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Philippa's Grace	By : ArizonaIceT Category: +S through Z > Witcher 3: Wild Hunt Views: 8358 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Witcher, this is purely for fun, and not profit

Chapter List
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“I’m telling you, we could’ve been in Vizima in minutes if you just let me-”
“No portals, Philippa”
“I mean, Really? Such a silly phobia. Portals are perfectly safe when cast by an experienced-”
“NO, portals.”
Philippa and Geralt had been riding for several hours, putting distance between themselves and the mess that was made in White Orchard. Deciding to give old Roach a break from carrying two people, he let Philippa ride saddle, while he led Roach by the reins. Geralt was trying to make up for the delay by riding hard towards Vizima, but it was still a distance and decided to slow their pace. They likely wouldn’t be there until the next day, perhaps even the day after, given the nature of the....baggage they were transporting.
The landscape had changed from the flat fields and prairies surrounding White Orchard, to the lush forestation that Temaria was known for. Tall green trees of spring, and rolling hills, only bisected by the road cutting through the middle. The Temerian River zig-zagged through the land, and the pair crossed several small bridges on their trek. Geralt knew the area well, having taken many Witcher contracts along this path, both before and after he lost his memories. It was an area Geralt felt comfortable in, one where he could easily spend many a day taking in the scenery and killing monsters.
Philippa however was not as amenable to the landscape as The Witcher. Philippa had been to Temaria many times of course in her political career. Generally though, she’d only teleport right into Vizima, or the various castles in the area. And when she did need to physically travel for whatever reason, it would typically be in a carriage with people to attend to her requests, and a beautiful woman to attend to her needs. Never did she think she’d be riding through the countryside like some yokel, and she especially didn’t think it would be because of a Witcher with a phobia of portals.
“Well can we at least stop soon?” Philippa requested haughtily
“We’ve only been on the road a few hours. There’s still a bit of sunlight left.” Geralt explained. “I’ve already lost too much time in White Orchard.”
Philippa frowned at Geralt’s rebuttal.
“Plus we need to put distance between us and any would be witch hunters who decide to do something stupid like come after us.”
She frowned even more at that.
“You shouldn’t have let any of them alive. Witch Hunters deserve no quarter.” She reprimanded. Geralt just looked up at her arching an eyebrow.
“Yeah, well some would say the same about you.” He retorted, garnering an even deeper scowl from Philippa. “I’m not going to cut down men running and cowering away. Don’t need to prove what they think of Witchers true.”
Philippa didn’t need a lecture from the Witcher, she needed to stop before she hexed the back of Geralt’s grey head. That wouldn’t be very productive in her goal to find somewhere safe. She thought for a minute, and then smiled slyly to herself. Holding her stomach, she began to groan quietly, not too loud, but loud enough that she saw his ears perk up, and his neck tense. He stopped and looked up at her, with concern in his eyes.
“Something wrong?” He asked
“Just some stomach pains.” She answered, laying the discomfort in her voice, on thick. She heard Geralt make a voice low in his throat, and his face scrunch in minor annoyance, before sighing.
“I’ll see if I can find us a place to lay for the night. He grumbled. Philippa smiled to herself.
‘Well that’s one thing this child is useful for’
They rode for a few more minutes before coming upon a clearing slightly off the main road; accessible enough by horse, but still mostly hidden by trees.
“Perfect.” Geralt said. Philippa was confused.
“I thought you were finding us a place to rest?” She questioned.
“You’re looking at it.” He responded as he began to unpack Roach.
“What? You can’t be serious. You’d have me sleep outside? Why can’t we find an inn?” She whined. Geralt just continued setting up camp.
“Can’t very well do that without money. Had to give my gold from the Griffin contract to that doctor whose farm you nearly leveled.” He explained. Philippa had enough humility to look slightly contrite. “And I doubt in the hurry of everything, you happened to bring any money.”
Philippa didn’t answer, but folded her arms and pouted.
“That’s what I thought. I know it might not be to your usual standards, but it’s not a bad spot to make camp for the night.” He began. She didn’t look too convinced. “Soft grass, not too many rocks, coverage from prying eyes, honestly I’d kill to sleep somewhere like this often while on the path.”
“Maybe you and your Witcher friends are accustomed to sleeping in the dirt and filth, but I’m not. Even at my most desperate, I still have a semblance of class” Philippa said nastily. Geralt just gave her a hard look. She clearly wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Look either, we ride for the next 18 or so hours to get straight to Vizima - which I could do no problem, but I don’t think you or Roach would enjoy that very much -or we rest here for the night. Your choice.” He said in ultimatum.
Philippa’s eyebrows knitted downwards and she pursed her lips together.
“I don’t suppose you have anything to eat then.” She sighed, relenting to his point.
“I have some salt cured pork and dried tomatoes. I can also catch some squirrels once I am finished making camp.” He said.
This time her stomach actually cramped in pain.
____________________

‘Is this what Witchers do in their free time?’ Philippa thought.
It was well into the evening now, with the sun fully set. Geralt quickly built the camp and fire, and true to his word, caught some rabbits for them to eat. Well, he ate his. Philippa took a bite or two before she set it down on principle. After that however, the pair just sat there in silence for hours. Geralt had a journal that he would periodically write and scribble in, but other than that, he just sat there in complete silence, neutral expression on his face.
‘Seriously? He’s just been sitting there scribbling in that little book of his.’
Philippa was nearly crawling out of her skin. Stuck in a dark forest, with nothing to do, listening to the sounds of bugs and creatures of the night. She was so used to spending her knights reading some literature, theory, partying with the nobility, not sitting in the dirt with a moody Witcher.
“Not sure what to do with yourself?” Geralt suddenly asks.
“Hmph. I just figured there’d be something a bit more productive to do.” Philippa responded.
“You’re the one who wanted to stop.” Geralt responded. “Speaking of, how’s the...how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” Philippa responded, a bit harsher than intended. Geralt breathed through his nose, almost as a sigh of relief.
“Good...good.” He said simply.
The pair fell back into an awkward silence.
“Mind if I ask you a question?” Geralt asked.
“Not much I could do to stop you.” Philippa retorted. Geralt ignored her attitude and pressed on.
“That potion. The one that likely caused all this….what was it?”
Philippa had expected he’d eventually ask about the potion that tied them together like this. She thought over whether she would tell him the truth of her goal or not, she didn’t owe him any explanation; as far as she was concerned, it was his fault that the solution spilled on him in the first place. However, she had no reason to lie at this point. It was gone; all her work, even in error, was gone. It didn’t matter either way at the moment.
“It was an experimental potion, meant to simulate the properties of rare gemstones in the process of experimental regenerative magic.” Philippa explained academically.
“Regenerative magic. Hard. Nearly impossible.” Geralt interjected.
“Yes. Nearly impossible. But I wouldn’t be the sorceress that I am if I didn't try.” She retorted.
“Only one wizard as far as I know found any success in it-” Geralt began.
“Geralt, let me stop you right there. If your next words were to compare me to that madman Vilgefortz, just know that you’re very next moment would be me turning you inside out. Magic has no owner or master.” She said, voice cold as ice. She was nothing like that man who nearly destroyed the Northern Kingdoms. Nothing. If Geralt had any objections, he didn’t voice them, and allowed her to continue. “Manuscripts on the theory of regenerative magic go back as far as the 7th century. I read one back a few decades ago,”
“And you tried to recall it from memory?” Geralt asked skeptically.
“I have a very good memory.” She answered, a bit annoyed at Geralt questioning.
“So….where did you go wrong?” Geralt queried. Philippa frowned deeply. It was a fair question, but all it served to do was remind Philippa that she didn’t actually know herself where she went wrong. Magic is so delicate, so precise, that even the most miniscule error, the slightest miscalculation or mismeasure can cause catastrophe. As indicated by the child growing in her belly. If she attempted the experiment again, who’s to say the outcome wouldn’t be the same, or worse even.
“It….doesn’t matter.” She attested. “All that matters is it didn’t work as intended.”
Geralt let out a bark of laughter.
“I’ll fucking say.” He chortled. “You inadvertently made the most powerful fertility potion known to man.”
Philippa scowled at his accurate assessment.
“Regardless, it is not a mistake I will repeat again.” She added.
“Mistake….hm” Geralt repeated strangely. Philippa arched an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t elaborate. Geralt stood and stretched.
“Now’s a good time to call it a night.” He said. “You can take the bed roll.”
Geralt went to a pouch on Roach’s saddle, and pulled out a small pouch. He then went to the edge of their encampment, and started sprinkling what looked like ash, around the the perimeter of their camp.
“What are you doing?” Philippa questioned.
“This is Witcher powder. Basic repellent for most low tier monsters. Make sleeping easier and safer.” Geralt explained as he continued to spread the powder.
“And for higher tiered monsters?”
“Hope that I’m a light sleeper.”
_______________________________________________________________________
Philippa was eventually able to get to sleep, though she would hardly call it restful. The sounds of the forest woke her constantly, and the bedroll did little to hide the fact that she was in fact sleeping in the dirt. Meanwhile, Geralt was leaning against a tree, sleeping as if he was laid in the finest bed, although occasionally he would snarl, and mumble in his sleep and a pained expression would cross his face, before relaxing again.
When Philippa awoke in the morning, the sun was already high in the sky. She hadn’t realized how truly exhausted she was. Her body was changing, accommodating itself for the child, and it was zapping her energy. She groggily stood and stretched, looking around. She noticed that Geralt was nowhere to be seen. She wondered where he would’ve gone off to, as Roach was still tied to a tree, enjoying some grass. She walked down to the river bank that was close by, to see if she could find Geralt. She walked through the trees, and sure enough, at the bottom of the hill, by the shore of the riverbank, there was Geralt.
He was shirtless, practicing with his steel sword. He swung it over his head with controlled movements, and grace that Philippa honestly found surprising. His footwork made it look as if he was doing a fine dance, a deadly one.
She took notice of his hard, muscled body. Geralt was a lanky in a way: He had a long torso, and his muscles didn’t jutt out obscenely, though there was no mistake that they were there. His arms flexed and relaxed as he swung his sword in various ways, and Philippa, despite not wanting to admit it, appreciated how his back muscles looked as he moved. He was truly a specimen of a man, but if it weren’t for his glowing yellow eyes and gray hair being mismatched with his rather young looking face, he might be considered an unassuming figure. He didn’t carry himself like a soldier, because he wasn’t one. He carried himself like….well Geralt.
While she was appreciating his body, she also couldn’t help but look at his many scars. Decades of Witchering, decades of getting himself entangled in conflicts of kings and magic. His scars were a road map and a history book.
“Awake I see.” His voice suddenly calls out. Philippa jumps a little. She’d been caught staring (in a manner of speaking).
“Just wondering where you went off to.” She said, hoping he didn’t see the slight blush on her cheeks from a distance.
He did, but decided no to comment
“Figured I’d let you sleep after all the events yesterday. Did you know you snore?” He asked, sheathing his sword, and bending over to pick up his shirt.
“I-I do not!” Philippa screeched, insulted by his accusation. She stepped forward, intending to give him a piece of her mind, but her dress caught itself on a small rock, causing her to fall forward.
“Shit!” She yelled as she fell, tumbling over herself down the small hill. She landed in a heap, her legs splayed over her head. Geralt ran to her and knelt down to check on her.
“Are you ok?” He asked in a worried tone. Instinctually, his hand went to her belly, as if he was checking on the child, that was no more than a day into its growth. Philippa scowled and pushed his hand off of her, and stood, trying to save some face and grace.
“I’m fine.” She insisted, brushing herself off, and pulling bits of twig from her hair. “Bloody dress.”
“You know, you should probably lose the dress.” Said Geralt.
“I beg your pardon?” She said, abashed
“Oh, not like that. Your dress is very impractical for traveling. Not to mention it’s easily identifiable. Unless you plan to be disguised as Tomira all the time, you probably need something less….gaudy.” He explained.
“Gaudy?!” Shrilled Philippa. “I’ll have you know, that my fashion sense was the envy of all of Redania.”
“And now most of Redania want’s you on a stake. So what now?” Geralt raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response. Philippa opened her mouth to thoroughly chew the Witcher out, but he had an undeniable point. Her style was a bit flamboyant, but that was by design. When she entered a room, she wanted to be the center of attention, and for those there to know she was a force to be reckoned with. Now though, she did need to be able to move with a little more discretion.
Sighing, she transfigured her clothing. She shrank the peacock like lace neckline of her dress, so that it was something more sensible. She also added a darkly colored hood so she could quickly hide her face if needed. She kept the bodice of her dress mostly the same, though she muted the burgundy color so that it was less recognizable Redanian, to the point where it looked woodish colored. She completely removed the skirt of her dress, instead settling on a pair of form fitting dark brown leather pants. Satisfied with her outfit, she stepped back and gave a spin so Geralt could take it in fully.
“Well, is this ‘gaudy’” She pressed. She took notice of his eyes roaming over her body and new attire, with particular attention to her bust, and new pants as they hugged her curves. She smiled internally, taking it as a silent complement of her beauty. Geralt was just a man after all, so naturally he wouldn’t be able to resist her objectively great looks, she thought to herself.
“Well...People won’t be staring at you to kill you, that’s for sure.” Geralt finally said, causing Philippa to smirk slightly.
‘You’re damn right.’ She thought proudly.
“What about the feathers?” Geralt pointed to the feathers embedded into the top of Philippa’s hair.
“What about them?” She asked defensively.
“Shouldn’t they go too? They stand out a bit.”
“The feathers are non-negotiable.”
“Seriously, they stand out, A LOT.”
Geralt reached forward to pluck the feathers out of her hair. She quickly brought her hand up and extended her index finger. A quick bolt of lightning shot from it, hitting him in the wrist.
“Ow!” He said, pulling his wrist back and rubbing it.
“The feathers are NON-NEGOTIABLE.” She repeated sternly.
“Alright, alright, fine.” He relented.
“Well, now that that’s handled, make me some breakfast. I’m famished.” She said, as she turned and walked back up the hill, leaving Geralt to stare at her ass and contemplate the conflicting emotions going on in his head.
____________________________________________________________________________
The pair packed up camp and hit the road about an hour later. Geralt caught some fish for breakfast. Philippa’s usually small appetite seemed to expand overnight, so Geralt allowed her to have most of the fish, while he finished off the rabbit and salt cured meats he had stored. They rode in tandem, as Roach was well rested and fed from the night. They continued on the road headed west to Vizima. They came to a clearing, a man made one. Hundreds of trees were chopped down, leaving a cemetery of stumps.
“Hm” Geralt grunted.
“What? What is it?” Philippa asked from behind him.”
“We’re probably going to stumble upon a Nilfgaardian encampment soon. This amount of trees tells me they made themselves a makeshift fort of some kind.” He answered, looking around.
“Can’t we go around it?” She asked. Philippa had no interest in dealing with Nilfgaardians at the moment.
“Don’t want to stray too far from the road.” He answered simply.
Philippa didn’t like the answer, but she accepted it. They rode for a while longer before, just as he said, they reached a makeshift fort and gate cutting through the road. The wall was manned by several guards, who saw them coming and called out.
“Halt! State your business.” A guard called down from his post.
“We’re just looking to pass through. On our way to Vizima” Geralt called back.
“Well find another way. This area has had rebel activity. We are not allowing anyone not pre-sanctioned by the captain through.” The soldier said. Geralt frowned. This was the most direct, and safest road to Vizima. He already wasted enough time in White Orchard, and this was an additional delay that he did not need. He was too far to use the Axii sign, and even if he wasn’t, there were too many soldiers who would notice their comrade suddenly hypnotized. Though a Northerner, Geralt had to personal quarrel with the Nilfgaardians, so he wanted to avoid a fight of possible.
“We hardly look like bandits.” Geralt tried.
“We never know what you Northerners can get up to.” The soldier scoffed. “Besides, a man in armor with two swords, and a woman covering her face brings suspicion enough. Now begone with you!”
“If you’d just listened, we could-“
“My comrade has already given you your options.” Interjected another soldier. “Leave before you're fired upon.” He finished, flashing his crossbow.
Well this wasn’t going particularly well.
Philippa felt it was time for her to step in, before he caused an incident.
“Follow my lead.” She whispered to him quickly. Geralt couldn’t respond before Philippa started to groan and moan loudly, holding her stomach. This caught the attention of the soldier holding the crossbow.
“What’s wrong with that woman?” He asked suspiciously.
“She’s….pregnant.” Geralt said, catching on to Philippa’s intentions.
“Pregnant?” Repeated the other soldiers
“Yes. A few weeks now.” Geralt lied. “I need to get her to Vizima to see a proper doctor. No one in these local villages has the skills to properly look at her. Also why we don’t want to take any side roads. Might be dangerous terrain.”
To their credit, the soldiers at least looked sympathetic, though they were still conflicted with their orders. The pair began speaking to each other in their native tongue, and although his Nilfgaardian was a bit rusty, he could make out they were weighing the pros and cons of just letting them through.
“What are you two doing?” Came an unseen voice.
“Captain! We were just-”
“Silence. I’ll see for myself.”
The Nilfgaardian captain came into view at the top of the gate. He looked down at Geralt and Philippa suspiciously.
“Soldier, who are these two?” The captain asked, addressing the soldier with the crossbow
“Erhm- just a man and his pregnant wife. They want to get through. We told them we were ordered not to allow anyone through, and they refuse to leave.”
Geralt’s eye twitched a tad at Philippa being called his wife, but now was not the time to give away the ruse.
“A single man and a woman with child has you armed and at the ready?” The captain admonished. “Stand down soldier.”
The guard sheepishly lowered his crossbow.
“And you.” He said addressing the other soldier “Open the gate and let them pass. My order was to look out for bandits, and these two hardly look like bandits, now do they?”
“Yes sir. Open the gates!”
The gate slowly opened inward, allowing them to pass through. Geralt took notice at how militarized they were, even out in the middle of nowhere. It was no wonder the Nilfgaard troops decimated the Temarian forces.
They passed through the otherside of the fort, and were back on their way to Vizima. They rode for a while, passing a few villages and some more soldiers. They came upon a relatively empty stretch of road, with it being almost a half hour since the last saw another person.
“That was some quick thinking you did back there.” Geralt said suddenly. Philippa smiled a bit at his praise.
“Yes, well, one has to be able to think quickly in these types of scenarios.” She said nonchalantly.
“You had those guards convinced.”
“Yes. Nothing to it really.”
“....So does that mean you were faking pains last night to get us to stop?” Geralt asked, voice hard.
Shit.
She’d been caught.
Philippa went to her default move, and lied. “No. I was really in pain that time.”
Geralt wasn’t having it.
“You can not lie to me about those kinds of things. It’s too important. I have a right to know.” He said, voice rough.
“Oh don’t be so dramatic-”
“I am not being dramatic.” He growled, cutting her off. Philippa felt his muscles tense with her arms wrapped around his torso. “You have my child growing in you, and it is my responsibility to keep you and it safe. And for that to happen, I need you to be honest with me. I know that’s completely against your nature, but you have to change, NOW.”
Philippa grew angry. Who was he to talk to her like this?”
“Oh fuck you Witcher!” She shrieked. “You think I asked for this? Any of this?! I’m stuck on a filthy horse, with an even filthier man, with your spawn growing in my body, making it do things that are out of my control!”
“Gods, I’ve ridden with the literal Wild Hunt, and they were better travel companions than you’re turning out to be.” Geralt grumbled.
“And this is all your fault!” She added.
Geralt actually had to stop Roach, and look over his shoulder at Philippa, with a look of pure incredulity.
“This is MY fault?” He repeated.
“Yes, your fault!” She said again.
“Oh well do tell, how do you figure that. Was I the one who seduced you under false pretenses?” He scoffed.
“ No, but once you found out it was me, you could’ve just left-.”
“You didn’t seem to be complaining at the time.”
“-And you’re the one who knocked over my potion!”
“No I wasn’t. You were on top of me at the time! And you’re the one who placed it on the edge of your table.”
“Well you’re the one who went feral!”
Geralt opened his mouth and then closed it again quickly. She wasn’t….wrong. He had lost his sense. Geralt hated not being in control of himself, having his mind and judgement clouded. He almost hated it as much as portals.
“I- that wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t in control of myself because of your potion and your dark magic.” Geralt responded viciously.
“It was not dark magic.” Philippa said, defending herself.
“If Vilgefortz did it, it’s dark magic.” Geralt said.
“You take that back, NOW.” Philippa said through gritted teeth.
“Why? Don’t like being compared to your peers.” Geralt pushed. He knew he was being cruel, but he was tired of her at this point. The commanding attitude, the half truths and lies. He was tired.
If Philippa still had eyes, they’d no doubt look sad. She considered making good on her promise and eviscerating him, but instead, she just threw her leg over one side of Roach, and hopped off.
“What are you doing?” Geralt asked.
“Getting as far away from you as I can.” She said angrily as she began to walk up the road.
“What? Don’t be stupid.” He said, following slowly behind her.
“Oh fuck you Geralt.” She seethed, looking over her shoulder. “We’ll end up killing each other, so why not make things easier and leave.”
“You CAN’T leave.”
“I dare you to try and stop me.”
Geralt felt the air around him begin to swirl, and saw magic crackle in Philippa’s hands. She was being impossible. But fine, he thought. If she wanted to act like a child, he’d allow her.
Child
The word rang in his head like a bell on the hour. His child.
He shook the thought away. No, she was right. If they stayed together, they’d end up doing more harm than good to each other.
“Fine,” He said. “If you want to go out into the world with no allies, nowhere to go. See how far you get.”
Philippa opened a portal. To where? I didn’t matter. It just wasn’t there, and it just wasn’t with him. Geralt tightened his grip on Roach’s reins, ready to ride off to his destination.
But neither of them moved. They just stood there in the rode, sun shining down on them.
Truth is, they didn’t want to part ways. They couldn’t
Philippa had nowhere to go. She had no allies, no plan, no money or materials, and the last remaining power of the Northern Kingdoms wanted her burned at the stake. If she left now, she wouldn’t make it through a week. She lucked out finding White Orchard, but her string of bad decisions burned that for her. Geralt at the moment was her only friend, the closest thing to a friendly face that she had, and he didn’t even like her that much. Though she hated to rely on him, he would protect her.
And Geralt didn’t want her to leave. She needed help. Despite his rough exterior and generally foul temperament, Geralt was a romantic, the dashing knights that bards sang and wrote about in epic poems. He would not abandon a woman who needed his help. Much less the woman who was carrying his child. He may not have asked for this, but he didn’t ask for many things in life. She was his responsibility, and he would protect her.
Both of them.
Geralt rode up beside Philippa and waited, not saying a word. After a minute, Philippa vanished her portal. Geralt helped her back up on Roach, and they rode away, in silence.
__________________________________________________________________________
They rode for a few more hours without saying a word to each other. They were close to Vizima now, with Geralt being able to see the Castle in the distance. He figured he could push Roach through the night to arrive, but by then it would be midnight. Vizima wasn’t going anywhere, and he decided to make camp once again.
He found a small clearing and laid down camp. He caught some squirrels for them to eat, all without speaking a word to each other. They sat there in uncomfortable silence, looking anywhere but each other.
Geralt eventually tired of the passive aggressiveness, and decided to do something about it.
“Alright,” He said, walking over to her. “Say your piece.”
Philippa looked up at him from her seated position and raised an eyebrow.
“What are you on about.” She said tiredly. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally.
“Say your piece.” He repeated. “We can’t pussyfoot around each other like this. So. Speak. Let me have it. Say all your gripes you have with me so we can move on.”
Philippa wrinkled her nose at him. What was this? Some sort of bonding exercise? She didn’t particularly feel like speaking to the man at the moment.
“I have nothing to say to you.” She said, looking away.
Geralt had a small, strange smile on his face.
“That’s okay. I’ll start then.”
‘What did he mean he’ll start-’
“Philippa.” He began “You might be the most aggravating woman I ever met. You are conniving, dishonest, power hungry, and not to mention you’ve literally had people assassinated. You’ve lied to my face numerous times over the years we’ve interacted, and in my infinite idiocy, I keep giving you the benefit of the doubt. One might think all your machination blowing up in your face would humble you, but it somehow made you as haughty and domineering as ever.”
Geralt finished his rant, and gauged Philippa’s reaction. Her mouth actually hung upon in surprise and indignation, and her cheeks were pink. She couldn’t believe he just spoke to her in that fashion.
“You-you pig headed bastard!” She shrieked. Geralt just smirked.
“Bit uncreative, but you’re getting in the spirit.”
Philippa scowled deeply. Fine. If he wanted her honest opinion, he’d get it.
“Geralt, you’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since I first met you. You’re always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and destroying years of work that your plebeian brain could barely comprehend. And for what? Chasing that harlot Vengerberg and so you could have one of this land’s most gifted and special children live a life of glorified pest control?! Do you know how far I’d be in life without your meddling? How far the North would be?!”
“You’re a right cunt, Philippa.” Geralt said, taking a step forward.
“And you’re a son of a whore, Geralt.” Philippa responded, now standing.
“Feel better?!”
“Yes!”
The two of them pressed their mouths together in a hard kiss after that.
They fell to the ground, tearing and pulling at each other’s clothes.
_________________________________________________________________________
Geralt and Philippa worked out a bit of aggression and pent up energy.
They fucked for several hours, from the dark of night, to the crack dawn.
Geralt started off gentle, slowly pumping into Philippa, still worried about hurting her.
It took Philippa smacking him on the ass and assuring him that he wouldn’t hurt her, or the day old baby growing in her for him to let loose and fuck her with force. Philippa found herself liking being absolutely manhandled by Geralt, allowing him to work out his frustrations with everything on her: being bent over and taken hard from behind, having her legs spread eagle as he fucked deeply into her, being bounced like a ragdoll on his cock. It was just what she needed to forget about, well everything. And she didn’t let him off lightly either. Her nails digging into his back as he railed her, would blend in nicely with his pre-existing scars.
The sound of their fucking echoed throughout the forrest, the grunt, the moans and the screams. Philippa was certainly a vocal one, calling out to the gods and Geralt’s name during her many, many orgasms. Geralt settled on grunting and growling like an animal as he fucked her. Every time he came, he would almost howl, like a wolf would. He also seemed to be trying his best to knock Philippa up again, cumming deeply in her 4 times, making sure he was as deep as he could get, and that every drop of his cum was pumped in her.
After hours of fucking, the two finally settled in each others arms, naked, sweety, smelling of sex.
They laid in each other's arms, naked to the world, in comfortable silence.
“Mind if I ask you a question?” Geralt suddenly asked.
“Mh. Not much I could do to stop you.” She said with a smile.
“What changed your mind?”

“Changed my mind about what?”
“About getting rid of...it.”
Oh. That.
Philippa didn’t really know how to articulate it herself. She could explain her vision, but visions are personal and meaningless without context.
“You wouldn’t understand, but magic gave me a direction, and I’m following it.” She answered.
“Hm, not much of an answer.” He complained.
“Well it’s the one I have for you.” She said. Really, Geralt accepted what she said. He didn’t understand it, but the result was the same. The child, HIS child, was safe.
“Mind I ask another?”
“Geralt, we just spent the last 5 hours fucking, and I’m ready to passout, so will this be the last one?”
Geralt nodded his head.
“Well alright then.”
“After you regrew your eyes, what was the next step for you?” He asked sincerely.
Truthfully, Philippa had no clue. She just wanted to feel whole again, and beyond that, she didn’t have much of a plan. But she wouldn’t let him know that.
“Geralt.”
“Yes?”
“Go to bed.”
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Philippa's Grace