Work Text:
“Any last words?” the executioner asked as he came towards Geralt, dragging the pad of his thumb over the sword’s edge to test its sharpness – purely for show, of course. If it happened to be blunt, he would simply hack a few more times.
But Geralt didn’t get in any last words. A sharp thump sounded, and the man wheezed.
“Fuck,” he rasped before collapsing from the arrow in his back.
Behind him, Vernon Roche, accompanied by an archer, appeared. Geralt’s heart skipped a beat, and he grinned madly.
“Free the Witcher!” Roche shouted. “Then Radovid!”
Chaos broke out, and Geralt ducked under the grabbing hand of a soldier. Turning from the hips, he whirled around and slashed at one of them, then smashed the pommel of his sword into the face of another. He rolled and appeared by Roche’s side, who was locked in a stalemate with one of Radovid’s men, swords raised and clashing. Geralt used his momentum and drove the tip of his sword into the armour gap at the man’s armpit.
When he straightened up, the commotion had moved farther down the bridge. Roche turned towards Geralt.
“All right?”
“Mhm. Thanks for your help,” Geralt said, then grinned. “Strange, though. Second time you saved me from being killed with one of your arrows.”
Roche scoffed. “At least this time you deserved to be saved more than you did last time.”
“Ouch.” The grin persisted.
“Oh, come on.” Roche peered down the bridge. “Plan’s gone to hell... so be it, we’ll improvise. Follow me, Geralt! We must get to Radovid before reinforcements arrive.”