Ancient Wanderers - The Witcher

Chapter 12: Of Banquets, Bastards, and Burials

*Unedited

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"𝓔𝓻𝓶𝓲𝓸𝓷,"  I growl under my breath, "Do get your affairs in order because I plan on murdering the shit out of you in the very near future."

His palm pats mine which rests in the crook of his elbow, "Nessa dear, that's what you say every trip."

Emerald eyes narrow. I glare at my friend. His dark flaxen hair falls in subtle waves, stopping just under his ears. A matching beard does nothing to hide his smirk. The burnt gold tunic is buttoned up to his neck and glistens slightly in the candlelight. I hiss, "Mousesack, this is not like our past trips. You know I loathe such large gatherings."

The mage sighs and spins me so he can hold my shoulders, "I know and I apologize. Eist requested that I accompany him and Crach an Craite as part of the delegation from Skellige. It's my duty. But it's been ages since I last saw you. What's one night of indulging me compared to our friendship?"

I raise an eyebrow, no amusement on my visage, "Our whole friendship is based on me indulging you."

A bright grin spreads across his lips, "That's the spirit. Now let me show you off."

"I need Cintran ale," I grumble, "A lot of it."

He shoves a steel mug into my hands and intertwines our arms once more. I am tugged to the table hosting the Skellige delegation. When I arrive, I down the entire beer and pluck Mousesack's from his grip. Another one is emptied before I look at those around me.

All of the men have their gazes set on me in awe. Fuck.

One of them bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach. He's dressed in an umber coat with fur on the collar. His head is bare but the thin dusting of a beard emphasizes his strong features. He bellows, "Mousesack, where did you find this stunning woman?"

"Lady Nessa actually found me," my friend chuckles, "She is a traveling mage who is quite handy with a sword. Though her beauty will make you want to happily forget that last fact, I would not advise you to do so."

Another man wearing all dark gray steps forward, "Lady Nessa, I am Gerves of Skellige. It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

I find myself bombarded by several others who wish for an introduction. And despite my reservations, a true smile works its way onto my face. There's a certain wildness to each of these men, reminding me of Mousesack. It is easy to fall into friendly banter with them.

Lovely folk music plays and fills the air around us. Mid-conversation with Aymon, the first man who pointed me out, I catch two familiar scents. My ears twitch and pinpoint their voices through the cacophony of sounds.

Geralt mumbles, "Lilies and lightning."

"What?" Jaskier asks, sounding confused. But he is quick to brush off the Witcher's strange comment, "Nevermind. Just stick close to me, look mean and pretend you're a mute. Can't have anyone finding out who you are."

Suddenly, Mousesack spreads his arms wide beside me and bellows, "Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher!"

I flinch and rub my ears subtly, "He has sensitive hearing, friend. No need to yell."

But the mage has already moved over to catch up with the White Wolf. Gerves and Aymon both heard my complaint, the former waves a hand in the direction of the Rivian, "You know him?"

I nod, "He is my current traveling companion."

Aymon quirks an eyebrow, "Companion you say?"

I chuckle and shove him half-heartedly, "Not like that."