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Sea-silver is one of the most valuable substances in the world for several reasons. One of those reasons is how hard it is to collect. It requires a mage, and a net made of virgin's hair, and the perfect weather naturally occurring at sunrise on midsummer's day. The net must be hauled into the boat in one movement, and emptied into a bowl of pure crystal, and then covered at once and kept hidden until a full day has passed.
Once it has set, its true virtues become apparent: it is as strong and flexible as steel, and has the peculiar property of negating all magic cast upon it. This makes it incredibly valuable for protective amulets, of course, and also for a witcher's swords.
Geralt, like every witcher he knows, has long daydreamed of having a sea-silver sword. Unfortunately, they are both incredibly rare and very very expensive. The few witchers who do acquire such treasures usually do so by saving very wealthy nobles who also happen to be capable of gratitude, which is frankly unusual. Honestly, Geralt rather suspects that such tales are fantasies made up to conceal daring thefts. He can't really blame the thieves; he would have been rather unbearably tempted himself, if he'd ever had the opportunity to obtain such a sword.
These days, he could probably get his hands on one without stealing it. Even if Sir Geralt of Rivia, master of Corvo Bianco, is still not wealthy enough to afford one, Geralt the Empress’s foster-father could probably ask and have one delivered to his doorstep. But that seems like cheating somehow.
So instead here he is in the predawn gloaming, out in the middle of the ocean in a tiny boat with Eskel and Yennefer - always a slightly hazardous combination, since even if he and Yennefer are no longer soulbound and have firmly decided they are better as friends, and he and Eskel have finally gotten their heads on straight (Lambert may or may not have locked them in a cellar in Corvo Bianco until they stopped pining at each other, the helpful asshole) and are clear on how important they are to each other, Eskel and Yennefer still edge around each other like a pair of wary cats who both want a particularly tasty bit of fish. Geralt, as the fish in question, finds this mildly exasperating but also bizarrely flattering.
Thankfully, though, gathering sea-silver is an involved enough process that Yennefer doesn't have any attention left over to snipe at Eskel. They're all focused very intently on the horizon as the sky grows lighter and lighter. Eskel has the net clasped in his hands - finding enough virgins in Toussaint of all places was a whole quest of its own, and involved Geralt getting harangued by a prioress and also getting sidetracked into breaking a fascinating little curse on the nunnery fountain - and Geralt has the cold-iron lid for the crystal bowl held tightly ready, and Yennefer is poised with her hands outstretched over the dark water, purple Chaos glinting at her fingertips.
The sun crests the horizon, and the sea around their tiny boat turns all at once to gleaming silver. Geralt gasps at the beauty of the sight; Eskel whispers a soft and fervent curse.
Yennefer makes a sharp, elegant gesture, and the spell pours out over the water beside the boat; Geralt can see the silver edges of the lapping wavelets solidify. Eskel casts the net with perfect timing, a beautiful unfurling arc, and then gathers it up and heaves. The dripping net rises from the water, and Eskel twists and grasps the bottom of the net and pours and Geralt claps the lid onto the bowl as soon as the last little shard rings into the crystal.
They've practiced the whole sequence half a hundred times in the little lake near Corvo Bianco, with a net of perfectly normal horsehair filled with pebbles and a bowl made of granite. The practice appears to have paid off. Though they won't be sure until tomorrow night.
Yennefer sinks down onto the wooden seat with a little gasp of weariness, and Geralt hands her a flask of well-watered wine. She drains half of it in a long swallow. Eskel folds the net up neatly and tucks it under the seat, then looks down at his hands, which are dripping silver. “Huh.”
“Huh,” Geralt agrees, catching a drop. It turns to seawater as soon as it touches his hand.
“Oh, fascinating,” Yennefer says, leaning closer. “I've never heard of it doing that.”
“Well, it's not usually a magic-user doing the net-hauling,” Eskel says thoughtfully.
“Inherent Chaos prolonging the effect of the spell,” Yennefer says, eyes lighting with interest. “I wonder if it also loses its properties in sunlight?”
Eskel raises his hands until the light hits them fully, and they all watch curiously as the silver doesn't turn to seawater but instead seems to sink into his skin.
“Huh,” Eskel says.
“Does it hurt?” Geralt asks, frowning in worry.
“Doesn't feel like anything, really,” Eskel says, wiggling his fingers. Geralt reaches out to catch his hand; it feels perfectly normal, callused and warm, and the silver doesn't vanish under Geralt’s touch.
“Can you still cast Signs?” Yennefer asks.
“Fuck,” Eskel says, eyes widening, and gestures Quen. Gold shimmers into place around him, just as it ought.
“Thank fuck,” Geralt says.
“So this has different properties,” Yennefer muses.
“Study it once we're back on shore,” Eskel says dryly, and bends to unship the oars. Geralt nods and grabs his own oars, and Yennefer steadies the bowl, holding the lid tightly in place, as they row towards the beach.
It turns out that as best Yennefer can deduce, the silver on Eskel’s hands does have the same properties as normal sea-silver: it blocks any spell cast at him, as long as he intercepts it with a hand rather than letting it hit his body. It also looks beautiful, in Geralt's opinion, and he's frankly delighted the first time they have a command performance at the Duchess's court and Eskel is announced as Eskel Silverhand. It's a good epithet, even if it does make Lambert laugh himself sick.
And the sea-silver swords he and Eskel forge are as perfect as Geralt's youthful daydreams could have desired, light and strong and sharp enough to cut the wind, and - importantly - never needing re-silvering. Geralt would have given several fingers from his off hand for a sword like this when he still walked the Path. Lambert is rendered entirely silent for a record five full minutes when Eskel hands him a matched set for himself and his Cat. Ciri curses a blue streak in delighted awe at her own new blade.
And - well - Geralt likes learning new skills, and silversmithing is a pleasant way to use his strength and dexterity, and Corvo Bianco could always use a few more improvements and that does cost money and the vineyard doesn't actually produce much more wine than a house full of witchers can drink…
Yennefer is perfectly willing to sign on for a share of the profits, and Eskel doesn't mind getting a few more streaks of silver on his hands, and so Corvo Bianco becomes the most reliable source of sea-silver on the continent.
Which seems fitting for a witcher's retirement, somehow.