To Thaw A Frozen Heart

~ chapter 22 ~

An hour or so passed, and Antea happily cling to Geralt's arm as she sipped her wine and munched on some grapes. Her eyes continuously fluttered around the grand room, taking in the amazing decorations and the beautiful dresses. For the first time in his life, Geralt felt like not dying at a banquet. They were usually dull affairs, but with a beautiful woman on his arm, ale warming his face and the loud roars of the An Craite family, he was actually having a good time.

He was glancing down at Antea, a warm smile on his face as he watched her eyes dart around attempting to take in her surroundings, the flush on her face caused by the wine, and her giggly demeanour. 

Crach An Craite slammed his tankard on the table, making Antea flinch and Geralt tighten his grip on her arm. 

"You lie, you little shite! You never faced so much as a bad meal in yer life! Nevermind a bloody manticore!" he laughed,

"I've had manticores thrice as fat and ugly as you perish under me steel!" A smaller man replied, in just as loud a voice.

"Under yer bullshit more like! How many stings has it got, then?" Crach asked the other man

He paused for a moment before stating, "Two."

"HAH!" Crach laughed loudly, "Go away and shite ye! It's five - I know." He beat his chest with his fist, "I've killed one."

Antea looked up at Geralt now, laziness in her eyes - one wine too many, Geralt thought. 

"Five stingers, Geralt!?" She asked, amazed. "And you've killed one of those too?"

 "I've killed one, love. They are very rare, and very powerful creatures. Incredibly intelligent and beautiful." He smiled and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and she leaned into his hand.

They were interrupted by a commotion - 

"Enough! We have a renowned guest here tonight." Queen Calanthe spoke, and all eyes turned towards Geralt. He quickly moved his hands away from Antea's face and stood straight. 

"Perhaps the Witcher can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth?" she continued. 

"Neither." he said smugly, taking a sip from his tankard.

Crach An Creite was outraged; "Are you calling me a liar, old man?"

"Ach- he bleats utter nonsense to us!"

"Are you calling a Witcher a liar, lords? Someone who knows more about beasts than anyone in this room, and you dare to question his authority? About one manticore - one measly manticore?" Antea spoke outright, in a loud voice. 

Everyone hushed, and turned towards the small, angry looking girl who had bit into their egos. Geralt held a smile on his face, and placed a hand on the small of her back. She blushed slightly and glanced up at Geralt through sultry eyelashes.

Jaskier made eye contact with his friend, and made a face, as to ask him not to make a scene.

"Perhaps... the lords encountered... a rare subspecies of mantacore." He spoke slowly. 

The Queen laughed loudly, knowing that he was trying to diffuse the situation. She continued; 

"Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us about how he slayed the elves at the edge of the world?" She questioned, and the room erupted in loud cheers.

They quietened, and Geralt shook his head.

"There was no slaying." He gruffed, "I had my arse kicked by a ragged band of elves. I was about to have my throat when Filavandrel let me go."

Confused faces ensued;

"But, the song...?" A lord asked.

"Umm - yeah, the song" Jaskier poked, obviously asking Geralt not to do what he was about to do,

"At least, when Filavandrel's blade kissed my throat, I didn't shit myself. Which is all I can hope for you, good lords," He said, picking up his tankard, "At your final breath, a shitless death."

Antea picked up her wine cup and tapped it against Geralt's, cheersing him. 

"Buuut I doubt it." She laughed, causing the room to follow. 

Suddenly, Eist, the Queen's 'secret lover', stood, and made a proclaimation. "It would have been your blade at Filavandrel's throat had you been there, Your Majesty," he said, and the room erupted into a loud cheer, "Not that the elven bastards would crawl from their lair to meet you in the field." 

Queen Calanthe rolled her eyes and scoffed, but her smile was genuine. 

"Any man willing to paint himself in the shadow of his failures will make fore far more interesting conversation this night. Come, Witcher. Take a seat by my side while I change. Bring your lady, if you wish." She said with a smirk on her face.

"Hm." He gruffed, and looked down at 'his lady' on his arm. 

He bowed his head slightly and turned to her, extending his arm in a mocking way, "My lady." He spoke.

"My Witcher." She replied, her eyes still slow from the wine. She kissed him gently on the cheek and they walked to the grand table at the top of the room.