is in need of my help as well. Then, when you’re out of the town, you can always find a new lute and rewrite your poetry.”
He would have told him that Sheen had gone to fetch him his lute under normal circumstances, but he was slightly pissed unreasonably. He didn’t know if it was the bard’s problem or he only had himself to blame. Suddenly the bard yelled and jumped out of the bed, cutting off his thoughts. It turned out that the bard had a horse which was stilled in the stable of the tavern.
“Geralt. I would give you everything I have and the coins I earn in the next three months if you would be so nice to retrieve him for me!” the bard screamed, throwing his hands up in the air in despair.
It was quite amusing.
“That won’t be necessary,” he replied, “I happen to need to get Roach out as well, so I won’t go with you two, and I can retrieve your horse for you on the way. What’s it like?”
“It’s a fat grey gelding. I appreciate your help so much, Master Witcher.”
“Save the formality, Master Dandelion. It’s just Geralt.”
“So save your formality as well, Geralt. It’s just Dandelion.”
The absurdity of this name tempted him to say, “It’s not your real name.”
A amusing smile broke on the other man’s face and he sat up straight, putting on the most dramatic grumpy face he’d ever seen, and said:
“My real name is too famous to disclose.”
He is teasing me. Geralt suddenly realized. He’s not afraid of me. Plus, he thinks I’m intriguing. As Dandelion laughed with a smug expression on his face, Geralt found himself smiling too. He didn’t even know when he began to smile.
“Drama queen.” Geralt mumbled, trying to cover his mild embarrassment, “Dandelion it is then.”
Sheen arrived at the right time. She brought the lute, and Dandelion was over the moon. He caressed his precious instrument as if it had been his lover. But Sheen interrupted him.
“My brothers and the guards are looking for you all over town now, threatening to geld you and cover you in pitch and sawdust.”
“Don’t panic.” Geralt spoke before Dandelion could make things dramatic, “just do the things I told you, and I’ll meet you two outside the gate.”
Dandelion hesitated for a brief second, but seemed to decide to trust him.
“Fine. See you outside the gate.” he said firmly.
After they left, he went downstairs and put his belongings in Roach’s brand new saddlebag. She sniffed him, as if asking whether he would mounted, but he had another thing to tend to.
Pegasus was right where Dandelion had left him. It truly was one of the dumbest gelding Geralt’d ever seen, lazy, fat, short-legged, docile, and too trusting, maybe influenced by his master.
He led the horse out to the main road. Meanwhile, a troop of guards passed him, yelling:
“Fine the prisoner! Find the bard!”
That must be what Sheen have mentioned. Geralt let his hood drop deeper to cover his eyes and sped up.
He led the two horse out of the town without causing any trouble. Sheen and Dandelion was waiting for him under an old oak tree. At the sight of him, Dandelion beamed and rushed to greet him, hugging him tightly for a moment and said:
“Oh, I don’t know how to express my gratitude, brother. I’ve already owed you my life, now my horse! I don’t even know how- ”
“A ‘thank you’ will be enough.” Geralt said, making an effort to keep his voice from getting too passionate. It was hard to tell whether the bard was sincere or not, but this bastard’s overdramatic words still warmed his heart up. He didn’t even remember when was the last time somebody had hugged him and used more than five words to tell him they were grateful.
Or called him “brother”.
“Thank you.” Dandelion said, leaning back a little to give him a genuine look, then he switched his attention to his horse. “Oh, my poor Pegasus! I - ”
“Time to go, Dandelion.” he interrupted the bard. “Sheen, mount Roach. That fat gelding can’t take two persons at once. We’ve got to hurry.”
Sheen obeyed with pleasure.
They left Gulet, a small town where he’d spent an eventful period of time. After riding for an hour or so, it was almost dark, and the silhouette of a smaller village finally emerged in front of them.
“This is where Maggie lived.” Sheen said. They dismounted and Sheen picked up her little package.
Before they parted with Sheen, she hugged both of them tightly.
“Thank you. Two of you. For everything.”she smiled, “I would never have been so brave and free without you. Remember to pay me a visit whenever you’re around this place.”
“Of course. Plus, I’m the one who should say thank you.” said Dandelion.
“I’ll try.” said Geralt. He tried to say something more, but nothing came out. So he just nodded.
They waited until Sheen had entered one of the houses and the door had shut. Then they kept on riding, till the light came from all the villages and towns could barely be seen. Geralt could see better in the dark, and he recognized a crossroads from afar, which made him say what had to be said.
“I guess this is where you and I part ways.”
“No.” To his great surprise, the bard answered almost immediately. The shock made him halt the horse. The bard halt beside him, obviously struggling to add something as explanation.
“Yes, I guess we should part ways indeed, but,” Dandelion went on hurriedly. He proceeded with caution:
“The four brothers and their men are still out there looking for me. I need to disappear for a while. Here’s not far from the Valley of Flowers, The Edge of the World. Heard about it before? The elves called it Dol Blathanna. It’s a perfect place for man like me. Plus, it also has the most lovely views and I’ve heard there’s some monsters, hiding in the mountains. It’d be great if we go there together, and we can keep company on the road.”
This didn’t sounded too bad. Dol Blathana was one of the few places on the continent he'd never visited. But did he meant what he said? Or did he have ulterior motives? He watched Dandelion’s face carefully in the dark.
With the protection of the darkness, when he thought no one could see, Dandelion’s face seemed more relaxed with his expression and gestures, which meant more honest and closer to his true self. Less dramatic play-acting. Geralt decided to try one more thing before he gave in:
“You mean you need a free bodyguard.” said Geralt dryly.
“No!” cried Dandelion, “I mean I need a friend.”
Before Geralt could answer, he added, “I guess you need a friend as well?”
Geralt was left speechless. It is childish, he thought, naïve, sentimental. How old is this damn bard, twelve? Whining for a friend? A friend? He has friends, of course. Nenneke, his wolves brothers, Vesemir, and - he stopped. His brain stubbornly refused to provide another name. Calanthe? Iola? Hilarious.
A conclusion was slowly forming in his brain, but he refused to voice it even inside his head. But the crude conclusion broke out itself, which was: in his more than sixty years of life, there are less than ten people who would be glad to see and talk to him, most of them are his fellow Witchers, plus a nun.
And, when was the last time he saw any of them? Half a year ago, at least?
Dandelion was peering at him with a undisguised anxious face. He’s sincere enough, more sincere than any other time since Geralt had met him. He would make a good company, with his easygoing attitude, his musical talents, his talkativeness, and his good sense of humor.
But he wouldn’t admit that Dandelion was right, at least, not for now.
“The Valley of Flowers, you said?” he dodged the question, “Fine. Let’s go there. It’ll take couple of days. But now we need a place to camp first.”
Dandelion smiled. The smile reminded Geralt of a little puppy that was given a bone. Inconceivably happy.
“Terrific, my friend.” he replied.
Maybe that was why when they camped later and Dandelion found himself without a bedroll, Geralt offered to share. He was more excited about having a traveling company than he had thought he would be. Nonetheless, when he fell asleep that night, he was humming a melody that he couldn’t quite name.