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Sleeping Beauty Reloaded	By : dschinny Category: +S through Z > Witcher 2, The: Assassins of Kings Views: 1938 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Witcher, this is purely for fun, and not profit

Chapter List
- 30
- 31
- 32
Aftermath
Gwent: Harvest of Sorrow Theme - Extended (1 Hour of Music)
https://youtu.be/8mWwqoTBLOQ
Iorveth came running around the mansion’s corner at the shatter of glass in an upper story. The huntsmen followed suit at the elven’s alarming yell. They did not get to see Velita who had made a runner for the Chevalier’s Houses’ backdoor. She vanished behind the first door that turned out to be a tiled bathroom, but that was a dead end. She wrapped herself in a towel, and slinked out again to cower behind the tall chimney of the house, ready to run out of any of the two doors in case the burning leshen evaded Geralt and came after her again.
Outside the Scoia'tael leader applauded the witcher, “So this is how you work. Quite efficient I admit… If you hadn’t let the remains lay around in first place, that is.”
Gernot could see that Geralt was worked up and had lost his usual sense of fun. He interfered. “We did a thorough search and removed all remains from the battlegrounds most carefully. The Count must have gathered a piece from another location.” The huntsman raised his chin at the elven defiantly, “You requested an audience with the Count. Please follow me.”
Iorveth went with the two hunters, through the kitchen and the basement aisle, further down the stairs to the wine cellar. Their lanterns revealed the messy situation. “I see that your Count was quite the pervert.” Whatever the count had done in that cellar and to whom, he had met his own demise and it had been a nasty one. “That does not explain the contamination of the water, though.” Iorveth did not settle the matter yet.
“I suggest we will do further research about that in the morning. Our horses need to drink fresh water and rest, and so do we.”
“I agree.”
“Will you call for my daughter’s return, please? I need to know she is safe.”
“I’m not sure if this is a safe place to return to, but I will inform my warriors of our whereabouts first thing in the morning.” Iorveth confirmed.
   -oOo-
The Witcher: Main Menu
https://youtu.be/SIuh8F_RROg
The sounds of battle out on the training ground died down. Men were talking, horses whinnied. Velita thought that she should get up. Get dressed, see to the horses, do her job. Geralt had returned, for her. He would be hungry and thirsty. But her legs simply denied service. She just put her arms around her own shoulders and remained were she had dropped once the last bit of adrenaline left her.
The witcher made sure that nothing was moving in that bonfire, and then cooled the remaining heat from his blade with handfuls of water from the rain tub so he could sheath it. Some days ago, Gernot bathed in that tub, now it was the last of their drinking water. He followed his nose to find Velita. She had the brains to cling to him in the opportune moment, which saved the skin on his left palm. Once he set her down, she ran for cover and let him get to work. Pushing the door open it swung against the wall with a bang as he followed the reasonable person and swatted to check on her. She looked at him blank eyed. He was thankful of the darkness that hid his changed features. She said nothing, just put her arms around him, pushed her nose under his chin and inhaled his scent. Apparently she recognized it and felt soothed.
The witcher picked her up, wondering inwardly. She hadn’t been clingy when he left her. Back then, she stood straight. Now he had to hold her up against him to keep her from sagging. She was not acutely bleeding from what he smelled, got no broken bones from what a quick once over examination told him? She was badly bruised, starved and worn out in general. She hid like she was the freak, but few would want to put their arms around him while he was under the effect of a potion.
Enough was enough. The witcher threw Velita over his left shoulder unceremoniously to have a free hand in case Iorveth was up for trouble. He whistled Roach to follow him into the stable. The mare stood and looked at them as he took the detour to the saddle chamber. He dropped Velita on her bed and threw the blanket over her. “I’ll be right back,” he growled and kept moving. He made no light but marched Roach into the usual partition, hoisted the saddle over the divider and took the tack behind the stable to clean it. On the way back, he threw some logs into the oven, cast Igni to get the fire going and then supplied his mare with a bucket of clear water from the rain tub and an extra serving of oats.
The full moon shone in through the stable gate as the hunters and the elven entered the stable. They saw the witcher withdraw into the saddle chamber with his swords, the saddle bags and another bucket of water.
The white skinned mutant excused himself with a reverberant, “I’ve got her out. See you in the morning,” and shut the door behind him. Gernot would know that he valued his privacy now.
Velita had dropped off the bed on the wooden platform and was kneeling in front of the cold hearth. She had not even tried to reach for the lantern hanging from the ceiling beams. Somehow, she had grown to accept the darkness surrounding her. She was crawling, seeking water, tried to clean herself, but it was cold, her supply had dried up and her clumsiness was to no avail.
“Stay in bed,” the witcher scolded gravelly as he picked her up to drop her on the straw bales again. His body all hard muscle and tendons, he pushed her down robustly with a low growl. He touched her no more than necessary and turned to fill the water reservoir of the hearth. “You will be fine,” he reassured her. Steam hissed from the developing heat. He had prevented the water compartment from cracking, now he closed the lid. “Wait. No cold on you.” Velita nodded dutifully, but flinched at the slightest sound outside. Later he would help her clean up. Under the effect of a potion that enhanced his speed and strength but reduced his inhibitions, compassion, kindness, it was not a good idea to touch her.
“That’s just Gernot and Hector who take care of their own horses.” He told her like she was a spooked horse herself. Words did not come easy, but he took time. Calm her, calm himself. “You don’t need to do a thing. An elven warrior accompanied us here. I will introduce you in the morning. The Count is dead. The Captain is dead. The Leshen is dead. All others are gone to Midville. Do not fear.” He got cloth and a pot with very little water to allow her a bit of cleanliness beforehand. “Want light? I look different because I took a potion before the fight.”
“A little light would be nice. Can you stay with me, please?” came Velita’s meek question. The one request she had avoided like a pest.
He knew she did not mean it; she just could not help it while she was suffering. “I will stay with you.” The rest of the continent could help themselves, period. Her voice sounded hoarse. He held her hand gently in the dark and gave her the body warm water skin he had carried on him all day. He made her drink some and listened to her gulps to make sure she had it down in case she was shocked once he cast Igni at lantern and allowed her to see him.
He looked horrible, eyes black, skin calc-white dough with blackened adders spreading from his eye sockets. “I can see what you mean.” Velita cupped his check gently, “your heartbeat…” It was almost… normal? What she saw worried her but a woman who had just ended the symbiosis with a leshen could certainly not complain about looks. “Does it hurt?” - “Yes. But I can take it.” – She realized that he had exerted himself to save her, but he did not want to detail, therefore she just said, “Thank you.”
Geralt knew she meant it as he undid his sword harness and the armor to move more comfortably in the small quarter. It wasn’t warmed up by far, but he got her a steamed cloth and shook it out so she could at least clean her face and hands. There were yellowish bruises on her jaw and forehead and elbows that were a couple of days old, but her skin was remarkable unbroken. His potion-enhanced eyesight spotted a pattern of fair dots, scars of dozens of tiny puncture wounds on the inside of her upper arm that had not been there before. He would not question her now. He took the dirty cloth from her and passed her another one.
His motion still somewhat angular with upend energy, he took a loaf of bread and a slice of cheese from his saddle bag, set the makeshift table as she had for him so many times. He cut a slice down for her to eat. In his present state of heightened metabolism, he knew no hunger, but his enhanced hearing told him she had been starved out. The sooner she got something into her digestive system, the better. He sat on his heels and closed his blackened eyes, tried to calm his mind. Meditation helped him to get a rid of the potion’s effects sooner, return to his normal sensitivity and eye sight. She needed time and so did he.
While his own heartbeat was racing due to the potion, Velita’s sounded unsteady. He listened as she chewed and swallowed. She had healed injuries on her outside, how badly harmed her insides were, he could not tell. He certainly would not ask her how that felt or how it came to that. If she did not start on that topic, he would not go there. Her mind was weakened already. He had seen enough. No more pressure. Under the influence of the potion he was pressure impersonated. He had to stay away. If she kept down what she ate, there was hope her innards would return to normal operation.
Once Velita slept and he was back to normal, he could do the analysis on the drinking water.
Tomorrow, they would send to Midville and have the guard retrieve the coach and the bodies. Gernot had to see Fabian and then find Anne. He did not trust Iorveth with her.
The countess… her family would miss her but they were far away in Gubta. They would probably offer a reward if they knew. Nobody would miss her in Midville, but she was still worth a ransom. The heir wasn’t even born, chances where fifty/fifty that the baby would be a girl who could not inherit the fief. Once the city guard got the news, King Demavend would be informed. The king would most likely name another noble to hold the mansion and Midville in fief and Gernot would have to arrange himself with a new lordship and work hard to avoid being kicked out.
Same shit, different day.
“Geralt?” Velita’s voice raised him from his thoughts, “If you can… the water is warm. Could you help me wash my hair please?”
His whole body still thrummed with the need to move, to press on, to take down the target and go in for the kill. He had reason, but he was not sure all his inhibitions were in place. A naked image of her in the steam bath flashed his consciousness and he couldn’t shake it. His hand moved to take hold of her hair, he saw the pulse point on her neck jump …and he forcibly redirected his attention, “I get us another bucket. Running water is contaminated.” He had to get out quickly, venting her mating pheromones out of his nose until he was mentally stable, did no longer feel the urge to break any resistance, to exact brutal control….
“Oh.” Velita was dumbstruck.
Geralt went outside to do the preparations she had performed so fluently for her guest. The court was deserted but well lit from the full moon and lights shone over from the kitchen, he had to tighten his irises to protect his eyes.
Velita rolled up into a sitting position and flinched. She better knelt then sat. Since the leshen had stopped healing her and the acute threat was gone, the stress waned away. It left her incredibly sore and worn out. She crawled to the edge of the platform on her hands and knees. Underneath, the water ran deep red. Did it come from the well like this? She sniffed. What had happened? Together with the leshen she had looted the wine and the apple juice, but what had that to do with the well? There was no connection to the installation that Gernot had shown her.
   -oOo-
Gernot had brought Cricket into the stable and then invited Hector and Iorveth into the kitchen. There was food, there was wood, there would be warmth. Iorveth got himself an apple while he monitored the humans going about the housework. “Can you take care of the fire, please? I would like to see to that window shutter before the whole mansion freezes up.” Gernot went out with Hector to pick up the wooden board from the training ground, nailed the broken hinge into place roughly and took it up on the first floor. They hooked it back on the hinges, shut it in front of the broken window frame and drew the curtains to keep the freezing draft from entering the upper floor level.
They passed through the kitchen, found the hearth warmed and shoved the roast into the oven. Afterwards, Gernot went into the cellar to get meat for his dogs. Since he was one of the two suppliers, he had the key to that part of the cellar. He went back into the kitchen to dismantle portions and mix it with shredded carrots, fish oil and boiled roots. Hector knew how to help. Iorveth frowned. Elven did not hunt with dogs, but had a good relationship with animals in general. So did that particular dh’oine. He cared and that made him quite the exception.
By then, his warriors would have surrounded the Midville area and entered the no-man’s land of the Pontar valley, where Redania was in the north, Temeria with the border town of Flotsam in the west. On the map, that woodland was the last part of Aedirn, but nobody cared. King Foltest had sent his special forces to pacify the north of the Mahakam Mountains and the Blue-Stripes-Regiment was stationed in Flotsam.
King Demavend sent nobody to not endanger the peace between the two nations. Mountains and the mighty Pontar stream and its side arm at Flotsam described the natural borders sufficiently. On paper, that was clear.
On the ground, in the wilderness, it was a different thing. There was food. There was water, there were elven ruins, broken remains of splendid settlements, gardens, baths. Nowadays, monsters and wild beasts possessed the wilderness where few dh’oine dared to venture. Iorveth had his lair guarded by one of the more vicious monster. He would never call a witcher to remove that one! He even feed it with whatever pest crossed his path. A drowner, a nekker, a dh’oine… he did not care which sort of pest he reduced. There was never a shortage.
The Scoia'tael warriors of both genders did well in the wilderness, but other professions and the majority of she-elves did not fare as well in the wilderness. While the dwarves held Mahakam during the Seven Years War, many Ain Seidhe had moved into the settlements the dh’oine had stomped out of the ground and based on old elven cities since the merging of spheres. Live was easier there than in the wilderness. They thought they would be respected for their breathtaking beauty and for their wisdom and skills. For a while that worked because the dh’oine knew what they owed them.
But afterwards, as the novelty wore off, the dh’oine attitude changed - slightly at first, then profoundly. The she-elven’s service was suddenly taken for granted. Gratitude got tinged by shame, shame lead to shameful deeds. In the end, the beauty was used up for fading pleasures. Ain Seidhe were a long-living species, but slowly, his people ran out of options. By the years the Nilfgaardians settled their peace treaty and the warriors returned, there were plenty of half elven-hybrids around, but no full blood elven had been born in a dh’oine lifespan as far as Iorveth knew.
The poor conditions of life efficiently stopped a race of intellectual individuals from procreation.
Bernhard Lorado, the trading post’s commander in Flotsam had offered a deal. The veteran would release one Ain Seidhe woman for each dh’oine woman Iorveth or other Scoia'tael offered up to him. Iorveth did not care what happened to the dh’oine he sold, they kept coming. Lorado was a mean fiend who wanted to purge his city of all non-humans, but that was just one more reason to buy out as many Ain Seide as they could.
So far, nobody had asked for the countess whereabouts. The count’s untimely demise had rendered the countess a worthless hostage to him. But maybe he could get two Ain Seide for that one if he got her to brag about her blood line and her family relationships. Nobility paid ransoms and Lorado would know how to make the most of a situation. He was the local despot who made his own rules and had his own gallows to make sure every citizen of Flotsam was aware of the options.
Afterwards, he would have three she-elven under foot to set up before the winter. The Scoia'tael had to exchange their loot of jewelry into hard currency in Flotsam. Afterwards, on the aedirnish side of the border, they could spend the hard currency to set-up the elven refugees, safely out of Lorado’s reach. Fredhiana would help out. She had a good hold on the local hang man and reported that the Midville Mayor was a laid back merchant with no interest in inter-racial conflicts.
The dh’oine hunters returned from feeding the many dogs and they ate together at the kitchen table. Meat was meat even though it had lain around for a bit too long for his taste. Iorveth had served times in different prisons and wars and eaten far worse.
In the morning, Iorveth would send the goshawk to transmit is order to Ciaran aep Easnillen. His comrade would accompany Anne safely to Midville so he could settle the conflict with Gernot Forester. Iorveth did not care much which dh’oine was placed in the count’s office by their king. As long as the people on the ground were fair enough, he could work with them.
“What can you tell me about the water, Gernot?” Iorveth inquired.
“While I was away, it started to run red from the mansion’s well, as you have seen in the stable. It doesn’t smell bad like it is poisoned by dead animal tissue. Maybe it is meddling with minerals, but I cannot say if it is unhealthy or even poisoned. The witcher took a sample. Maybe he can tell us more.”
“Where is he anyway?” – “He stays in his previous quarter in the stable. Maybe he will drop by later. I’ll put a slice aside for him.” – “Who’s going to pay him this time?” – “We did not fix a price before he went into battle. I am not sure it will come for free, but I’ll leave him in peace knowing that he will not hesitate to request if he needs something.” – “You actually trust a witcher?” – “This one, yes.”
“I require that you support my investigation tomorrow. Show me to the well that was contaminated and the places where the leshen was battled, where the count probably picked up the leshen’s remains to regenerate the leshen in his cellar.”
“If I am to help you, I request that you return my daughter… and that you allow the witcher accompany us to get to the base matter of the contaminated water. It is in everybody’s interest to have clear water in the wood as well as in the stable as well as in the city. Let’s stop all in-fighting and work together on that common goal.”
“I agree to a fair exchange. I will need some fresh meat in the morning to lure a Goshawk and take my message so Anne is returned to you immediately.”
“I will see to it. The cellar is full and we’ve got chicken in the stable, hare in the barn.”
Iorveth just shook his head. ‘So much imprisonment,’ he thought and said “I got to turn in.” It was probably a racial trait of humans. He had to stay alert. He went over to the smaller house with Gernot and Hector then decided he wanted to stay at the stable like the witcher. He could not rest between stone walls, surrounded by dh’oine stench. He went to do his own round about the stable, took in the surroundings. There was a garden behind the stable. The moon shone on an orchard as well as a dung heap.
There was clean rain water in a barrel, a hut at the far wall. Fire cracked in an adobe oven in the middle of the stable, so the witcher had made himself comfortable. Chicken clucked, a dog let out a low bark, horses took a few steps in their partitions. Iorveth got himself a bucket of fresh water, walked back into the court and opened the stable gate. Inside, it was dark, but his elven eyes were as good as cat eyes. He checked on his grey horse again, shared his water and then climbed the ladder up onto the hay loft. He refilled the hay rack through one of those practical hatches then dropped into a plush heap of dried grass.
The air was fresh, the cut and dried grass below carried the scent of meadows. Life was good.
   -oOo-
The witcher found Velita cowering on the edge of the platform this time, wrapped in a towel and sniffing at the red rivulet below. His gaze was back to amber color, his potion-induced oversensitivity waned away, his motion and breathing rate had relaxed somewhat.
“I don’t understand that,” she pondered hesitantly, “I have made quite a mess in the cellar and the barn, but I never touched water. The leshen liked sweet drinks… and…”
“Mind your own health for now.” Geralt toed off his boots and got the hot water from the oven, “Where is the soap?” he inquired briskly, Velita pointed. He mixed water to temperature and gathered her long hair in the bowl. The heated rain water in the bowl was tainted as red as the rivulet below. His compassion had returned one look into the bowl reminded him this wasn’t just about vanity. A mixture of wine, blood, gore and grime flowed out of Velita’s dark tresses. Had the count mopped the cellar floor with her hair?! He did not mind to get his hands dirty, but he would have preferred to do this in the comforts of a bathhouse. But Velita should not be immersed in suds until any inner injury was healed. He removed the bowl and emptied the contents in the gutter, worked up lather in Velita’s hair, cleaning the scent of lamp oil from his hands in progress. He wanted her to feel clean, to feel good… and he probably had to earn her trust again.
He had left her in a vulnerable situation; the outcome was on his hands.
Velita leaned into his touch as he massaged her skull gently but thoroughly. It felt heavenly, but that wasn’t the only dirty spot on her. He did not know, how little she deserved his care.
When Geralt let go, she shrunk briefly, gathered all her might to stand briskly. She fixed her gaze at closed the door and dropped the towel on the wooden platform behind her. She waited for him to pour water over her head, to get a rid of all the suds.
He gaped for just a moment as she pulled blank. Her scent carried stress pheromones to the degree of rage and it spoke to his overactive brain stem. She was at that turning point of fed up with it all, but she stood like a rock in front of him. Thankfully the rest of his brain kicked in and he did her the favor at hand; poured water above her head.
Once the water had gushed off her, Velita got a cloth and rubbed herself down thoroughly, ignorant of cuts of iron, pricks of thorns, her rich collection bruises of all sort. The cold that shook her body proved that she was wasting her last reserves. She just closed everything out and stuck to her plan to feel clean again. She threw the dirty cloth on the heap by the side of the door with a wet smack and turned to him.
She noted he was still paler than usual, but she was through with pain and could relax and smile again, “Do we have some more water?” – “Sure,” he poured another bowl of water over her; clear rivulets caressed the trim shape of her body. She parted the dark curtain of her hair in front of her face and twisted to wring out her hair.
Bare and slick and... it wasn’t for him to take now, but he felt well with the result as her tension washed down the gutter together with the dirt. He threw her a clean towel for her hair and got the woolen blanket to wrap up her shivering body. Her teeth clanked and he would not let her climb, just hoisted the giant caterpillar up, carried her the few steps the bed and lowered her gently.
The cold draft at the door and the rough massage on her skin had revived her circulation somewhat. Now she just needed warmth, which was a problem in a freezing October night. His own hair was tainted to grey curls and stank of smoke and lamp oil. Usually, he would never try to bed a woman like this, but this wasn’t a moment for vanity, just to get her warm. He went to get more water for the oven’s water compartment and put fresh logs on the fire. He got Roach’s saddle into the chamber to dry and untied his own large blanket.
Geralt was almost certain the she would welcome his vicinity. He could take chances, now that he had reached a mental state that would accept to be turned down. He kicked off his boots, stripped down to his knickers on the way to the bed and lay beside her. He would not push her in any way. Velita did not even flinch at his presence, just rolled around to admit him under her blanket as he settled his own blanket above them. ‘Here… to trust.’
In the warmth of his embrace she rested her forehead against his sternum, listened to his slow comforting heartbeat and snuggled her toes between his calves for warmth.
He rested his arm around her shivering shoulder and was glad that still worked for her. Due to her sweet acceptance, his basic brain functions were in sync with his intellect again and he allowed himself to doze off as the potion waned.
When he opened his eyes again, the blackness had withdrawn from the veins and around his eye sockets. Velita breathed deeply in her sleep and he rested his body while his mind began to tick off points.
Geralt had not expected the count to pull that sort of stunt. A nobleman was not an experimenting wizard after all. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have left Velita to her fate… even though she respected his way of life, even though she requested them to get on with their lives. Nenneke requested him to visit soon? He would get her more than she had bargained for. The question was, could Velita ride or would he have to call-in favors for transport?
Velita was warmed up sufficiently for him to get up and do his own nightly hygiene. He had not got the luxury of warm water for four days on horseback and smelled a bit rank. The elven on the hay loft had settled down peacefully an hour ago. Since the potions effect had waned completely Geralt was hungry like a wolf.
He slipped into his unwashed shirt and pants, pushed the knife in his boot and strapped the sword harness over his black shirt. He sealed off the chamber against any elven robber’s intrusion and went to put on fresh logs first and put another bucket of water in front of the gate. Then he made a beeline over to the kitchen for food and found the slice of roast Gernot set aside for him.
But the forester probably did not expect the witcher’s other nightly activities. Geralt went upstairs to the lady’s suite and lit a lantern. He wasn’t there to tidy the bed or dust off the trinkets but to loot two changes of woman’s clothing that would actually fit Velita pleasing trim shape.
Hector had told him that the count had posted a bounty on her head. He would force the steward withdraw this in the morning, but as long as Velita ran around like a slave or beggar, she would still attract all sorts of unwanted attention. She had worked hard, in Geralt’s opinion her master’s death set her free by the latest. She deserved clothing on her back and a change if that was in the wash. That was an absolute minimum and he didn’t need a countess’ written agreement to see to such details after he just retracted a 500 crowns-sized-leshen from her ladyship’s bedroom.
The witcher was not stealing, he just settled a bill.
He found sufficient clothing for a nice and tidy appearance and wrapped it up. The count’s key ring tinkled as he went over to the count’s suite to settle Velita’s paper work as well. The steward was an orderly man which meant that the contract between the slaver and the count was easily found. The witcher issued the release certificate on the backside of that parchment, dated it back three days after the Leshen’s killing, gave the reason “special services” adorned it with the official stamp of the Count of Midville and shoved the rolled up certificate into Velita’s bundle of clothing. He helped himself to the difference in coin between the naturals he had probably taken from a handmaiden’s trunk and the fee for the second leshen and locked the Count’s office desk again.
The witcher returned to the basement, added fresh logs in the kitchen oven to have a warm room for everybody’s breakfast. He ate silently and grabbed an apple for Velita in case she woke. If she was awake, she should eat small amounts of un-spiced food until that came out the right way. But he hoped that she would sleep through the night and restore her vital energy. Gernot and he would have to explain a lot to her over breakfast. Afterwards they would ride out, to explain a few things to Iorveth. He did not want to leave Velita behind anymore to be grabbed by anybody or anything.
The witcher locked the kitchen door behind him and went to check the pyre on the training ground. The pole was blackened, ruins of it were still standing, but the burned out manacles had dropped to the ground and the whole thing didn’t look quite solid anymore. He turned back to the stable as he had something of a visitation. A tall guy in black leather armor with a bi-hander sword strapped to his back almost bumped into him. Hands rose to sword hilts in sync. “What are you doing here?” he was asked.
Thankfully, the mirror man had not inherited his hair and features. Brown hair and beard, red and black doublet, wide pants with showy red stripes; quality clothing in colors an executioner of a human settlement had to wear to be recognized by citizens who thought of themselves as more honorable. “I’m a guest of the mansion, while you are not. What are you doing here?”
“Ah, you are that guest, the witcher. Have you found the Velita that Gernot Forester asked for?” – “Yes. The bounty has been called off already.” – “My name is Rosenfeld. I am not looking for Velita, but for an elvish healer named Fredhiana.” – “Is that the healer who mixed the late Captain’s medicine?” – “Possibly - she mixes potions daily for so many people.” – “She did not do the delivery. Why do you look for her at the mansion?” – “I thought she went out late and then I saw the shine of a fire. The steward moved into Midville yesterday, said the mansion was cursed, that a monster lived here.” – “That is an exaggeration. I have not seen her but if I do, I will tell you’ve been looking for her. For now, I will show you to the gate.”
Rosenfeld was glad to resolve that conflict in a civil way. With a witcher, there was no guarantee his blade struck first.
Geralt went back into the stable and dispelled the Yrden on the door. He went inside the saddle chamber silently, but his fine ears picked up voices and movement on the first floor. He never understood why eavesdropping was a bad thing. Iorveth got company. Female company. He would have taken Rosenfeld’s message, but it seemed that they enjoyed each other’s company a lot. It could wait until the morning.
Since he could not sleep anyway, he undressed and used the comforting warmth of this place to wash his hair and get a rid of the lamp oil stench and grime before he slipped back into bed with Velita. She had turned around and he pulled her backside against him. Her scent projected clean, warm and comfortable. To have his hands full of content sweetness made the sounds coming from the hayloft much more bearable. After all, he had snatched his mate out of a monster’s grasp, her heartbeat under his palm was a sound vital sign and since she allowed him to hold her afterwards, even in her sleep, she displayed her trust. On an instinctual basis, he owned her and that was all it took to satisfy him …for the moment.

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