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Sleeping Beauty Reloaded	By : dschinny Category: +S through Z > Witcher 2, The: Assassins of Kings Views: 1939 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Witcher, this is purely for fun, and not profit

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Two hours later, two victorious warriors rode into the court of the Midville bathhouse in front of the cart. Lumberjack and a stable boy were out to hold their horses and Mistress Rosa joined them, holding the backdoor open for the Count who had been waiting in her tavern, showing little interest in Bella who had been serving the menu’s finest red wine.
The witcher pulled the canvas cover away from the heap of tentacle branches that filled the whole cart. “Here is your monster Count, chopped up so this won’t kill any more of your subjects.” – “You brought me a cart full of twigs and branches and expect me to pay you five-hundred Novigrad crowns for it?” – “I do, because I have allowed your hunter to accompany me into battle. He has seen everything and I herewith return him to you unhurt. Your captain denied supervision on his own accord, but he has seen the site and can testify the marks of the battle.”
“How much damage did you do to my lumber?” – The witcher let two seconds tick by before he simply answered, “None,” and held the count’s gaze. He did not need to step closer. The count averted his eyes first. “Is that true?” he asked his captain. – “It is true. The tentacles just ploughed the ground, but there are no fallen trees.” – “Good,” The count pulled a leather bag from his purse and handed it to the witcher with straight back, “Five-hundred Novigrad crowns for the safety of my land and subjects,” he added grand gesture, “Now incinerate this.”
“Since this is settled, will you attend the incineration or do you have other plans for the evening?”
“Oh, I will have a look as the monster meets its end and then return to the mansion. I trust that you will prefer to spend the night in the comforts only Mistress Rose can provide, before you continue your quest and move on to relieve another monster ridden village, witcher?”
“I would be a bad guest if I skipped the bathing opportunity Mistress Rosa offers before I return to your hospitality at dinner time,” The witcher noticed the flicker of disgust and disappointment behind the stiff upper lip attitude of the count, “because in the morning, I will run a survey with Gernot and check the woods for remnants like scions and seedlings - to make sure the issue doesn’t resurface.”
“You believe that further action is necessary?” - “I believe in a thorough approach.” – “And what will that cost me?” – “Your generous hospitality is sufficient for research. The armed take-out of additional grown-up exemplars like this one will come at the same rate. For the in-betweens, we can negotiate after the size of the treat has come clear.” – “I can afford a few more days of your research then, witcher. Though I am almost sure the problem will not resurface like this.”
“Hmm.” The witcher watched Lumberjack chop the tentacles that Gernot handed him down from the cart to oven-sized pieces and throw them into the roaring fire. He was not so sure, but he would not give the count a reason not to pay for undisclosed reasons like the leshen root in the well. While the count denied drinking the beer Bella brought out to them, the witcher sincerely thanked the buxom blonde angle flitting around them and had a good long swig.
Not expecting instant success against such a stealthy foe, he had promised Velita to stay at least another night. He did not consider it a hardship in hindsight. His mere presence would suppress the realization of any unsavory plans the captain gave his newly hired guards. At the same time, Velita’s generous attention and lust for life matched his physical needs well enough. Mid of October would still be sufficient to reach his winter quarter in Kaer Morhen through a couple of stages arrive by Yule before the weather got really nasty in January. When neither foe nor company dared to move up there, it was the time to fatten up and restore equipment.
Now was the season of harvest, to earn heavy coin and get laid.
The count no longer held it at the flames and called for the stable boy to saddle his fox while he said his farewells. “I should be home at change of guards,” the captain announced his plan to accompany the count. At least he helped to throw off the load in front of Lumberjack and Gernot who manned the fire opening.
Gernot still functioned but he felt exhaustion creeping up to him. He had risked so much today, run and fought for all he was worth, hurried to get everything in line between the mansion and the battlefield, apprehension on his heels. Now that the count and captain had paid up and were leaving peacefully, he became aware of the cold sweat that glued his shirt to the felt of his green jacket. It wasn’t quite dark and the heat was searing whenever Jack opened the firing hatch. But inwardly he felt just cold and miserable and wondered if he could leave the incineration to Jack. His gut tightened at the thought that he had to trail the boisterous guys all the way to the mansion and get into a gathering of misfits all alone.
“That should heat your water nicely, Bella. Can you have a tub ready for us while I unsaddle my horse?” – “Of course, Sir Geralt.” Bella smiled, curtsied and went inside.
Gernot perked his ears “Who’s us?” The hunter felt a certain folding knife open in his pocket. Young Jeff would throw another fit.
“You. Me,” Geralt looked down the dried rivulets of mud on his armor, “especially me. Jack, if he’s finished here until the water grows cold,” the witcher slapped Jack’s shoulder. “It’s going to be a long hot night, witcher,” Jack grinned, don’t let me keep you up. Geralt bared his pointed canines and exhaled, then ambled over to the drive-through area of the barn and exchanged Roach’s snaffle with a halter the cautious stable boy lend to him. He hoisted the saddle off Roach’s back and onto a wooden divider, “Leave Cricket to the stable boy,” he insisted and slung the saddle bags over his own shoulder. With the tall sword package in the other hand, the witcher shooed the hesitant hunter into the bathhouse, “You’ve done quite enough for a day. Let’s get civilized before we go home.”
Gernot took helm to avoid being pushed over by a bi-ped avalanche of white hair and black shoulder pads. After all he knew the place well enough - even before he had been invited like this. Bella was not around but she had left word to another attendant who showed them to their partition and tub. The water steamed invitingly. “Another round of dark beer, please,” the witcher ordered and marched over to the hooks, dropped the saddle bags to the ground and leaned the tall package against the wall. He washed his dirty hands at the tap in the far wall, drew the steel sword from the sheath on his back and stored it beside the other sword to keep the precious blades dry and close at all times. He dug a fresh shirt and small clothes out of the saddle bag and placed them on a stool beside the large tub.
Gernot was a compact figure and stayed well away from the gleaming razor-sharp blade that would fill the whole room whenever its wielder decided to use the reach of his long arms and legs. Gernot wasn’t sure where to put his hands and commented hesitantly to the well travelled professional, “I forgot to bring a change of clothing.”
Geralt took another rolled-up set from his bag and put it on the stool beside the first. “I expect you to return that tomorrow evening – washed and dried,” – “Will do, thank you.” The witcher continued to unlatch the harness and armor. The pile of black equipment on his saddle bags grew and the beer arrived. “Put that beside the tub and help me with the gambeson,” Geralt ordered the scantily clad attendant, grabbed the gambeson behind the shoulder seams, pulled it up until the narrow midsection caught underneath his bulky chest, then bowed down in front of the girl and exhaled fully.
Apparently the bath attendant knew exactly what an armored man expected her to do, Gernot recognized. Nevertheless he spotted her wrinkling her small nose while Geralt could not see it. She took a firm hold on the reinforced fabric and pulled it over the witcher’s head deftly while he relaxed his arms and upper body to let it slide off. “Thanks, that’s all for now,” he smiled down at the girl who smiled back before she left and pulled the curtain close casting them a long look over the shoulder. Geralt hung the sturdy formfitting jacket to air out in the steam of the tub. He picked up a cloth and took the pile of leather armor to the tab, swatted down and wiped off the mud carefully, plate by plate.
Gernot decided that he, too, liked warm water and fresh clothing after a hard fight. The suggestion made sense - even though it came from a mutated mercenary. The first beer had settled in his stomach comfortably so he hooked his felt hat, bow, quiver, belt and jacket next to the witcher’s black gambeson and undressed. His pants were as mud-caked as Geralt’s plates were, but to his favor he had Cassandra and Anne who would brush that out. They would also do the laundry for Geralt whose life on the road did not offer such comforts on a regular basis but was a tidy personality nevertheless. Beside him, the witcher shoved the pile of cleaned plates back on the saddle bags and stripped.
Gernot dropped his sweat drenched shirt on the wooden panels between their feet and threw his small clothes on top. “Let me wrap that up, I take it to laundry,” he offered and Geralt threw his black clothing on the shirt as well. He went to the taps at the wall and sat on a small stool. Gernot averted his eyes forcibly and kept the wince down his throat. But to his inner eye, he couldn’t make unseen what he had seen. A tusker had mended the hunter’s pants once, but the witcher was so badly scarred on every body part it hurt the hunter just to look at him.
Geralt felt the hunter’s gaze run over his bare skin and heard his heartbeat quicken but decided to ignore the signals of stress. He gave Gernot a pass because of their common value of silence. It felt so good to have running warm water. Geralt rinsed his face first, rubbing away the mud and scratched his brows clean, then pulled the black tie from his long white hair and ducked under the tap. The silver pendant hit his nose. The tap was too low for his height, it usually was, but nothing removed monster grime and slime like flowing hot water. That took the dirt right into the gutter and he did not need to sit in it. He sniffed at the soap. Mistress Rose’s name was program in her house. He actually preferred his personal stable hand’s hesitant use of perfume on him. Rosemary, sage… even onion. But a witcher who smelled like roses would be more attractive to Velita than one who smelled of rotten plants – so roses was tonight’s choice.
Gernot’s bare feet brushed the mud that Geralt had washed from his boots further down the ditch. Then he stood in the gutter and threw a bucket of warm water from the tub over his head. It did not help the stench of smoke and burned fish oil rags that clung to him.
Geralt spotted the scar on the hunter’s strong calf but remained silent. He just thought how well they understood each other and passed him the soap and continued to wash his long white hair.
“Rose-scented,” the hunter wrinkled his nose as well, washed his short cropped brown hair and moustache, spat at the taste, and then laughed, “If Bella could fix that, her popularity with the guys would sky rock.” - “It is yours to hint – and to prevent Jeff’ jealousy fit afterwards,” Geralt continued to scratch the mud from his forearms where it had been soaking up his shirt’s sleeves. Half ways clean he stood to climb into the steaming tub. It was so big that for once, his feet fit in as well.
Gernot got another bucket of hot water from the tub and rinsed off the suds above the gutter in one mighty splash. He climbed into the tub as well and handed Geralt a beer. With a low clink of the stone ware they leaned back comfortably to warm up and relax muscles as well as soul. There was no need to retell the events of the day. They both had their fill of memories to sift and store. Being in routine with monster combat, the witcher finished first and finally broke the comfortable silence. “I’m glad nobody was hurt today. I’m not used to work with many, let alone with dogs.” – “Yes,” Gernot agreed, “today was out of my line of experience. Though I had prepared some, the leshen remains unpredictable. Thanks for shielding Adda with you.” – “We fight together; your mate is as good as my own.” Geralt lifted the mug from the edge of the tub and took a deep swig. “We have to start at the well tomorrow. There is still a piece of the leshen deep down in the mud, as big as a real root.” – “I thought it just laid there. Before you struck, it looked like a fondling?”
The witcher straightened up to place his mug on the nearby stool. Out on the corridor, the attendant had given up eavesdropping for their tale and whispered with another girl. Otherwise, the ground floor wasn’t overrun; it was too early for that. He leaned back and sunk underneath the surface. He listened for the changed sounds. Lumberjack was still chopping wood, the clang of the firing door was enhanced as well as the trampling and clanging of the guests in the tavern of the first floor. He decided it was safe enough as long as he continued to speak in code. “It looks like it’s been there for a long time, far longer than you were wondering about that curse’s origin,” that got him Gernot’s immediate attention, “Did you wash your hands there when you got water for Velita… after the welcome party?”
Gernot’s forehead wrinkled. It had been a while, so much had happened in the meantime. Had he washed his hands? He leaned back mentally and monitored his own actions, then simply realized that he always washed his hands before refilling his bottle. And he had felt… yes, he had been seriously unclean. “Yes.”
This wasn’t about fault, as a witcher he needed the facts, even though it hurt, “Did you say something?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a while, nobody else was around, I’m not prone to talk to myself. Maybe. I remember how I felt because that feeling was intense. I felt impure. Maybe I spoke up. I wanted it to stop. To put an end to it… yes, at all costs. It nearly suffocated me, but then I took the pure water and went home. I realized that the hate I felt was of no use and I just left it behind. I had to be there for Velita. To clean her, heal her, show her the respect she deserves,” Gernot just whispered.
“Hm. I think I can insure you now that she is not a mage,” the witcher let it linger and allow the hunter to come to his own conclusions.
Gernot felt strange. Had it been his hate that was impersonated by the monster they had slain today? Was it his fault that so many people died - because he had made a wish? That the ploughman’s daughter was up there, manning the taps in the tavern because he had gotten her father killed? He searched his memory. His wishes had no magical tendency to come true. Not the slightest. And then he was realist enough to say, “Neither am I.”
“Pity… we won’t get around a major excavation then,” The witcher briefed his comrade matter-of-factly and straightened to reach out and drain the remains of his beer. The foam was long gone, but the rich malty taste did not need icy chill to go down well.
“I think I will manage that sort of work better than today’s.” Gernot drained his mug as well. “And I don’t mind to return your favor,” the hunter smirked, “since we’re going to get muddy again.”
Geralt rose “C’mon, we’re just getting started.” He left the tub with a splash and reached for the towels on a small shelf, throwing Gernot another one. “I’m hungry and I gave Velita plenty of time to whip up something for dinner. Let’s see what she came up with.” - “You are so sure they let her…” – “They better let her serve me or I’ll eat one of them.”
Gernot did him the favor of a dry laugh before he toweled off, but from what he had seen, it was not a joke. The witcher who scrubbed his own back in the large towel had the scars to proof that several enemies actually died trying to eat him… and a personality that was driven by the inner need to get even - with any foe, even fate itself. Man, woman, animal, monster… Gernot did not believe that the kind made much of a difference on the witcher’s personal scale. Kindness did… which was the reason Velita was utterly safe with this man.
Geralt dropped the towel to the muddy wood panels and continued to dry between his toes before he got dressed in fresh clothing. He even pulled his second set of pants out since Gernot had not just gaped but offered a laundry opportunity. His boots were still dry on the inside. Velita had done a good job with the shining. He left out the smelly gambeson. He folded it half and strapped it to the sword package and just armored up the plates for easy transport. “Take your time, I’m going to pay and tell the stable hand to saddle Cricket.”
- 6
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Sleeping Beauty Reloaded