Velvet Enchantress

Listening.

Birdsong drifted in through the open window. The vineyards beyond the manor were peaceful. Beside her...Eskel still slept peacefully. One arm remained loosely draped around her waist, his breathing slow and wonderfully even.

She smiled to herself.

"...Handsome.", she whispered it so quietly it was little more than a breath. His hair had escaped its tie sometime during the night, dark strands scattered untidily across the pillow. She reached up carefully. Her fingers slipped through the loose strands, combing them back from his face with feather light touches.

"So soft..." Another gentle stroke, then another. She absentmindedly began separating a few strands, twisting them into the beginnings of a tiny braid before abandoning the idea halfway through simply because she preferred running her fingers through his hair.

Eskel made a sleepy sound, not quite awake. Instinctively, he leaned ever so slightly into her touch.

"Oh?" She smiled wider, "So that's your weakness."

She continued playing with his hair, massaging gently behind one ear.

Tracing lazy circles against his scalp. His brow slowly relaxed, a contented hum escaped him.

"Mmm..."

"There you are." She whispered fondly, "My breathtakingly handsome Witcher..."

Amber eyes slowly opened.

Blinking once. Twice.

They immediately found her.

He smiled, "Good morning."

"Good morning."

His voice was still rough with sleep, "Were you..." He reached up, catching one of her hands and bringing it gently to his lips, "...playing with my hair?"

She nodded without a trace of guilt.

"I discovered it makes you purr."

"I do not purr."

"You absolutely do! It was an adorable”

Eskel laughed softly."I see."

She shifted closer, resting comfortably against his chest, "I've decided it's my new favorite way to wake you."

"There are certainly worse ways."

She tilted her head,"Like what?"

He leaned forward just enough to brush a slow kiss across her forehead,"For example..."

Another kiss, this one against her temple,"...being awakened before sunrise because Lambert has stolen every blanket in existence."

She laughed,"That was a genuine emergency."

"So you claimed."

"It was freezing."

He smiled warmly, "I'm glad you came."

"So am I."

For a little while they simply stayed there, wrapped in blankets. Sunlight creeping steadily across the room.

That when Lambert returned from training, the first person he looked for was always her.

And then most importantly, the fact that they had the same bedroom.

Geralt leaned against the doorway, watching as his brother emerged from the room, confirming his suspicions. Lambert looked up immediately. "What?"

Geralt glanced toward the room, then back at him. "You and Aeloria."

Lambert frowned, arms folded "What about us?" He wasn’t liking where this was going. Geralt pushed off the stone wall, "You share a room."

"Because it's practical."

"Practical." Geralt parroted back, a barely contained grin stretching across his lips. He’d have to update Eskel on this.

Lambert bobbed in agreement, now his brother was understanding "Yes."

"Because of… coin?" The white wolf drew out the sentence, his amusement evident in his tone.

"Yes."

"At Kaer Morhen?"

A pause. Lambert looked away, a flush rising to his cheeks "She's used to it."

Geralt raised an eyebrow, and couldn’t help but laugh "Used to it?"

"Don't." The younger Witcher sighed. "We're travel companions."

Geralt studied him, amber yellow eyes narrowing. "That's all?"

"That's all."

The answer came too quickly, too defensive and he knew he’d been caught. Geralt stopped, studying his brothers defensiveness “Good to know”

"What?"

"Nothing."

Now it was Lambert’s turn to be suspicious, through narrowed his eyes he grunted, "You're annoying."

"Learned it from you."

**********************************

That evening, Vesemir allowed something unusual. A celebration of sorts, for another year the keep still stood, another year the wolves all made it back to the keep. And, most importantly, everyone was bored.

Aeloria sat beside Lambert, laughing as Eskel described one of Lambert's worst training failures.

"I was twelve."

"You were reckless."

"I was young."

"You walked directly into a tree."

"It was dark."

"It was noon."

As Aeloria laughed wholeheartedly,

Lambert stared at her. He loved that sound, it warmed his chest and brought a smile to his lips. But he hated that everyone else got to hear it too.

Geralt noticed, which of course he did. Geralt noticed everything despite contrary belief. So after several drinks, he decided he had waited long enough. He leaned back in his chair, a sly lazy expression settling over his features, "So."

Aeloria glanced up, eyes shifting to the white haired Witcher. Geralt looked between her and Lambert."If you two are only travel companions..."

Lambert immediately looked suspicious, dread looming "What are you doing?"

"Having a conversation."

"I know that look."

Geralt ignored him. "Does that mean Aeloria is free game?" The room went quiet. Aeloria blinked, a small blanket of pink dusting her face.

Lambert stared hard, his brain taking a moment to catch up to the reality of what was playing out before him "What?"

Geralt shrugged. "I'm asking if she’s available"

"No, you're not."

"I am."

Eskel hid a smile behind his drink.

Lambert looked between them. "Why?"

"Because you said so yourself, she's only a travel companion."

The words landed, harder than they should have. Aeloria looked down at her cup. The words still ringing in her ears, only a traveling companion. She knew they had never said anything else, never let anyone believe otherwise. She knew factually there was nothing between them, only shared jokes and companionship. Yet she also knew they avoided the truth, the feelings and tension between them. But hearing him say it aloud...It stung.

She let herself feel the sting only for a moment, an ache of pain stabbing her chest. Then she smiled. Because she was a witcher and a viper at that, so she refused to let this of all things affect her mood.

Geralt waited. "So?"

Lambert's jaw tightened, clenching as he spat out "She's free to do whatever she wants." A sinking feeling of dread twisted its ugly head deep within his gut. While the answer was correct, they weren’t technically together, it was also the worst possible answer and he could feel that the moment the words passed his lips.

Geralt nodded. "Good."

Eskel leaned back. “Very good."

Lambert looked between them.

"We might be brothers, but you may want to be careful," Eskel said.

At this Lambert’s frown deepened. "Why?"

Geralt smiled. "Because apparently your traveling companion is available and she’s made her home for the winter in a den of wolves"

**********************************

What started with a first drink, quickly lead to the second. Soon the second became a fifth and so on. Aeloria had never been a heavy drinker. Witcher mutations and elven constitution made most alcohol ineffective. Unfortunately for her, Kaer Morhen made stronger things than normal taverns. By midnight, she was laughing, a beautiful twinkling laugh, at everything. Including and especially at Lambert.

"You know," she said, leaning slightly toward him.

"Hm?" He basked in the sight of her in the firelight, dark curls strewn about in messy tangles, eyes bright with joy, and lips plump with laughter.

"You are very dramatic."

"I am not."

"You are."

"No."

"Yes." She pointed at him, "You brood professionally."

Eskel roared with laughter, Geralt nearly choked on his drink, and Lambert looked personally offended. "I do not brood professionally."

"You absolutely do"

Geralt decided it was time, he leaned toward her. “You know, I think you're right. With a woman whose as gorgeous as you, he’d have to be a professional brooder for you to still only be a ‘travel companion"

Aeloria turned and Geralt leaned closer, a sly smile spreading across his lips "If it was me, we wouldn’t still be “companions. Not with a body like yours”. Aeloria giggled, far too intoxicated.

"Traitor." Lambert muttered, regretting his ability to hear every bit of this conversation. "I hate all of you."

Geralt chuckled cheekily. "Not all of us are as blind as Lambert."

Aeloria tilted her head looking up at him through lashes, her cheeks rosy and flush “No?"

"No." His voice lowered, he reached out using two fingers to push Aeloria’s chin up her eyes locking into his. "Some of us can be very charming, very appreciative."

She stared, and then giggled. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"You flirt terribly."

The room went deadly silent. Geralt blinked, recoiling from her as though she’d bitten him. "Terribly?"

"Yes."

Eskel grinned. "She's not wrong."

Geralt looked offended, clearly not used to being turned down. "You think you could do better?"

Eskel looked at Aeloria, sliding over to place himself next to her on the bench "I know I can"

Lambert froze, the laughter that had previously been brewing from Geralt’s let down cooling rapidly in his throat "Excuse me?"

Eskel shrugged, "You said she's free to do as she wants, maybe she wants to do me”

There it was. The trap. The words Lambert himself had spoken, and suddenly that sense of looming dread had blossomed into reality.

Aeloria looked between them. Then smiled, "Oh?"

Eskel leaned in, lips caressing the tip of her ear, one hand brushing a fallen strand of hair from her face. "Would you like me to prove it?"

Her face flushed darkly, eyes shifting upwards to meet Eskel’s as she bit her on bottom lip softly "Maybe."

Lambert's expression darkened, he wasn’t angry, not yet anyway. But something sharp moved beneath the surface.

Geralt noticed, and then Eskel, they exchanged the briefest glance and the flirting continued. Enough for Aeloria to remember she was more than a ‘traveling companion’, she was someone people wanted and even desired to know.

She teased them both. "You two are very confident."

Geralt shrugged. "We're witchers."

"That explains nothing."

"It explains everything." Eskel smiled. "You've been around Lambert too long."

"Is that an insult?" She pondered.

Geralt chuckled "Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you've started calling sarcasm a love language."

She laughed deeply and Lambert nearly dropped his cup.

**********************************

By the time the night ended, Aeloria was thoroughly drunk, dangerously so. Enough that walking had become a very ambitious concept, even so it was one she was determined to attempt. She stood, and the room tilted.

Geralt caught her hip, hand settling on the small of her back. "You are not fine to walk back."

"I am." She leaned into him forehead resting lightly against his chest, using him to ground herself and make the room stop spinning.

"You just tried to walk toward the wall."

"I was testing it."

"Why?"

"To see if it was sturdy."

Eskel covered his face.

Lambert stood immediately. "That's enough."

Geralt glanced at him, hands never moving from her small frame "What?"

Lambert’s frown deepened, his eyes set on Aeloria tucked too comfortably into his brother’s arms. "She's drunk."

"Yes."

"I'll take her"

Geralt smirked. “Why?" He looked down at Aeloria, “She looks fairly comfortable where she’s at”

Lambert stared hard,

"Because..."

The answer caught. Because what?

Because she was his? No.

Not his. Because he cared, he always had, and no matter what he called it, leaving her to someone else felt impossible.

"...Because it's my job."

Geralt's smirk widened “Of course."

Lambert carefully lifted her, and she immediately relaxed against him, nuzzling into his chest. The trust in the gesture almost hurt. He began to walk to thier room.

"You smell like pine." Her voice was soft, small and sleepy.

He blinked. "What?"

"Pine."

"You're drunk." His boot pushed against the bedroom door, and he made his way across the room.

"I know."

"Then stop talking."

"No." A sleepy smile from the women in his arms, "You like when I talk."

He looked away. "You're impossible."

"You like that."

A pause.

"...Maybe." He set her down carefully. Removed her boots, pulled the blankets over her.

She watched him through half closed lid. "You know...you looked jealous."

Lambert froze, his heart nearly seizing. "I did not."

A long pause, so long he thought she’d fallen asleep. Then a whisper, and if he wasn’t a Witcher he was certain he would’ve never heard it

"You're terrible at lying."

He stared at her, her small frame curling into his bed. Curls splayed across the pillows, lashes fluttering softly against cheekbones, a vision of beauty to behold. He sighed heavily, dragging a hand over his face. "Sleep." She didn’t respond, small breaths parting from plump lips, she’d drifted off, and Lambert sat beside her. For a long time.

He thought about Geralt's question.

About the way the words had sounded.

Only traveling companions.

A lie.

Not because they weren't, but because they were so much more. He was watching her sleep, the slow rise and fall of her chest. The careful unguarded rest she got with him. She was everything and so much more. Slowly, carefully, he climbed into bed beside her. Arms wrapping around her waist, he buried his face into her hair and breathed deeply. Instinctively she cuddled into him, face into the crook of his neck, her soft breath like butterfly kisses against his skin. He allowed himself to hold her tightly, not because of the cold, coin, or protection. Simply because he wanted to, and for once, he was trying to be brave enough to admit it.

Aeloria shifted in her sleep and curled closer, her lips brushing his collar bone. Lambert went completely still.

Then, quietly, almost too softly to hear he whispered, "You're going to be the death of me, viper."

"You're in my way," Lambert called. This had been his contract, he’d picked up from the village. They’d clearly neglected to tell him if another had picked it up as well.

The figure looked down.

Dark ringlets of curls caught the moonlight. A green-black cloak shifted in the wind, revealing the unmistakable markings of a witcher, golden slitted eyes like that of a cat.

Not a mage.

Not a traveler.

A witcher.

A viper medallion rested against her throat.

A female Witcher, elven too by the looks of her point tipped ears,

Lambert blinked, hard. "...What the hell are you?"

She smiled."Usually, people start with introductions."

A shriek echoed from inside the chapel.

The bruxa burst through the wall.

Both witchers moved instantly.

Lambert dove left, tripping but catching himself in the process.

The elf jumped down towards the right.

The vampire struck the space where Lambert had been standing seconds earlier.

Lambert huffed, “You almost got me killed." The last thing he needed was a distraction during a lesser vampiric fight.

"You were welcome to move." She replied coolly, the sound of a silver sword hissing from its sheath.

"I was moving." He glanced around the ruins, eyes trained, searching for the next attack.

"You barely managed to fall out of its way.”

Now she was starting to irk him, "I was making a skilled dodge, tactical retreat if you will."

"You tripped over a corpse." At this Lambert paused, was that what he’d tripped on? Clearly he was far too distracted for this fight, one anomaly of a woman should not be this distracting for him.

"It was a strategic trip." He barked back

She laughed.

Actually laughed.

Lambert almost missed the bruxa's next attack because of it.

Almost.

The fight was chaos.

The bruxa vanished into mist.

Lambert tracked the sound.

The elf tracked the movement.

They attacked from opposite sides without speaking.

Silver blades sliced, sparking against flesh. Threaded burst of signs. Flashes of elven magic flew through the air.

The vampire barely had time to scream again before the witchers struck.

When it finally collapsed, silence filled the dilapidated chapel grounds.

Lambert leaned against a broken pillar, eyes trained on the elf. "You're annoying."

She wiped thick black vampire blood from her blade. "Strange why to say thank you for saving your ass from certain death but you’re welcome"

Lambert bristled, “I was fine before you showed up”

She smiled. "You were doing fine? Funny so you were actually tying to die, usually arrogant men are better at dying."

He stared. Then laughed. "You're funny." And dangerous, perhaps both.

"I know."

"That's unfortunate."

************************************

They learned each other's names afterward.

Aeloria.

Lambert.

Neither admitted they had been watching the other during the fight.

Neither admitted they were impressed.

"You heading east?" Lambert asked the next morning.

"Eventually."

A pause. She was headed in the same direction.

"So..."

"So?"

"We could travel together, since we’re headed in the same direction”

Aeloria hummed in agreement, packing up her mare.

"Temporarily of course” he added quickly, mounting his own steed.

"Obviously. So don't get attached."

Lambert paused looking over at her

"You seem very concerned about that."

"I am." The answer from her lips came quick.

"Why?"

“People find my good looks and charm irresistible” She grinned.

Lambert knew then she would be trouble.

**********************************

Three weeks later, a villagers called her, his wife.

It happened after a contract in a small farming village.

The innkeeper looked at Lambert as he handed over a room key.

"You and your wife are lucky, only one room left"

Lambert opened his mouth.

Aeloria opened hers.

Neither corrected him.

They walked upstairs in silence, foot steps heavy on the landing. Only once the door closed did Lambert speak.,"I should have corrected him."

"Probably."

"You didn't."

"Neither did you."

A pause.

**********************************

The next morning, they both pretended not to notice they had slept pressed firmly against each other all night. Nether spoke as they untangled themselves apart.

They blamed the cold.

The small bed.

The lack of blankets.

Anything except the obvious.

After that, it became a habit.

At every inn:

"One room."

"One bed?"

"One room."

Always said casually.

Always with excuses made after.

It's cheaper. It's safer. It's warmer.

The excuses changed.

The outcome didn't. Always one room, and one shared bed.

*************************************

One night, during a particularly brutal spring storm, Aeloria woke to find Lambert staring at the ceiling.

"You awake?"

"No."

"You're terrible at lying"

"So are you."

She smiled.

"Why are you awake?"

He was quiet.

Then:

"Don't know."

A rare answer.

A real one.

She turned toward him.

"That's new."

"What?"

"Not having a sarcastic response."

"Don't get used to it."

"Too late."

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"You always this irritating?"

"Only for you."

"Why?"

She looked at him. For a moment, neither joked. Neither looked away.

"Because you make it easy."

His expression softened, just slightly. Then the moment passed.

**********************************

By the time autumn arrived, everyone they met assumed they belonged together. Everyone except them, or so they claimed.

"You know," a merchant told them one afternoon, "you're a strange pair."

Lambert raised an eyebrow.

"How?"

"You argue like an old married couple."

Aeloria looked away and Lambert answered quickly. "We’re not married."

The merchant grinned. "Didn't say you were."

Silence. Lambert looked away.

Aeloria suddenly found the dirt caking her boots fascinating.

************************************

The first snow came early.

The mountains would soon became dangerous, and with it the passes would soon close.

Lambert grew quieter.

Aeloria noticed.

"You've been brooding more than usual."

"I have to go north."

She knew.

North for Lambert meant wintering, it meant Kaer Morhen the school of the Wolf.

"I know."

A pause.

Then:

"Come with me."

She looked at him. "To the keep?"

"Until spring."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Same direction."

She smiled. "Is that your excuse?"

"Yes."

"It's a terrible one."

"I know."

She studied him. Then nodded. "All right."

***********************************

Kaer Morhen was exactly what she expected; ancient, cold, and imposing. Home of witchers who immediately noticed everything.

Especially Lambert.

Especially her.

The first comment came before they even reached the great hall.

***********************************

Geralt of Rivia rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly. He’d seen something impossible from the balcony in the keep, Lambert and a companion coming into the stables, this he’d had to see for himself. "Well."

A wolffish grin appeared. "Lambert finally brought back a woman, and an elf at that."

Lambert frowned. "At least i don’t bring back bitchy sorceresses."

Aeloria raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Every year," Lambert said waving toward the white hair Witcher "he arrives with some foul-tempered sorceress. Meleith forgive if I bring a sensible woman back to the keep"

Aeloria looked at the white wolf. "Foul-tempered?"

Geralt shot Lambert a dirty look.

"Don't look at me.” Lambert grinned sheepishly, “You know several."

"I might bring back sorceresses for lovers" Geralt pointed between them."But you?” He laughed. "You brought another witcher."

Lambert crossed his arms. "She's not—" He stopped.

Aeloria watched him.

Not a lover, the words stuck to his lips, remaining unsaid.

A roughish grin spanning the older Witchers face. "Not what?"

Lambert scowled. "Nothing."

"Thought so."

*********************************

Later, Eskel arrived.

He took one look at them curled into a chair together beside the fire.

Then at the fact that Lambert had pulled out his favorite fur blanket

Then at the fact that they were both bundled in it.

A slow smile appeared.

"No." Lambert immediately pointed. "Don't."

Eskel ignored him."You two are together?"

"No."

"Looks like it"

"No."

Aeloria folded her arms. "We are travel companions."

"Who share a chair."

"Because it’s convenient"

"Who share a blanket."

"Because of warmth."

"Who came to Kaer Morhen together."

"Because of winter."

Eskel nodded. "Of course."

Though he looked unconvinced.

**********************************

That night, as snow buried the mountain roads outside, Lambert and Aeloria sat beside the fire.

Wrapped in Lambert’s favorite fur blanket, together but not cuddling.

Not quite. Close enough.

"You know," she said softly, breaking the silences

"Hm?"

"We're terrible at convincing people."

"About what?"

She smiled. "Nothing."

He looked at her. For once, he didn't push. Because they both knew.

The Path they shared had started as coincidence.

A shared contract.

A shared direction.

A temporary arrangement.

But somewhere between contracts and campfires...

Between stolen glances and excuses...

Between "one room" and "for warmth"...

They had stopped traveling together because they were headed the same way.

Geralt had discovered that Aeloria hummed when she read old bestiaries, or as she scribbled away notes in her books.

She had discovered he unconsciously reached for the hilt of his sword whenever crows fell silent.

They learned one another in fragments.

She preferred gathering herbs at dawn, claiming the dew preserved their potency. The harsh sun not yet having taken its toll on them.

He sharpened his blades every third evening, regardless of whether they needed it or if he’d used them between maintenance.

She laughed rarely, but when she did, it was unguarded and infectious. Gorgeous even.

He found himself inventing reasons to hear it again.

The kikimore's corpse lay half submerged in the putrid marsh, black ichor drifting across stagnant water.

Geralt cleaned his silver sword with practiced efficiency while Aeloria knelt beside a young farmer whose leg had been slashed during the creature's attack.

"You'll limp for a week," she told him kindly as golden light disappeared beneath her fingertips. "Perhaps two if you ignore my instructions."

"I won't."

"You will."

The farmer flushed.

"I... probably will."

She smiled.

"Then at least let your wife pretend she convinced you to stay off the leg."

Geralt couldn't suppress the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth."You enjoy this."

"Healing?" She questioned, packing away her supplies

"People." He grunted

She considered this while helping the farmer stand.

"I enjoy reminding frightened people that they'll have tomorrow."

The village elder met them outside the chapel with a leather pouch that jingled pleasantly.

"Never thought I'd see a witcher and an healer riding together," the old man admitted.

Geralt accepted the coin, glancing at Aeloria.

"We didn't either."

The village's only inn stood at the edge of the square, warm light spilling through uneven windows. Music played softly from one of the back tables and people buzzed with life.

The innkeeper offered an apologetic shrug.

"It’s the last harvest festival."

Geralt already knew what was coming.

"We've only one room left."

Aeloria glanced toward him briefly "That's hardly a problem."

The old woman behind the counter blinked."You don't mind?"

Aeloria smiled, when she did Geralt noticed it often put the villagers at ease with a calming effect. "We've survived drowners, wolves, and a bridge that nearly collapsed beneath us."

She looked at Geralt again.

"I imagine we'll survive one mattress."

The room proved modest, simple tapestries, bare decorum.

One bed.

One chair.

One window overlooking the stable yard where they could easily view their mares Roach and Sable.

Geralt immediately reached for the spare blanket. "I'll take the chair."

"You absolutely will not." Aeloria laid out her travel bag, pulling from it a deep moss green chemise.

"I've slept on worse." He’d noticed she wore a lot of green, dark and deep like her eyes.

"I don't doubt it." She turned facing away from the Witcher, already stripping off her boots and riding gear. "But I'm not allowing the man who fought a kikimore knee deep in swamp water to wake up, unable to move because he insisted on sleeping in a chair or across warped floorboards."

"It doesn't bother me." Geralt grumbled, eyes racking across her spine and bare shoulder blades as she pulled off her blouse

"It bothers me." She slipped the chemise over her head before peeling off the riding trousers and reaching for her ivory comb.

He sighed, though his eyes never left her as she turned to face him. "You can be remarkably stubborn." He tugged his own shirt off, hoping to the gods she wouldn’t notice his arousal.

"So I've been told."

Rain tapped softly against the window pains long after the candles had been extinguished.

They lay buried beneath the blankets, careful to leave space between them.

Geralt laid on his back staring at the ceiling, though his attention was focused on tracing the curvature of the form next to him.

Aeloria watched the rain.

"You aren't asleep," she murmured.

"No."

"Neither am I."

Another quiet stretch settled between them.

Finally Geralt spoke, now openly looking at her. Even in the dark he could see her curls splayed across her pillow, her shoulders bare except for the thin strap of her nightgown.

"I've been meaning to ask you something."

She rolled slightly onto one elbow, turning over to look at him.

"What is it?"

Gods, he was glad she couldn’t see him. He could feel his arousal hardening as she shifted, unbound cleavage pushing forward as she leaned giving him a perfect view down the v line of her night slip.

"When you’ve collected all your data and this journey ends..."

He hesitated. "...I'm not certain I want it to."

Her expression softened, though something cautious flickered behind her eyes, yet she said nothing.

"You've become important to me." He continued.

"You've become important to me as well."

His heart lifted.

Until she continued.

"But that frightens me."

He turned toward her fully now, she was bathed in moonlight and he could see the way she bit her lip.

"Why?"

She was silent long enough that he wondered if she'd answer at all.

"When people speak of Geralt of Rivia," she said quietly, "they rarely finish the sentence without mentioning Yennefer."

He didn't interrupt.

"I've watched what existed between you. Even from a distance, it was... significant."

"It was."

She met his gaze, she’d lived long enough to be weary of men like him.

"I will not be someone's refuge while they mourn another future."

Geralt winced, "You think that's what this is?"

"I don't know."

There was no accusation in her voice. Only honesty, and openness. It was something he’d grown to adore.

"I need to know that if you look at me, you truly see me. That you’re not chasing the ghost of another"

Geralt answered without hesitation.

"I do."

She believed he meant it.

She wasn't yet certain he understood himself, reaching out she brushed her hand across his cheek. Geralt closed his eyes as her hand made contact with his skin, and ever so lightly felt the ghost of a kiss brush his lips. When he opened them she’d turned back around and had nestled beneath the blankets. He smiled, he could wait as long as it took to show her that she was all he wanted. Arms out stretched he pulled her close pressing her back against him, burying his face within her unruly curls muttering something about needing to say close least they get hypothermia.

The following evening found them once more beneath open skies.

Their campfire burned low beside a winding forest road, the air was starts to gain a crisp chill. Early signs of the impending winter to come.

Roach grazed nearby while Aeloria brushed down her mare.

Geralt broke the silence.

"Winter comes..."

She looked up, emerald eye meeting his golden orbs.

"...come to Kaer Morhen."

She smiled faintly, setting down the brush."I've heard stories."

"Most are exaggerated."

"So I've learned about stories."

A small laugh escaped them both.

"It isn't much to look at," he admitted. “But it’s home. A safe place to lay your head, to restock and rest for the winter”

"It doesn't have to be."

He poked thoughtfully at the fire.

"I'd like you there."

The simplicity of the words carried more weight than any polished declaration.

She crossed the small distance between them and settled beside the fire.

"I'll come."

He looked at her.

"But..."

"There is something I need you to understand before either of us mistakes affection for certainty."

He waited.

"I care for you, Geralt."

The words landed with quiet sincerity. Geralt could feel the smile creeping onto his lips, his pulse racing.

"I can even imagine a future where travel the path for as long as it takes us."

Hope flickered across his face.

"But I do not share."

The smile faded into thoughtful attention, his brows furrowed.

"If I choose someone, I choose them fully."

She rested her hands on her lap, face watching the flames of their campfire lapping the air.

"I will not compete with memories."

The fire crackled softly.

"I need to know that your heart isn't still chasing someone who cannot decide whether to stay."

He lowered his eyes.

Not because the words angered him.

Because they were fair.

"When you ask me to stand beside you," she continued, "I want to know you're asking Aeloria."

Not because she was kind.

Not because she traveled well.

Not because she eased old loneliness.

"But because, when you picture the road ahead... I'm the person you hope to find riding beside you."

For a long moment, only the wind answered.

Finally Geralt nodded.

"I understand."

She reached across the space between them, covering his hand with hers for the briefest moment.

"Then let time answer the question for both of us."

Neither said another word that night.

They didn't need to.

He couldn’t help but scowl, his eyes flickering over familiar and unknown faces within the ballroom "It still pinches."

The violet eyed socresses watched as Triss, a complicated but mutual friend bated away the attention of a fellow mage. "It also cost more than most villages earn in a year. Most would kill to wear what you’re wearing and be where you are now"

Geralt couldn’t help but grumble almost indignantly "I'd rather have the coin."


"I know."
She smiled anyway, her eyes once again fluttering around the room. 
For a fleeting moment, the politics, the glitter, and the endless sea of painted smiles faded into something familiar. Then another member of the Lodge intercepted Yennefer with polite greetings that sounded suspiciously like veiled threats.
"I'll only be a moment," she murmured, laying two fingers against his arm. "Try not to insult anyone important."

He leaned back against the column behind him, arms crossed, looking every bit the picture of trouble and unapproachable."No promises."

"I know." 
She disappeared into the gathering of sorceresses as effortlessly as smoke.
Geralt exhaled.
At least monsters usually announced themselves.
The ballroom smelled of perfume, wax, expensive wine...
...and fear.
Not panic. Not immediate danger.
The quiet kind, and yet it wasn’t quite just fear almost… unease. The scent drifted through the crowd in faint currents, hidden beneath roses and amber oils. Geralt frowned. Someone here was afraid, and very good at pretending otherwise.
His gaze wandered over embroidered masks, jeweled gowns, polished armor worn only for ceremony.
Nothing.
Then the scent shifted again.
He followed it almost unconsciously.
Near one of the towering windows overlooking moonlit gardens stood a woman who seemed oddly untouched by the celebration around her. Her gown was elegant, though it did barely anything to cover her, enough to satisfy the court, fine gems of crushed emerald sewn in seemed to reflect off the lightening. Deep green silk fell in clean tight line, two slits flowered up either side of her legs, ending just above her hip bones, practical despite its craftsmanship. Finely crafted gold embroidery traced vines along the sleeves, a neck lined that plunged to nearly her naval with dazzling jewelry adoring her. Truly, if Geralt hadn’t had known better he’d have sworn the divine being before him was a goddess. 
She wasn't watching the dancers.
She was watching the exits. Her eyes shifted, a slight pout upon her plump lips. 
One hand rested lightly against the stem of an untouched wine glass. The other bore faint calluses that no noblewoman acquired from embroidery.
Sword calluses.
Interesting.
As if sensing the weight of his stare, she turned.
Their eyes met across the ballroom.
No coy smile.
No fluttering lashes.
Only a brief, measured assessment, the sort shared between strangers accustomed to judging whether the other might become a threat.
Geralt was intoxicated, dark ringlet curls rolled down her back in waves and eyes that sparkled of emerald green. Then someone stepped between them. Geralt blinked sluggishly. 
When he looked again, she was gone.
"...Of course."
A witcher could track a ghoul through a rainstorm, yet one mysterious woman vanished inside a ballroom.
Typical.
From somewhere behind him came the soft clink of a goblet.
"I leave you alone for less than five minutes."
Geralt didn't have to turn, his golden eyes flickering about looking for traces of where she’d possibly gone. 
"What did I do?"
Yennefer appeared beside him, accepting a fresh glass of wine from a passing servant without so much as looking.
"You tell me."
"I've been standing here."
"So I noticed."
Her violet stormy eyes drifted, not to him, but toward the place where the woman had stood only moments before.
Then back to Geralt.
The smallest hint of a smile touched her lips.

"Curious." Yennefer's single word lingered between them, tense and unsettling.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"The fact that you've spent the better part of the evening trying to avoid everyone." She took a measured sip of wine, pausing and frowning slightly. "Then, for the first time since arriving, you looked genuinely interested."

"I was looking."

"You were staring."

"I don't stare."

"No," Yennefer said, amusement dancing in her eyes and something else, something just below the stormy surface.. jealously perhaps. "Witchers conduct investigations."

Geralt grunted, attention turning back towards the ball room full of glittering guests.

"Who is she?"

At this he frown led slightly, confusion settling in "I was hoping you'd tell me."

That gave Yennefer pause.

She turned, scanning the ballroom with practiced ease. Every noble, mage, and ambassador occupied a place in the intricate web she carried in her mind. Faces became allegiances. Smiles became negotiations. She knew everyone, her life did depend on it most days.

For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then, quietly, "Interesting."

"You know her?" Geralt asked, glancing briefly at Yennefer, eyes searching her expression.

"I know of her."

Geralt looked at her questioningly, there weren’t many who Yennefer didn’t know in attendance tonight and the answer had briefly caught him off guard.

"That isn't the same thing."

"No." Yennefer's gaze remained fixed on the crowd. "Very few people can honestly claim they know the famed Aeloria Thalindria Vanyara Shiadel."

The name carried an old rhythm, its syllables flowing like an ancient song.

"Elf?" He hummed, perhaps that was what had peeked his interest.

"Not merely an elf."

Yennefer lowered her voice.

"Very old, very powerful royal blood. Blood from before even Lara Dorren"

That explained the bearing.

Not arrogance. Not pride.

Certainty.

Geralt had seen kings who tried to command a room through sheer force of personality. Aeloria hadn't needed to. The space around her had simply... shifted to accommodate her presence.

"She keeps no court," Yennefer continued. "Accepts no throne. Though it’s said she has the right to many, but travels instead."

"The Path?"

A small nod.

"Village to village. Kingdom to kingdom. Healing plague victims. Mediating disputes before they become wars. Teaching hedge mages who have nowhere else to learn, those who cannot afford Aretuza. She has even treated humans wounded by Scoia'tael raids... and elves injured by human soldiers."

"Sounds inconvenient." Geralt huffed, his interest piqued further.

"For everyone." Yennefer's smile was fleeting. "She refuses to choose a side."

That was hard to believe, Geralt had come to this painful conclusion before. "People usually choose one for you."

"They've tried." Yennifer said, swirling the rest of her wine.

"And?"

"They're still trying." She stated, “It’s why they’ve asked her here tonight”

Geralt noticed the way several members of the Lodge glanced toward the council room doors where he suspected the mystery woman had vanished to.

Waiting.

The doors opened.

Conversation slowed.

A hush spread and spanned through the ballroom, not commanded by magic, but by recognition.

She entered without fanfare.

Dark brown curls rested against emerald silk, each loose ringlet catching the chandelier's light. Her skin was pale as polished ivory, untouched by cosmetics. Green eyes surveyed the hall with quiet attentiveness, neither searching for admiration nor attempting to avoid it. Whatever fear and unease she’d held earlier had evaporated into annoyance.

A gold circlet rested lightly against her brow.

Simple.

Old.

The sort of craftsmanship that belonged to another age.

She carried no visible staff.

No jeweled purely decorative wand, that had been the rage amongst mages as of the late.

No ostentatious display of magical power.

Yet every mage in the room felt it.

Magic gathered around Aeloria the way mist gathered around a forest lake at dawn; calm, ancient, and impossibly deep. It did not press against the senses as many sorceresses' power did, that those who dabbled in chaos felt. It settled over the room with effortless restraint, pulsating and always there.

Geralt noticed several younger mages unconsciously straighten their posture.

One elderly sorcerer actually bowed his head.

She acknowledged neither reaction.

Instead, she thanked the servant who handed her a glass of something bubbly, likely alcoholic, perhaps champagne.

The servant blinked in surprise.

Most nobles and even less mages never noticed servants. To them they were as meaningless as the furniture, there to serve a purpose.

Aeloria, however, did.

Her gloved hand brushed the old servant man's wrist for only a heartbeat.

His expression softened.

The ache in his shoulder, one he'd carried for years since boyhood, simply... vanished.

No words.

No spell spoken aloud.

No dramatic flourish of chaos magic.

She smiled, and he whispered a stunned thank you before realizing what had happened.

Geralt frowned, the interact was so simple and clean. Something one would miss had everyone’s attention not been trained on her from the start."I didn't see her cast."

"You weren't meant to," Yennefer replied, annoyance catching in her tone.

"A trick?" His brows furrowed

"No."

There was something approaching respect in her voice, though the annoyance was still there.

"Control."

Aeloria moved through the ballroom at an unhurried pace. Lords inclined their heads. Sorceresses offered practiced smiles. Ambassadors watched her with careful interest, each wondering whether she might be persuaded to support one cause or another. Each debating on whether they should test their luck now that she had emerged from the Lodge meeting room..

She accepted none of their invitations beyond polite greetings.

Her attention drifted elsewhere.

To the musicians. To the dancers.

To the enchanted ceiling.

To a frightened page balancing a tray far too heavy for his trembling arms.

The tray tipped.

Crystal goblets slid.

Before anyone could react, Aeloria caught the edge of the silver platter with one hand.

The motion was impossibly smooth.

Not magic.

Training.

Years, decades, or even lifetimes of it.

She steadied the young servant before the boy lost his footing.

"Easy," she said gently, her voice caressing the air like silk "You've done nothing that cannot be recovered."

The page's face burned scarlet, as he stammered. "My apologies, Your Highness."

"No apologies are needed."

She helped him gather the fallen goblets herself.

Several nobles stared in open disbelief, fellow mages that had caught sight appeared to sneer slightly at the altercation.

Geralt watched the movement of her shoulders, the balance in her stance, the instinctive placement of her feet.

Not just a traveler.

A swordswoman.

A capable one, he’d been correct in his earlier assessment.

As she rose, her gaze lifted.

Once again, it found him.

This time, she did not look away.

Instead, she inclined her head in the slightest gesture of greeting.

Not to the famous White Wolf.

Not to Yennefer's companion, as soon many had done already this evening.

Simply to another traveler who understood what it meant to spend more nights beneath the stars than beneath a roof.

Geralt returned the nod before he had time to question why.

Across the ballroom, Aeloria smiled, a small, genuine smile that reached her green eyes.

Then the music swelled and the musicians changed to a slower measure, the ballroom settling into a rhythm of measured conversation and carefully choreographed diplomacy. Servants flowed between clusters of nobles carrying crystal flutes and silver trays while the Lodge's members drifted from one delicate negotiation to the next.

Aeloria had scarcely taken three steps before another delegation intercepted her.

A Redanian lord.

A Nilfgaardian envoy.

Two elder mages.

Each greeted her with polished smiles that failed to reach their eyes.

Each received the same patient courtesy.

Each left with remarkably little but a dazed gaze as she moved on.

Geralt still watched from across the room.

"Still investigating?" Yennefer asked, slightly irked now.

"They're circling her." He grumbled

"They've been circling her for decades." Yennefer stated flatly, brushing a hand through her hair.

He observed how delicately she let down each diplomat "And she lets them."

"She lets them think they have a chance."

As if on cue, another noble attempted to monopolize Aeloria's attention.

She excused herself with such effortless grace that the man smiled, thanked her, and only seemed to realize several moments later that she'd declined whatever proposal he'd been making.

Geralt almost smirked.

"Impressive."

Yennefer caught the expression, a nagging fleeting feeling of jealous blooming. "I've seen that look before."

"What look?"

"The one you wear when you've found something that doesn't behave as expected."

"I was admiring the technique, Yen" He sighed, eyes glancing briefly back.

"Mhm."

Before Geralt could answer, Aeloria's path carried her toward them.

Not deliberately.

Simply because the flow of the evening demanded it.

She stopped a respectful distance away and inclined her head. "Lady Yennefer"

"Lady Aeloria."

There was mutual respect in the greeting, though neither woman surrendered an inch of ground. Aeloria gaze flittered over Geralt,

"And you must be Geralt of Rivia"

Her voice was softer than he expected, carrying the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to being heard without needing to raise it. "I've heard the stories of the White Wolf, though I never expected to encounter him here of all places" She smiled softly, almost teasingly.

"They're exaggerated." Geralt gruffed, leaning to push off the wall and stand straight, it felt almost disrespectful to slouch in her presence.

"I assumed most stories are."

For the first time that evening, Geralt allowed himself the ghost of a smile.

"I've heard a few about you." He could recall few and had put together this was likely who the stories of the Lady of Fortune, Lady of the Path had likely been about.

"I hope you’re not disappointed then." Aeloria’s eyes flashed mischievously

"Not at all, if anything they don’t do you justice."

A flicker of amusement warmed her green eyes. She swirled the bubbly liquor in her glass, not often did she drink but when she did it was never champagnes.

Silence settled comfortably between them.

Not awkward.

Measured.

The kind shared by travelers who understood that conversation did not always require filling every pause.

Yennefer observed the exchange over the rim of her own glass.

"So," she said lightly, "have you decided whether you'll accept the Lodge's invitation?"

Aeloria's expression remained serene, her eyes shifting to the sorceress. "I have."

"And?"

"I thanked them for their hospitality."

Yennefer waited, the paused almost electric.

"I also declined."

Several nearby sorceresses pretended not to listen in. Their ears turned towards them their faces of disbelief betrayed them. Yet she had no reason to keep this a secret the prying ears where of little concern, after all she’d turned them down many times before. Though the Lodge’s recent tactic of using mass casualty reports as a way to lure her here was new. Simply asking her to come wasn’t enough, telling her mass amount of lives where hanging of by a thread that apparently was.

"The Continent has enough councils and people rife with want for power," Aeloria continued. "It has rather fewer people willing to walk its roads."

Geralt found himself answering before thinking.

"The roads aren't particularly pleasant."

"They rarely are." She smirked, her face held a look he was unable to distinguish "But they tell the truth, they are honest."

Her gaze met his again piercing him deeply, for reasons he couldn't quite explain, he believed she meant that.

A herald announced the next dance.

Several nobles approached Aeloria at once.

She offered Geralt the smallest nod,

"It was a pleasure meeting you, White Wolf. May the Path be kind to you”

"And you."

She disappeared once more into the crowd.

Geralt watched her go.

Only when she had vanished among silk gowns and candlelight did he notice Yennefer watching him instead. "You like her."

He frowned. "I don't know her."

"You find her interesting." Yennefer bit, the champagne leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.

"I do." Geralt said honestly

Yennefer looked toward the ballroom whether Aeloria had vanished once more.

"So do I."

Her words were calm.

Her expression was not, and Geralt couldn’t help but think briefly he’d made a mistake in admitting that.

Morning arrived beneath a blanket of pale mist. The Lodge's estate, so dazzling beneath enchanted chandeliers the night before, now stood quiet beneath a grey sky morning. Dew clung to the gardens, and only a handful of servants had begun their day's work. None of the guests from the night before had seemed to stir.

Geralt tightened Roach's saddle one final time.

Yennefer had already gone by the time he’d awoken.

No note.

No farewell.

Only an empty room carrying the fading scent of lilac and gooseberries.

It wasn't the first time.

It probably wouldn't be the last.

Roach snorted impatiently.

"I'm coming."

He led her toward the stable yard.

Another horse shifted nearby.

A mare.

Coal black from ears to tail, her coat shining even beneath the clouded morning.

Her tack was practical.

Well cared for.

Travel-worn.

Beside her stood Aeloria, fastening the final buckle of a weathered saddlebag. Gone were the jewels and emerald silk.

She now wore sturdy riding leathers, beneath a forest-green cloak, a longsword resting comfortably across her back beside a plain travel staff.

She looked less like royalty.

More like someone entirely at home beneath an open sky. Yet entirely enchanting, Geralt halted watching her move,her riding leathers fitted firmly around her silhouette, blouse beneath the cloak unbuttoned to expose whispers of cleavage.

She glanced up as Geralt approached.

“Leaving already?" He asked, she’d caught him looking, staring even

She looked at him knowingly almost teasingly, perhaps her elven heritage was what attracted his gaze towards her. Elevens had been known in the past for enchantress beauty "The Lodge will survive without me”

"Barely I’m sure." Geralt quipped back.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, yet she said nothing.

He cleared his throat, "I was afraid they might keep you another week."

"They tried." She stated simply, adjusting the rein bit in her mare’s mouth. "And you?"

"I've never been very good at staying where people expect me to."

Geralt nodded toward the road beyond the gates, the Path calling him forward now that he’d been once again abandoned by the sorceress Yennefer. "Heading north?"

"Eventually." She answered, placing a foot into the stirrup hauling herself onto her mount.

"Eventually?"

"There are reports of drowners appearing unusually far inland." She tightened one last strap across her mare's packs. "Griffins abandoning traditional nesting grounds. Forest creatures moving before the seasons change."

She bent forward, cleavage spilling forward slightly, and rested a hand against the mare's neck, petting it. "I've spent years healing the aftermath."A thoughtful pause.

"I've decided it's time I better understand the cause."

Geralt frowned slightly. "Monster migrations." He’d never heard of a mage, much less an elf interested in the migrations of monsters. Then again he’d never heard of one also living on the Path.

She nodded."Patterns tell stories."

"They also get people killed."

"Which is precisely why I'd like to understand them."

He considered that.

It sounded sensible.

Dangerously so.

He swung into Roach's saddle.

"Safe travels."

"You as well."

He nudged Roach toward the gate.

Behind him came the steady sound of hoofbeats.

Then her voice, soft

"Geralt."

He looked back.

Aeloria guided her mare alongside him, morning mist curling around both horses.

"I have a question."

He waited.

"Would you object to another traveler sharing the road for a while?"

His brow lifted. He’d not expected this."I tend to attract trouble."

She chuckled, "I've noticed."

"It isn't usually the interesting sort." Roach almost seemed to snort in laughter at him, as he said this

"I suspect our definitions differ."

She smiled not persuasive, not flirtatious, simply open. "And, you know where monsters are found."

"And you?" The path before them was beginning to diverge into multiple routes as they approached the cross roads.

"I know where the wounded are."

For a moment, only the birds disturbed the silence.

Then Aeloria added quietly,

"It seems to me those paths have crossed for a very long time."

Geralt looked down the road stretching into the waking Continent.

Then at the traveler waiting beside him.