Act II - Velen - the outskirts of swampland: 11:37 pm - 3 Weeks after accepting the quest "Disturbance" (A conditional scene if Geralt delays helping Yennefer)

It had rained that day. Only as twilight settled did the rain slow, and instead, a foggy mist lingered over the marsh. The odor of rotten vegetation seeped from the ground, the slime of decay gurgling and bubbling atop the muck.

Geralt sat upon a fallen log at the edge of the swamp, drenched. A ring of stones marked out the fire pit for the night, debris swept away to expose the earth below. Behind him, Roach huffed and munched on the tough grass under the birch trees. The witcher plucked dried fruit from the small pouch on the stump to his right and tossed another twig onto the fire.

The wood hissed in the flames, white foam gathering in pockets along the blackened, wet logs. Carefully, he placed another log onto the fire, and then cast the Igni sign, giving the flames a boost to ensure the wet wood would catch.

He examined the long gash on his left forearm, a deep clawmark from an angry wolf. Amazing, really. He had fought every manner of monster and human the last few weeks, and yet it was a wolf that got the better of him this time.

Hooking his finger around the neck of a bottle of rye, he took a long swig, then poured some of the contents over the gash. It burned, and he clenched his teeth against the fire on his arm and in his belly. Carefully, he held the needle in the flames, then threaded it, and sewed the gash close, hissing through his teeth at each draw of the needle through his skin.

It wasn't as cleanly sewed as he would have liked, but there was no other option for assistance nearby. Keira had already begun her journey to Kaer Morhen, and he was a day's journey from the nearest city. The peller? Geralt had no intention of letting that man anywhere near him with a needle and thread.

He felt it, then. A strange pulsing of the atmosphere, an energy that threaded through his body, triggering an internalized warning mechanism perfected through countless alchemical mutations. His wolf medallion vibrated. Fingering through the alchemical concoctions at his side, he plucked a tawny owl from the leather bandolier. Tilting the vial back, he drank the contents. Fire burned down his throat from the arachas venom; the verbena barely muted its effects. Adrenaline surged through his body, and his heart raced.

Alert, Geralt drew his silver sword.

A mucknixer crawled from the bog, its decomposing limbs pulling it onto the shore; three drowners followed. They prowled the marsh's edge a distance away, and Geralt was surprised the monsters had not sensed him nor attacked. They were certainly close enough to know of his presence, especially with the campfire.

After a few precious seconds, he adjusted to the alchemical brew, and his grip on the hilt of his sword loosened.

Creeping closer to his foes, he telegraphed no warning and made no sound. With a graceful pirouette, he easily decapitated one unsuspecting drowner. And then the dance began in earnest.

A slash, a parry, a dodge, and a thrust. With senses peeked, he circled his enemies. One fell, and then the second until it was only he and the mucknixer. Another dodge, and then he leapt into the air, swinging the sword down onto the shoulders of the creature. It crumpled under the blow.

A tingling of warning tickled his flesh, and Geralt dodged forward, deeper into the bog and pirouetted away to face his camp, sword poised and ready. A water hag was in perfect position to have landed a successful attack on his flank, but instead, the creature was enveloped in an ethereal blue aura. The hag was struggling, spitting ,and snarling as it fought the magical containment spell.

Three horse lengths behind the hag, Yennefer stood on firmer ground near a fallen ash tree, her palm upturned and arm slightly extended. A white fog serpentined from her hand and wrapped around the hag, keeping the monster immobilized.

Geralt slashed at the hag, slicing the head from the body. The spell retracted and the corpse fell to the ground, plopping into the muck with a slush and splash. The witcher paused, his senses absorbing the atmosphere around him. When certain that no danger remained, he leaned down to wipe the blood and muck from his sword on the sharp grass at the bog's edge. He sheathed his weapon.

Fisting the ragged hair of the decapitated water hag, Geralt snapped off two prominent fanged teeth and tucked them into the pouch at his waist. Glancing once more around the area, the witcher climbed from the bog, the earth releasing its grip on his ankle with a suctioned pop. He dropped the head.

Yennefer waited, her expression unreadable. When he approached, she said, "Imagine my surprise to find you here."

Geralt set his swords down upon a mossy stone near the fire beside his saddlebags. "Yen. How did you find me?"

"I saw it in the entrails of a pig," she stated flatly. "Lo and behold, here you are, knee deep in detritus adding to your ever growing collection of hag's teeth."

He noted her biting sarcasm and replied accordingly, "I'll collect the drowner brain later." As if to punctuate the point, he took three steps towards the water's edge, grabbed the ankle of the nearest drowner corpse, and dragged it back towards the fire. He dropped it just before the edge of the fire's glow, smirking at the sickening plop as the marsh squished at the impact. Muck splashed up, some of it onto the sorceress.

Flicking a finger along her cheek, she wiped that drop of mud away, but ignored the rest on her dress. She held up a hand, her palm to him. From any other, the gesture would have been placating. "Oh, don't mind me. By all means, carve away. But before you are covered in more blood and putrid flesh, where is my potestaquisitor?"

From his saddle bag, Geralt extracted the requested device and handed it to the magician. "I was on my way back."

Yennefer took the trinket, turning it in her hand as she inspected it for damage. "I'm sure you were. No need now. You obviously have more important things to do than assist in my search for Ciri."

(Quest Failed)

"I'm searching for her too," Geralt snarled.

"Are you?" she questioned with an arched brow and gestured to the surrounding swamp. "Here in this marsh. Tell me, then, have you found her or any further clues as to her whereabouts?"

Grumbling, Geralt shook his head. "No. Had some things to take care of."

"Is that so?," she questioned. "Like what?"

"Dealing with the fallout from the mages' flight. Things aren't looking too good for the new scapegoat."

"There will always be another scapegoat," Yennefer said. "You know that as well as I. You've already helped the mages. Two weeks ago, to be precise. Please, don't risk your life by throwing yourself against the radicals. Nothing you do or say will deter them from their task. And soon, they may turn that ire on you. After all, you're not exactly human to them either, are you."

He grunted a reply.

"Triss is already at Kaer Morhen, by the way," the magician offered, flippantly, brushing at the muck that had splashed up onto her sleeve. "She sends her regards."

"Yeah?" Geralt goaded the sorceress. "How was that reunion for you? Did you have to explain why she doesn't have a bed anymore?"

She hummed a reply, tension visible in her neck and jaw, and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She placed her hands on her waist, leaning into a hip as she regarded him. Whatever retort was on her tongue, she kept to herself, and instead she sighed, looking away from him.

Her shoulders dropped, and the hint of defeat laced her voice. "I understand this path you walk. It is a compulsion for you, comfortable, and known. Cyclical, even. Pushing people away and then coming back into their lives. For years, you were always drawn back to the path, no matter who or what you had to abandon to answer that call. And now you wish to remind me so clearly about your relations with one who was once a dear friend. To what end? For your conscience? Then you can say to yourself it was not your choice, but the inevitable. Just go, Geralt, do what you must. It is what you have always done."

"Yen," he took a step towards her, his brows drawn with concern at her lack of a biting reply. And as far as pushing people away, her assessment could be self-applied, as well.

She held up a dismissive hand and shook her head. "Don't," she commanded and he paused. She continued. "I will find Ciri without you. Thank you, for what you've done thus far. Goodbye, Witcher."

Dismissed, Geralt watched as the sorceress turned her back on him. Walking away, she reached to the sky and magic swirled around her hands. She tore a gash through space and time, opening a portal.

"Yen, wait," he called, but she ignored him.

Yes, in the past he had always returned to the path, drawn by the call of the wilderness and his created purpose. What was a witcher if not a monster hunter? One could not rid the world of monsters if they stayed in one place. Or so he thought, for in truth, he was simply running from a new and unfamiliar path to instead stay upon the road most known to him. Were he to have chosen to stay in Vengerberg with Yennefer all those years ago, surely there would have still been contracts to fulfill in the surrounding countryside. The world was never short of drowners, ghouls, and wraiths.

But no. He rejected that choice then, fleeing the unknown for the familiar. He was a witcher. He was not supposed to have emotional connections. Created to be a cold-hearted slayer, he had rejected everything she offered then, and it seemed he was about to do it again.

And why the hell did he bring up Triss like that, especially after everything that had happened in Skellige?

Was he willing to throw away not only Yennefer, but Ciri as well?

Yennefer stepped over the threshold of the portal, and as the edges of the portal began to close, Geralt made his choice.

He raced after her.

He hated portals, hated the way the forces of magic tore at every inch of his flesh. He hated the disorienting effects, soaring through a tunnel with no up or down, left or right. Often the only thing he could feel was the strong touch of whichever sorceress pulled him along. The sensation, however, was still like tumbling through a cavern, descending into an unknown. He knew that Yen was not expecting him to chase her, to willingly enter a portal. That meant the portal might not be stable enough for both of them to traverse unscathed. Yen, he was sure, would be fine. He, however, was not so sure he'd survive the journey. Would he even know how to follow a portal's destination path without her guidance?

Pressure swelled in his head, and he wondered if this was what the rotfiends experienced before they exploded. His new wound pulsed, blood oozing from the gaps between the stitching. He really needed to get better at self-administered first aid. His chest ached, and it felt as if great hands squeezed around him, constricting his lungs. Breathing was impossible. He gasped, and small white lights floated before his eyes. A firm hand grabbed him and yanked.

Suddenly, he crashed to the ground, grunting at the impact on stone. The spinning had stopped, the pressure finally relieved. He tasted blood.

"Geralt," a voice said and a gentle hand touched his face, his shoulder and then his arm.

"Yen," he sighed, his voice hoarse and choked from the uncontrolled teleportation.

"I'm here," she said, holding him steady when he tried to move. "Stay still," she demanded and called out. "Vesemir! Lambert! Geralt, what were you thinking!"

Geralt winced, and he tried to roll onto his back. His hip bone jutted oddly into the stone floor.

"Stay still," Yen repeated, more firmly this time, and he felt her gloved finger brush the side of his mouth. She raked the hair back from his face. "Open your eyes. Witcher, do you hear me? Lambert!"

He heard her alright, but the darkness was far too comforting. He succumbed to its call.

*** Some time later ***

Consciousness slowly returned, and Geralt grew aware of his surroundings. Stretched out upon a layer of thick furs, he wiggled his toes, and his fingers. Good, everything still worked. A draft chilled the skin on his left side. The room smelled of burnt wood, potent salve, blood, sweat, violets, lilacs, and gooseberries. He forced his eyes to open.

The room spun, and his stomach lurched. Letting his head lull to one side, he took in the familiar room in Kaer Morhen, the room Yennefer had taken over as her own.

It was dusk. At the far end of the room, Yennefer stood with her back to him, her hands pressed firmly into the hard oak tabletop of a make-shift alchemical lab near a recently restocked book shelf. Keira Metz stood beside her, skimming through the pages of a rather large vellum-bound tome. A clear liquid bubbled in a crystal alembic.

Keira huffed, shaking her head as she turned a page. "You're wrong, Yennefer. I know you don't hear that often, but you are. You have not been toiling away with alchemy in recent years. I have. So for once in your life, how about you just listen to someone who knows more than you do about this one topic? Triss isn't here; she and Eskel won't be back for a few more days, and that's if they make good time. We don't have that kind of time. I'm what you've got."

"The mandrake root is too strong," Yennefer said, flicking her fingers at the nearby mortar, clearly unimpressed with Keira's pronouncement. "His toxicity threshold is already nearing 75%."

"We are not going to have a choice," Keira replied. "He's going to awaken soon, and if he does and he moves, all of the work we've done over the last few days is ruined." She shrugged, casually. "But he's your witcher. And we already have three more around, so what is one less mutant in the world."

"Not funny."

"I wasn't joking," Keira stated. "We have to keep him still, preferably asleep for at least another day or two. The mandrake root can be used to create a potion to increase his metabolism. If we keep him unconscious while boosting his metabolism, it should quicken healing at the cellular level. We can take turns using the spells to stabilize him."

Geralt stilled, alarmed by Keira's words. What had happened to him? The room started spinning, and the witcher closed his eyes, though he still listened carefully to the conversation.

"The key word there was should," Yennefer said, flatly. "It should. You don't know, Keira."

"Of course, I don't know. He shouldn't even be alive. You don't even know how he is, much less have you told me how you managed to reach back in for him when he fell through the membrane of the portal."

"I told you," Yen said, exasperated. "It all happened so fast that I can't remember exactly what I did. Believe me, if I could remember what I did, I would have written it down already."

"Hmm, that must infuriate you," Keira purred, with a smirk.

Yennefer glanced to the other mage. "What is infuriating me is this conversation."

Fed up with the chatter, Geralt called for the sorceress, his voice gruff.

Yennefer turned at his call, and any impatience on her features disappeared, replaced only with concern. She crossed quickly to him. "Geralt, don't move," she commanded him and knelt at his side. Resting a hand on the center of his chest, she rubbed, soothingly. "Don't speak. You mustn't, alright? What happened with the portal was … well, exactly the reason you hate portals but magnified three fold. Next time, if you plan to dive into a portal after me without my knowledge, make sure you grab me."

Geralt thought about her suggestion in the most literal sense, finding comfort and peace in the fantasy. It had been too long since he'd seen Yennefer, and when alone on the path, he often let his thoughts linger on memories of her, especially when dozing by the fire. Those fantasies paled to the reality of her in every way. Yennefer did not say anything or interrupt the direction of his thoughts, and so, he let them continue to wander.

He thought of simple things, like blossoming spring flowers and raging summer thunderstorms. The storms reminded him of Yennefer. Furious, powerful, beautiful with darkened skies and a crackling air. The sorceress always was a force, sometimes raging but always breathtaking.

He remembered fondly their time together before the Wild Hunt, back to the Isle of Avallach. Peaceful, simple, serene. He craved that again.

Yennefer's hand moved on his chest, barely a caress, but it was the only indication that she witnessed his thoughts. He turned his mind back to his current situation, and wondered what kind of potions they had given him if his toxicity levels were already as high as the sorceress claimed. What more could the mandrake root offer that a simple thunderbolt potion couldn't?

Yennefer answered him. "The potions were nothing that you couldn't handle. Standard witcher concoctions recommended by Vesemir. An enhanced maribor forest, two enhanced swallows, and a superior tawny owl. Keira has been administering them at regular intervals, and I have been using spells to keep your body intact. We cannot risk adding another to the mix."

He forced his eyes open, gazing at his beloved sorceress. When she saw his eyes open, at first she seemed alarmed but then soon offered him a small smile. He wondered what potion Keira wanted to add with so many others in his system.

Yennefer turned her head to look at the other sorceress. "What mixture do you plan to create with the mandrake."

"You didn't bother to ask before. Why do you care now?" Keira challenged as she crossed the floor to stand over the witcher with arms crossed. 'What does she do, Geralt, poke around in your mind?" And at Geralt's small smile, she rolled her eyes. "Really, Yennefer? You can't even give him his thoughts?"

Geralt thought of different ways to remove Keira quickly from the room, ushering her away and slamming the door behind her. He would make sure it locked securely. Only when alone could he do what he wanted with the raven-haired magician. Perhaps against a bookcase, or on the balcony. After all, they never were a couple for the mundane when it came to sex. He could even brush away all the equipment on that alchemy table. It seemed sturdy enough.

"Careful, Darling," Yennefer warned, amused. "That alembic is very expensive. And I don't believe you are in any condition to carry out that plan."

The witcher shifted his gaze to Yennefer a moment before returning his attention to the other mage. He waited for a response to his question.

"I don't even want to know," Keira said with a shake of the head, and she held up a hand to stop any explanation. "We can use mandrake to enhance the tawny owl potion, increasing your metabolism and stamina. In theory, this could quicken recovery so that Yennefer does not continue to exhaust herself using spells to keep you alive."

"I am not exhausted," Yennefer replied, sternly. "I'm hardly tired. Casting any kind of regenerative spell is taxing. More for some of us than others, as I'm sure you know."

Don't bait her, Yen, Geralt thought. We need her here to help with Ciri if the wild hunt finds us. Have her make the potion. I can handle it. Just use Vesemir's recipe to enhance it. I know those side effects.

Yennefer paused a long moment, her head slightly tilted away, and that long raven-colored hair obscured her profile from him. "Keira, could you make the potion, please. From Vesemir's recipe."

"Please?" Keira prodded. "I'm usually not on the receiving end of such pleasantries from you." Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the alchemy lab to begin her work.

While waiting for Keira to finish the concoction, Geralt wondered exactly what happened in the portal, and what Yen had done to pull him free from whatever pain it was that had gripped him. It was unusual for her not to remember something, especially something like that.

The sorceress responded, telepathically. I was not prepared for you to enter the portal with me. It destabilized, and you were nearly lost to me. I know what I did to retrieve you, to restabilize the portal, and to bring you through to the otherside. Perhaps not exactly, but I do know. So what I said was not a lie. She simply does not need to know the details.

Geralt was not so sure of that, as the details of how to navigate a destabilized portal could be useful to any mage. He wondered if he had done such a thing to a portal that Keira created, would they both have survived? Or would his impetuous decision have meant their agonizing demise? He knew that Yennefer was one of the most powerful sorceresses in the northern realms, but if she managed to do something like pierce the membrane of space and time to retrieve him from a wayward teleportation, perhaps even that acknowledgement to her power was a severe underestimation.

He also wondered how long Yennefer had mastered the telepathic ability to communicate back to him. It would have been quite useful to know during their rendezvous' over the years..

Yennefer corrected his assessment. Never underestimate the power of any mage, especially when cornered or pressed into a dire situation. Were Keira and I true adversaries, dismissing her power and knowledge would be at my own peril. Just as underestimating me when those I love are in danger would also be a severe miscalculation. As for telepathy, I reiterate: Never underestimate a sorceress.

When Keira turned from the alchemy lab, Yennefer eased back, giving the other sorceress enough room to present the new potion to the witcher. Geralt sniffed it once and nodded. Keira tilted the vial to help him drink the full dose.

Yennefer waited until he was finished and extended her hands over him, her fingers curling into position. Magic tendrils swirled around the digits. "Now close your eyes, Geralt. Rest, and trust me."

As she began to chant a spell, Geralt obeyed.

*** Later ***

Geralt awoke sometime later to a darkened room. Judging from the height of the moon shining through the far window, he guessed the hour was still before midnight. The fire at the center of the room burned low, the embers emitting barely discernible light. Any unpleasant smell he remembered from earlier was now gone, replaced instead by the crispness of the forest. No scent of wound, swamp, or illness hung in the air, and he knew then that someone had seen to bathing him while he was healing. One other distinct scent remained in the air, two drastically different entities that merged with perfection.

Lilacs and gooseberries.

Not far from him, on a pallet of furs, Yennefer slept. Stretched out on her stomach, her raven curls splayed out upon her arm, and she faced away from him. Rhythmically, her back rose then fell with her breath.

Grunting, Geralt shifted on the furs. Judging by the clarity of his senses, he no longer suffered from high toxicity levels brought on by the consumption of multiple potions. Assessing the current status of his injuries, the witcher decided that other than fatigued and excruciatingly soreness, he felt alright. Especially considering the seemingly severity of his injuries from the portals. He knew he hated portals for a reason.

With great effort, Geralt struggled to sit up, grunting at the trembling of his abdomen with the effort.

Yennefer awoke at the sound, turning her head to seek out the source. "Geralt, be still," she said, her voice husked. Tossing off the furs, she crawled the small distance to him. Holding his bicep with a firm grip, she steadied him.

"Yen."

"I'm here."

He released a heavy sigh. "No more potions."

"No," Yennefer replied. "You didn't need them anymore. Now it is just time."

"How much time?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "Never before have I restabilized a witcher's cellular structure. But rest assured, I am thoroughly documenting it should the need arise again."

Geralt grumbled, "I knew I hated portals for a reason."

Yennefer rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Don't be so dramatic. You hate portals because it makes you slightly disoriented afterwards. Your current reaction is equivalent to me choking on a date pit and then declaring my absolute rejection of all fruits."

"Don't think so. No more portals. Ever."

"Suit yourself," Yennefer said with a casual shrug. She pressed on his chest, easing him back down onto the furs. "The hour is still late. Sleep."

"Stay," He requested and obeyed her guidance, lying back again.

"I'm here," she soothed and lifted the furs to settle beside him.