Chapter Text
Gwenna had arrived in the little village at the base of the mountain the evening before, in time to get a room and dinner before crashing after a long day of travel. Her yearly trip across the continent took around a month when she allowed herself room to take day-long breaks or if something were to go wrong. This year, she was the first of them to reach the village. Some of the other witchers that she wasn't as close with had already come through and headed up the mountain, but by now Gwenna tended to hover at the village and head up with Eskel. Some years, though, she headed up with Lambert, Coen, or even Geralt. This year she wanted nothing to do with Geralt, and had even considered avoiding the keep altogether and staying in Oxenfurt for the winter to be there for Dandelion.
She'd been assisting with his efforts as the Sandpiper, watching him throw himself full force into saving the persecuted elves. She believes he's genuinely passionate about the cause. She saw him when he returned from his visit to the Great Oak. He'd gone to connect with artists and great minds, to distract himself from the heartbreak of how Geralt had hurt him. Gwenna had been mid-semester of teaching at Oxenfurt, and couldn't go with, she had classes to teach. And then Dandelion returned, face haunted and sad in a way different from his heartbreak, but there was something familiar in his eyes. A hard determination he often held when he set his mind to a task. She had no doubt that using his fame to hide his Sandpiper activities was a cause he would stand by, and it was incredible bravery even if he didn't see it that way. It was a distraction, though, he was throwing himself into a different cause he was passionate about so he didn't think about the Witcher he'd spent the better part of two decades traveling the continent with. Gwenna had watched him perform his newest song, though, before she left. Burn was brutal, and during the performance seemed to be the only time Dandelion allowed himself to feel that pain.
Gwenna had written some notes of encouragement before she left, tucking them into his room where he'd find them over the winter, and giving a few to their mutual friends to pass on when they thought he'd need it. She wouldn't be able to contact him until after winter, and she wanted to make sure she could still support him anyway.
Though Gwenna had considered not staying at Kaer Morhen this winter, she couldn't bring herself to allow Geralt's stupidity to push her away from the rest of the family she'd found in the Witchers. That and when she'd mentioned her hesitance to Dandelion he'd had a very strong opinion about the matter.
"You'd dare to let me stop you from seeing them? Really?" He’d huffed out, waving his arms about. His hair was longer than she'd ever seen it in their university days, but it suited him, fluffing out from the brush of air as he had turned on his heel to face her, "Absolutely absurd, Geralt is not so big a deal that he should affect that."
At Gwenna's raised eyebrow he scoffed and had begun pacing again, "Oh you know what I mean. You've been going there for, what, ten years now? Don't let some little spat with Geralt keep you from going."
"It's not just a spat, though, Dandelion, I see how he hurt you."
Dandelion waves off her concern, "Oh I'm fine, too busy with all this Sandpiper business to even think about that witcher."
"...Right."
Nonetheless, she'd allowed Dandelion to talk her into taking her yearly trip, so here she was, working her way through a bowl of porridge while she waits for Eskel's arrival in the village to head up the mountain.
"Gwenna!" A familiar voice calls from the entrance of the inn, making her turn. Her face lights up when she spots Coën, the griffin witcher who had taken to staying at the keep with them on and off over the last several years.
"Coën!" She rises to her feet to greet him with a warm hug, "I didn't know you were staying with us this winter."
"Well, I ran into Lambert a week or so back and figured it wouldn't hurt."
She cranes her neck to look past Coën and towards the door, "Lambert's here too?"
"He's stabling our horses, then he'll be in."
Gwenna nods, leaning back and grinning up at Coën, "Survived the year, then?"
"Of course," he nods, letting her lead him over to her table.
"Did you happen to see Eskel on your way in? He hasn't shown up yet." Gwenna asks, she's not too worried, really. She only arrived last night, and sometimes there were several days between her arrival and Eskel's.
"Nah, I'm sure he's fine, though."
Gwenna nods, taking a bite of porridge just as Lambert walks in and looks across the inn. He spots them and crosses the room in a few long strides, sliding between the tables with more grace than should be allowed for a man of his size. She swallows quickly and stands again, a hand on her hip, "Well look what the cat dragged in. Or griffin, I suppose."
"Gwenna, you're looking older."
"And you look the same as ever, when was the last time you washed your hair?"
There's a moment of silence, during which Coën rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, before Lambert opens his arms and Gwenna hugs him.
"Just can't help yourselves, huh?" Coën mutters with a snort.
"Oh hush," Gwenna waves him off, pulling back from the hug and motioning Lambert to the other chair at her table.
The conversation comes easily, trading stories about their trips to the village, and bits and ends about what the year held. Lambert clearly held back a couple stories, wanting to share them with the rest of the witchers up at the keep all at once rather than retelling it. Gwenna didn't mind, Lambert was a good storyteller, and while his humor was more crude than hers, she appreciated it. You couldn't be friends with at least half a dozen bards without appreciating some crude humor.
"We can head up the mountain tomorrow," Lambert offers, looking up from the porridge he'd ordered, "Stock up on supplies tonight just to be sure and then head out."
Gwenna hesitates, "I don't know, I may wait for Eskel before heading up."
"Well, the weather hasn't turned yet," Coën points out, "We can wait a couple days for him to show up then all head up together."
Lambert shrugs noncommittally, "Works for me, I guess, I've got enough coin for a room for a couple nights."
Gwenna nods, "Fair enough, we can still restock supplies today, if you want."
It's day three of being in the village, and Lambert is ready to head up.
"He'll be fine, he's made the trek at least a hundred times," Lambert says, exasperated, "Just come up the mountain with us, he'll meet us up there when he gets here."
"You two can go without me," Gwenna offers, "I don't mind waiting."
"And have Ves chew me out for leaving you down here? No thank you. We three will go up together and Eskel will meet us there."
"I'm not a child, Lambert."
"No but you are human, and obnoxiously stubborn."
She snorts, "You're one to talk."
Coën enters the inn, crossing over to them, "Our stuff is all packed to go," he tells them, "I went ahead and loaded up your stuff too, Gwenna. Do you really need so many books?"
"Yes." She nods, crossing her arms, "You packed my stuff, too?"
"Well, all your books and that, yeah. Your clothes look still packed but I left them in case you needed something before we head out."
Gwenna looks between the two Witchers, lips pursed. They both have a good few inches on her, and both have scars and armor and swords, but she knows them too well to be particularly intimidated anymore. "So we're heading up today?"
"Yes, go get the rest of your shit sorted so we can leave, I'm not paying for another night in the inn." Lambert grunts, earning a little huff from her.
"Fine, fine," she sighs finally, "I'll meet you two outside in a few minutes."
--
The trek up the mountain is relatively uneventful. They've all made the trip multiple times, so even though Gwenna's stomach still turns a little when they reach the Killer, she takes a steadying breath and heads across with Lambert ahead and Coën behind her, just in case. They get across with steady control of their horses, despite the beast's inclination to spook at the thin trail and the steep drop down the mountain. Other than that, the path up to Kaer Morhen is decent, the snow a thin layer over the grass even as they near the top of the mountain.
Vesemir is on the steps of the keep as they enter the courtyard and dismount, the old witcher descending to greet them. He pats Lambert's shoulder, "Good to see you," he says with a soft smile, "Glad you made it up together."
Coën nods, "Thank you for the invite as always, Vesemir."
Vesemir hums, "You're always welcome, Coën, no need to thank me."
Gwenna smiles when Vesemir turns to her, and opens her arms for a hug. He accepts, returning the embrace.
"It's good to see you, Vesemir," she says as they pull back, "As always, the journey is well worth it."
Vesemir hums, a little smile on his lips, "Let's get you three inside." He decides, moving over to help them unload their packs from their horses. He lets out a little sigh when he picks up Gwenna's bag of books and writing supplies, "You know I have books here."
"And I've read most of them by now, besides, those are my current topics of study." Gwenna shoots back easily, grabbing her other pack with her necessities.
"I tried to tell her," Lambert calls as he stables his horse and gets his pack.
Gwenna had claimed the usual room she and Eskel shared, with two beds and a mostly patched up wall. It was letting a breeze in again, so she'd have to patch it or get one of the witchers to, but she could manage between her furs and the fireplace stocked with wood. She sets up her half of the room for the winter, taking some time to settle and push down her worry about Eskel before heading for the main hall for dinner. Eskel would be fine, it wasn't even late or particularly snowy yet, he had at least a few days before she needed to start worrying.
The first day back, Gwenna settled in with the witchers, helping Vesemir in the kitchen and spending the evening catching up with the others about their trips to the keep. The second day back, she settled into the library to study while Vesemir ran the witchers through some drills, then retired before gwent and ale got too raucous in the main hall, though she heard the echoes of the fun throughout the keep as she settled into bed. The third day she cracked and asked Vesemir to have someone help fix up the window in her room properly, or at least functionally, as she was shivering under her furs and Eskels.
The afternoon of the third day, Gwenna was officially worried, even as she chatted and laughed easily with Everard and Gwain. Eskel and Geralt both weren't here yet, and the snow was falling outside. If they didn't hurry the pass could close up.
"Oi, Gwenna," Gwain says, snapping his fingers, "Quit sulking over Eskel being late, we're gonna play a round of Gwent."
"I'll beat you at Gwent."
Gwain snorts, "Sure you will."
Gwenna shares a look with Everard, then shifts to properly face Gwain, holding her hand out, "Alright, let's play."
Gwain passes her a deck, but the doors open before they can set up their game. Everyone goes quiet as Geralt enters, a young, blonde girl trailing behind him. "Lambchop," Coën calls, getting Lambert's attention.
"Here comes trouble," Everard says with a snicker.
Geralt pushes his hood off as Lambert and Coën stand to meet him.
Gwenna had been having an easier time pushing away her worry for Geralt compared to her worry for Eskel, given she was annoyed at him about how he treated Dandelion. However upon seeing he had a young girl, presumably the child surprise Dandelion had mentioned in passing at one point, she was more worried.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Lambert asks, crossing his arms, "We thought you got lost, or killed."
"Not yet. Sorry." Geralt says, a grin on his lips. He's met Lambert and Coën in the middle of the room, while the young girl has hung back, just inside the entrance.
Lambert chuckles, stepping forward to hug Geralt, "Brother!"
"So, he returns." Coën says, getting his own hug from Geralt.
The other witchers stand to greet Geralt in turn, while Gwenna stays seated, turning to watch the event and keep an eye on the young girl.
"Wolf," Vesemir says, "You're home, finally."
"Vesemir... yeah," Geralt looks at Ciri as she reaches his shoulder, "Had to make a few stops."
Everyone else sets about greeting Geralt, and Gwenna finally stands, approaching the young girl.
"I'm Gwenna, and you are?" She asks gently, smiling at her. The girl is watching Geralt with the others, clearly confused by the whole scene before her.
"Ciri," the young girl says hesitantly, glancing back over at the witchers, "Are... you a witcher too?"
"Oh! No, I'm a historian. But I've been visiting in the winter for years now." Gwenna gives her the shorthand of it, glancing towards the door as if Eskel will walk in. He doesn't.
Ciri frowns a little, glancing towards Geralt greeting his brothers again, "I've never seen him so..."
"Relaxed?" Gwenna suggests, "Jaskier does-" she catches herself, "Geralt feels safe and at home here, he's able to breathe. That's what this place has become for the Witchers of the Wolf School." She offers Ciri a smile, "Come sit with us, I'm sure everyone is eager to meet you."
All things considered, Ciri seemed to slip in among the Witcher ranks pretty well. Gwenna could see the more noble things about her, the way she held herself or sat at a table, but she saw the child of her too, the young girl hurt by the war across the continent, the girl who was a child surprise to a witcher.
Gwenna had returned to her seat near Everard and Gwain, though the game of Gwent was forgotten for the moment in favor of regaling each other with stories from the year. Gwenna's stories tended to be nowhere near as engaging for a whole room of witchers as any one of the witcher's stories, but she didn't mind sitting back and listening. Lambert especially was a good story teller, not shying away from brutal fights or crude humor, and though he had a habit of embellishing his stories a bit, there was always a decent amount of truth to it. Dandelion would love to get to talk to Lambert, he'd get far more stories out of him than he gets out of Geralt. But then again, she's pretty sure part of the charm of Geralt for Dandelion was the chase, the prying for details and information and then creating stories out of his grunted replies.
"So there I am, freezing my bollocks off in the middle of a grain field for the second straight night," Lamber is starting to stand from his seat as he regales them with his favorite job of the year, "when the farmer’s wife comes sneaking out to tell me that I’m wasting my time. It wasn’t a mora her husband saw leaving that room. No. It was the fucking field hand!" His voice rises at the delivery of the twist, drawing laughter from the gathered witchers, Lambert giving a little spin to look at everyone, "Oh, and now she’s wailing," here his voice takes on a ridiculous high tone, “Oh, what are we gonna do? My husband won’t pay you if you don’t deliver a mora head!” So I pulled out my sword," he makes a motion of drawing his sword, imitating holding it in front of him upright, taking on a dramatic, growling voice, "and I said… “Bet he’ll pay double for the field hand’s.” "
His comment earns another round of laughter and comments.
"Good ol' Lambchop." Coën calls with a grin, sipping his ale.
Lambert grins, "She returned with two horses and a fur rug. Best job I had all year."
As Lambert turns to pick up his ale, Vesemir steps up to draw the attention of the gathered family, "Each of your faces is cause enough for celebration. You’re safe. You made it back. You made it home." He raises his glass, earning rounds of agreements and sips.
Coën gets to his feet, long gone were the days where the Griffin worried about his place among the wolves. He may insist on thanking Vesemir for the invite each year, but he knows he belongs, "Here’s to another winter, together."
"To breath in our lungs." Gage speaks up, voice deep and rumbling. He's quieter, like Geralt, but he's also one of the older ones of the Witchers left, one who was helping Vesemir guard the newly mutated young ones during the sacking.
"To the brothers." Geralt says, raising his glass. Given the important moment of family, Gwenna refrains from shooting him an annoyed look, she may feel petty, but she knows how to behave herself, she's no longer a young university student.
"To forgetting the fucking Path!" Any annoyance fades away at the sound of Eskel's voice, and Gwenna straightens up, eyes finding him coming down the steps of the main entrance, his armor is a bit disheveled, one of his sleeves ripped and hanging wrong, the spikes off center from where they usually sit on his shoulders. His hair, usually neatly pulled back from his face is falling across it in messy strands, "For one fucking night. Who's ready?"
Geralt is the first to set his drink down and greet Eskel with a broad grin, followed by Gwenna, who holds back to allow the two close brothers to greet one another.
"Eskel!"
"Eskel's back!"
Geralt hugs Eskel and Eskel leans into it. Gwenna watches him close his eyes and breathe a moment, and her concern spikes further.
Geralt says something as they pull apart, and Eskel chuckles.
"You should see the other guy," he says, patting Geralt's shoulder.
Gwenna steps in as Geralt steps back, leaning up to give Eskel a hug. He embraces her and for a moment she fools herself into thinking everything is okay, "I was worried you weren't going to make it this winter," she admits softly to him. She knows the Witcher's can hear her if they want, but they've stopped making unnecessary comments about her and Eskel's friendship for the most part.
"I made it, probably for the best you didn't wait in the village," he adds with a breathless chuckle, pulling back.
She pushes his hair from his face, frowning at him in concern. He catches her gaze, but he doesn't make much effort to ease her concern. Instead, he turns to share the story of his recent fight that left him running late. Gwenna hangs back where he left her, listening.
"The bout lasted six hours. I'd have got the fucker, too, if hadn’t lost my elixirs," He explains to some laughter from the others, swinging a bag off of his shoulder that wasn't his usual pack, "Took her hand, though." He throws the bag on the floor and there's a small clattering as it lands.
The action earned murmurs from the witchers as everyone craned to get a look at his prize, to figure out what it is. Eskel turns away from the witchers for a moment, and the expression on his face... simply doesn't look like Gwenna's Eskel. The grin isn't his usual playful one, or even the pained one when he's trying to reassure her after a rough monster fight. There's something.... unhinged about it. Before she can question him, though, he's turning to the others as they recognize the hand.
"Is that a leshy?"
"Walked like one," Eskel says lowly, "Talked like one.... sort of."
"Sort of?" Gage repeats, on his feet now to get a look at the hand in the bag.
Geralt looks down at it, "I haven't crossed a leshy in a while."
"Not in Kaedwen." Lambert agrees, taking a drink of his ale.
"Well, count yourselves lucky," Eskel says, his free hand moving to his injured arm, "Unless your aching for the sting of one of their fucking roots." He manages a weak chuckle near the end of the sentence, but it sounds more breathless and pained than anything.
It must be more painful than Eskel is even letting on, given the amount of curses he's dropped in the two minutes since he entered the door rival Lambert, and normally Lambert wins that prize in a landslide.
Vesemir looks at Eskel across the tables, and his words are steady, considering, "FIre through the heart is the only thing that puts one down. Six hours in, that didn't occur to you?"
That earns a smattering of laughter from the other Witchers, though Vesemir doesn't seem to be joking around. He sees what Gwenna sees, she hopes. Something is wrong. Eskel doesn't forget those sorts of things, even without his Elixirs he should have been able to use fire against the Leshy, with how skilled he was at signs. A fight taking that long was not usually his style, either. It wore the fighter down too much, and with a creature like a Leshy, it didn't play to a witcher's advantage to try and outlast it.
Ciri lets out a little laugh, loud enough to draw attention to herself, and Eskel looks at her as if seeing her for the first time.
Eskel approaches her slowly, each step echoing, and Ciri's face drops, taking a drink of her juice to cover her awkward response.
Eskel leans down to her level, frowning, "And who the hell are you?"
Ciri swallows and turns to set her glass down, and then she straightens, a picture of royal grace, "Princess Cirilla of Cintra, pleasure to meet you."
Gwenna watches as Eskel eyes her, then straightens. He glances around at the Witchers, and for a moment it's only a suffocating silence. Then Everard is standing to properly greet Eskel and the moment breaks. She can't help watching Eskel's every move, though, a frown tugging at her face before she realizes and makes an attempt at smoothing her expression into a more neutral one.
Eskel slips into conversation with the other witchers, and Gwenna shares a worried look with Vesemir, moving around the hall to meet him.
"Something's off with him, right?" She asks Vesemir softly as they walk out of the main hall and into the kitchens behind it, out of earshot of the witchers in the hall.
Vesemir nods, "Something is very wrong." He agrees, "But I can't say what. It may just be a more severe injury affecting his attitude."
"Well we need to figure out what, if not for him then at least for Ciri's safety." Gwenna says, "I didn't like the way he was looking at her. And you- you should have seen his face after her dropped the leshy hand. His smile... it wasn't him."
Vesemir nods again, slowly, "Perhaps we should let him settle in, then broach the subject."
Gwenna sighs a little, glancing back towards the hall, "I may go see if he has any of his supplies out in the stables, I hope Scorpion and Lil' Bleater are alright."
Vesemir hums his assent, letting her head off.
Gwenna turns down the hall just in time to see Eskel disappearing around a bend and Ciri standing in the middle of the hall with a frown on her face. Gwenna approaches Ciri first, "Are you okay? He didn't- he's not usually like this."
Ciri nods a little, "I'm okay, just looking for a good room."
"Let us know if you find one that just needs a little patch up, Vesemir will have someone fix it, I've got to have someone patch up the window in mine and Eskel's usual room." Gwenna offers her a smile, but her eyes are darting down the way Eskel had gone despite herself. She needs to figure out what's going on with him.
"I will." Ciri agrees softly, nodding.
Gwenna nods a bit, giving Ciri another look-over before sweeping down the hall after Eskel. His strides are longer than hers, and it takes her a bit to catch up, but she falls into step beside him as he goes down the hall their usual room rests in. "I've already got my side of the room sorted," she tells him, forcing her usual casualty into her voice, "Plenty of space for your things, though, which I took the liberty of fetching off of Scorpion." She adds, shifting the bag on her arm so he can see it.
Eskel gives a little grunt, "You didn't have to do that."
"Figured I might as well." She shrugs, "You seem a bit... out of it. Will you let me look at your shoulder?"
He pushes open the door to their room with his good arm, holding the door for her as he gives her a look, "It's fine. Hurts, but I'll live."
"You said you lost your elixir's." Gwenna reminds him, setting his bag on the old wooden dresser that sat near the window, opening it up to start sorting his things. After so many years visiting Kaer Morhen, and more than one little trip with him out and about the continent, Gwenna and Eskel had a bit of a routine, and she knew where and how he liked his things. "We'll have to get you some from the lab so you heal up properly."
"I'll manage." Eskel grunts, which earns him a huff from Gwenna.
"The whole point of those mutagens is that you don't have to. You have herbs and elixirs to help," she turns from his bag, which indeed has no potions or elixirs, to face him, crossing her arms, "why are you acting so odd?"
Eskel frowns, "I'm not acting odd I'm just in pain, I just need to distract myself."
"What, by drowning your pain in ale and white gull?"
"Do you have a better idea?" He steps closer, looking down at her.
She looks up at him, not wavering, "Medicine and elixir's, and letting someone with two working arms wrap that shoulder properly. Depending on what Vesemir says, maybe a soak in the hot springs."
He scoffs, but instead of pulling back, steps closer still, looking down so their faces are only inches apart, "What if I'd rather just be distracted? Not have to think about all this nonsense of witchers and magic and monsters."
"We can do that after-"
He loops an arm around her suddenly, pulling her into him, dipping his head down so his lips are only a breath from hers, "What if I want a distraction, Gwen?"
Gwenna shifts and puts her hands to his chest, "Now I know something is wrong." She says, carefully prying herself away from him. For a moment, he resists, keeping her close, but then he lets go, stepping back with a frown. Gwenna has no interest in matters of sex, and Eskel rarely does, and they'd long since learned that about each other and been relieved by the fact. It had been a relief to learn that their dearest friend, their companion and partner, felt the same. There was no obligation or interest in sex, so the fact that he was proposing it in such a.... an insistent way meant something was very, very wrong.
Eskel shakes his head, "Forget it," he growls, turning on his heel and stalking out of the room. Gwenna lets him go, mind reeling. Either that wasn't Eskel, or something was messing with his mind. She firmly believes that her Eskel, were he to find he were interested in sex with her, would have broached it in conversation, not action. He would have backed off the moment she expressed a lack of interest in the matter. Nothing about how this conversation had gone was right. Nothing that had happened since he arrived felt right.