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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

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A Mage’s Blood

Summary: Anathema of Velena and Geralt of Rivia meet their match in the center of a city torn apart by a deadly threat.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena)

Word Count: 7k

Rating/Warnings: M for language, and violence. A bit of fluff No smut for now, but stay tuned. Also, warning that it’s stupid long AGAIN! Like why am I so inspired to write about these characters and this story when I can’t work on my own book?! Not fair!

Inspiration: See previous inspo note-nothing has changed!

Author’s Note: Gosh, this story has been so fun for me to write. I’ve loved playing with Geralt, even if some of this maybe isn’t strictly canon for him. I adore the new characters I’ve created, too, as short lived as some of them are. As far as the fight scene at the end, I didn’t go into a lot of detail, so if you have a clear idea of how the monsters in question would look fighting Geralt, I’d be open to a collaboration and a rewrite. For now, reader, please use your imagination. also, she’s not beta’d because, of my three friends who would beta my work, one is too busy, one doesn’t give a fuck about this fandom, and the other thinks I’m cheating on Richard Madden and refuses to contribute to this “dalliance” with Mr. Cavill. lol! so...i read it two or three times and i pray. lol!

Tags: @fcgrizi @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy @mstgsmy@lareinedususpense @geekycanuck @lunedelorient and @littlefreya Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended!

There was cold light hitting the canvas overhead. It was just after dawn. Her internal clock could tell, too. Could feel it in the air pressure and in its chill. Last night the tent had taken on the orange hues of firelight. A passionate, warm light. This was so different. The scent of their union had faded with the starlight, but Anathema could still feel the burn of Geralt inside her. The abrasion of his whiskers where he'd made a meal of her body. All over, really. The evidence of him was everywhere. Everywhere but her bed. She rolled over to see him gone. She sunk deeper into the downy mattress and pillows. So much for the meaning of it all he'd touted before he'd ravaged her, she thought, suddenly bitter. Until she saw his belongings in the corner. She felt the space where he'd laid beside her all night. It was still very warm.

At that point, she heard a kettle whistle across the tent in the makeshift kitchen. She whipped her head around just as the flap in the tent fluttered open, admitting one witcher, holding a bristle brush in one hand, and a bundle of herbs in the other.

"Morning." he greeted, a warm, and very content smile on his face.

"Morning." she was shy, and somewhat awkward. She couldn't figure why. This man had lain her bare. What had she to be embarrassed about around him? She made herself continue with confidence, even if it was forced and sounded less than authentic. "Did you sleep well?"

"I, uh, suppose so, yes." she looked confused. "Witchers don't really sleep in the traditional sense that often. It hadn't been that long since I slept, so last night, I rested and recuperated my body by meditation. I mixed up a few potions, which always require some meditation to set. And just before dawn, I came out to feed and water the horses. I walked them around the water a bit so they could drink and get some of the tasty clover that tends to grow there. And I found some fool's parsley." He held up the bundle in his hand to show her." When we got back I put the kettle on for some tea and was brushing them when I heard it singing." He indicated the kettle with the brush in his dominant hand.

He was leaving something out. His space on the mattress wouldn't be so warm if he'd been gone that long.

"Your place in the bed is still warm, Geralt." she raised a brow at him.

"Ah," he said pouring the boiling water over the gauzy pouches in the cups he'd set out, "yes, well…I wanted to be next to you for a while before you woke. Your breathing when you sleep is a bit hypnotic. Did you know? You have a tendency to…moan." She blushed furiously. She hadn't really known, but had her suspicions something was…off about her…snore, as her mother called it. Her friends, such as she had, were never allowed to sleepover, nor was she allowed to visit them for such frivolity. She had thought at first her mother was just being cruel, because her sisters got to go to their friends homes all the time for overnight visits. But she sometimes awoke from light sleeps to a moaning sound that could only have been herself, as she was alone in her room. This made her think that perhaps her mother did her one small mercy in avoiding public scorn, no matter her motives, which were probably self-serving on some level.

"Oh, uh…I didn't think to warn you." She muttered apologetically. He sat his wares down and walked to her, knowing that she needed comfort, but confused as to why. He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, raking each knuckle along her petal-soft skin.

"You sound ashamed, Ana."

"I guess it's in my blood." she looked down. Laying into the feeling. He took her chin in his hand and wouldn't let her.

"No." he protested roughly. "It's in your past." He leveled his ember gaze at her, stealing her breath, but not for any salacious reasons. This was poignancy at its most rarefied from Geralt of Rivia. "Just because we bear the scars of our pasts doesn't mean we must also carry the weapons that cut them into our flesh." he wiped a tear from her cheek. "Once we stop carrying them, those scars they made can heal so much more easily. And they can't hurt us anymore." He smiled at her. "Mind you, I'm still working on this, and have yet to master it."

"It's still good advice. It's the right advice. And I needed to hear it." she pulled him close and leaned her head on his firm stomach. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and cradled her head in his massive hand.

"I think we all do from time to time." he paused, she felt him take a few breaths in and out. "Whether we heed it or not. It's…filed away somewhere. And we can take it out and live by it when we're ready."

They stayed like that for some time. Their tea chilling on the table. Neither of them terribly interested any longer in anything but the warmth of the other. Eventually they broke apart realizing that they had a purpose here on the outskirts of this now obliterated kingdom. Deeply sighing, they looked at one another.

"I should dress." she heard his chest make a deep rumble in mild protest. "Come, now, we have a monster to find, Geralt. Trust me, though, the sentiment is shared and reciprocated." She stood up on the mattress so she was about a head above him, and kissed his forehead, then proceeded to hop down, nude as a bird, pretending that his eyes on her didn't make her want to haul the blankets over her head and walk around like a ghoul until she decided what she would wear today. But she refrained, allowing herself to be bare and to try to just be comfortable with it. He turned, reluctantly going back to the duty of preparing the horses to break camp.

She twisted her hair into it's standard coil high on her head after donning one of the new outfits Giltine had conjured up for her. She felt almost unstoppable in the two piece crimson number. The neck was wide, showing off her shoulders and neckline. The sleeves would have been generous even had they not been slit open on top and held together at the shoulders, elbows, and wrists by jeweled buttons to match and coordinate. Red, black, and brown gems sparkled in the small settings as she tested the flow of the majestic sleeves. It fastened fitted in a wrap around her midriff. The slacks were of the same fabric and color and could have passed for a skirt. They were high waisted, almost meeting the blouse, ankle length, and flowing like an evening gown as she walked. Knowing there was also an element of danger possible, Giltine had fashioned her a simple, but elegant leather jerkin to wear over her torso. It featured several long and wide strips of deep brown leather running from the top hem to the bottom and lacing at the side running through bronze grommets. The one embellishment he’d made was a small sunburst embroidered on her left hip. “Warriors always have their crests or symbols embroidered on their dominant sides. I thought I’d give you an edge and confuse them. Make anyone who might attack you go for your strong side.” He’d explained. She truly appreciated the thoughtful gesture. Overall, the body armor was ideal. It curved where she did, and didn't pinch or poke where it shouldn't. It wasn't meant to hold anything in. It was meant to keep things out.

She swathed on a touch of color to her face, minimal at best, tied up her weathered brown riding boots and went out to see how close to ready Geralt was.

He was brushing Clove now, Roach gleaming in the morning light with his own freshly brushed coat. Both horses were nibbling contently on the grass below them as Geralt explained about the different varieties of vampiric nemesis.

"While the fleders can stun ya good, alps and bruxae will downright get into your head before they drain you. They're just more powerful. And I…" he trailed off when his eyes met her, appraising the new look with clear, if subtle approval. Her arrival ceased his grooming motions, as well, which Clove vehemently protested in the form of a petulant whinny.

"I don't think she appreciated you stopping. And I'll have to admit, knowing the power of both your touch and your voice, I don't blame her in the least. By all means, continue your lecture…professor." she half teased, as she stepped up to her horse to scratch her chin as she liked. That calmed her down considerably.

"Ah," he replied, "I tend to…think out loud…around horses…and it sounds like…okay, I fucking talk to my horse."

"I'm the same. Clove here was an excellent listener on the ride from Aretuza. I'm sure she won't tell anyone my secrets." she smiled up into the mahogany orbs, patting the mare's cheek affectionately.

"So the horse knows you better than I?" Geralt raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in accusation.

"Now, Geralt, you mustn't be cross. We just met. I've been riding Clove for almost a week now."

"So how long will you have to ride me before I know all of your secrets?" he teased, she scoffed in shocked amusement.

"I have never!" she was speechless. Not expecting him to twist her words like that. "I…I need to finish breaking this campsite down. It's approaching mid morning. We have so much still to do!" she hurried about, blushing furiously, taking up the tent stakes and checking for lost or abandoned items. She heard Geralt laugh behind her. And shout "You look beautiful, by the way." to which she squinted back a very satisfied smile, and shouted at him "thank you," while her back was still to him. She also thought she heard him ask "Is she always like this?" and she was certain a very affirmative whinny came from Clove. Traitor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In less than a half an hour, they were saddled up and mounted with all of their supplies. Geralt had donned his sturdy and studded leather armor today. The sun caught the steel studs in the leather, as well as the silver wolf medallion on his neck. He had never taken it off, and her spell last night to doff his clothes hadn't affected it. It normally worked on jewelry.

"That medallion you wear?" she began. "What magic does it poses?" she asked as they road nearer the fallen city.

He worried it in his hand for a moment, then put it down, and tried his best to answer her.

"I can't really say. It was imbued by the magicians of Kaer Morhen. All I do is tune it to whatever frequency I want it to pick up for me. Magic or monster." He looked at her, his eyebrows raised to her look of dissatisfied confusion, but he did not go on. She continued her questions.

“So…it senses magic and monsters?”

“Yes, that’s why I was able to come to your aid last night, actually. As we were riding by your camp, I felt it start to…sort of shiver. It knew the drowners were close. When I looked around and saw you there ready to face them on your own, apparently with just your dagger…I couldn’t let you die. And at the time, I was sure that would be your fate.”

She relived the event, which she should have found terrifying, she guessed, but either she was too confident in her abilities, or her adrenaline had won out.

“Lucky for me you were riding by and had it tuned to monsters.” She smiled.

“I usually do unless I’m in a safe area and actively searching for something magical. And lucky for me you noticed I’d grabbed the wrong sword!” He grinned back at her.

They rode along through the streets of the deserted city for a while in amiable if not comfortable silence. But the question pressed against Anathema's mind, trying to escape like pressure in your ears on a deep dive into water.

"So, it's probably no business of mine, so you're not obligated to tell me, but I do have to ask…last night you mentioned having your reservations about mages and travelling companions. Why is that?"

"Hmm. You're correct. It is no business of yours." She felt a sting at his coarseness until he continued. "And while you're right, I'm not obligated to share that with you, there are a few reasons that I'm going to give you a little background."

"Are you going to tell me the reasons, or just, start with the exposition?" she teased. He shot her a playful scowl.

"I think the reasons will become apparent as I explain, but feel free to ask at the end."

"Proceed."

"I should probably start many years ago when I first met the mage in question. Her name may be familiar to you. Yennefer of Vengerberg."

"You…you know…Yennefer? THE Yennefer of Vengerberg? She's the most powerful sorceress to come from Aretuza since the Lady de Vries herself!" Ana was shocked. To her core.

"I know her. I know her well, Ana." he looked at her pointedly, implying the sort of carnal knowledge with which she was only recently familiar. Oh.

"I see." she nodded. Coolly, but silently simmering with questions and a sort of confusing jealousy that pulled her in many directions. He continued.

"So, I met Yen when my former travelling companion became cursed by a Djinn. I needed a mage's help to break the enchantment or he would die. It's a long story, but…the general point was that she wanted the djinn's power for herself, which would not have worked. Through the whole process, Yen and I became…sort of, bound by fate…destiny…some might say."

She tried to process the fact that he called her Yen. He had pet names for the woman she so idolized.

"Our paths crossed several times since then, lastly on a mission that Jaskier, my companion--and friend, although I've been reluctant to call him that because of how ill the term suits me--was very keen to take until he learned of her involvement, knowing the…effect she had on me." this piqued her curiosity, but she filed it away for later inquiry.

"The campaign went fairly well until its very end, when, through a string of unhappy circumstances, Yennefer found out that the reason for our constantly being thrown across one another's paths was something less than destiny, after all." he paused for effect, which worked, and then continued.

"Back when we'd first met, and she was trying to imprison the djinn within her, she had no idea that I was the one to whom the creature was bound to grant it's three requests. She'd thought it was Jaskier. I had too, until I found out the contrary, in rather spectacular fashion." he reminisced, another question she would queue for later. "So for my last wish, I asked for her life to be bound to mine. When she found out…she was…well, she was pissed. And she stormed off, assuring me that I'd lost her, as I was unwilling to do." he looked down to Roach's black mane and scratched it to soothe his huffing that had began. Horses were so perceptive to the moods of their riders.

"Her leaving had left me…particularly surly." she raised her eyebrows. Surly was his default, she had gathered already, so for him to be even more surly than his normal self was actually a bit frightening. "Jaskier had sensed I was…cross. And as a bard, talking about things helped him. Despite years of riding with me, he never quite managed to grasp that I was not built that way. I wanted to be left the fuck alone. And when he tried to engage with me, I snapped. I blamed him for all my misfortunes. When in fact, a great many of them, he tried to steer me away from. I fear I may have broken his heart."

There were a few moments of silence for Ana to process Geralt's confession and for Geralt to recover himself from finally talking about this difficult event which, she gathered he really hadn't relived much, save for discussing with Roach, perhaps.

"So that's why I've been reluctant recently to associate with mages or take another companion. And why one combined, you may be able to tell could be a very complex idea for me."

She nodded. Geralt was, perhaps in love, for lack of a better word, with Yennefer, and she had left him because of this…misunderstanding. Which, yes, she could see where she was justified, and where Geralt should have mentioned this fact as it affected both of them much sooner. Being in Yennefer's shoes, she may have done the same.

Regarding his companion and bard, Jaskier, who he clearly felt a kinship and affection for, and maybe even an actual love, she was heartbroken for him. Saying goodbye to Codrick had been the hardest thing she'd ever done. He was the only real family she'd ever had. And her feelings for him were so complex. But she was sure if she'd hurt him like Geralt had hurt Jaskier, she would feel a regret of similar intensity.

"What are you thinking, little mage?" he coaxed after several moments of only muddy clops, skittering rodents, and shrieking crows.

"I was thinking about how I'd feel in your situation." she answered truthfully and thoughtfully. "I've mentioned my friend Codrick before, I know, and I think I had similar feelings for him as you had for both Jaskier and Yennefer. He was my closest confidant and he cared more for me than anyone else, including my family. And…for lack of a better way to describe it, I was in love with him. Or I felt like I was. It would never have worked. He was promised to Claretta, the fishmonger's daughter. Even though she could never give him what I could. Or that's what I told myself. I utterly worshipped him. I couldn't have had my fill of him had I spent my every waking hour with him. He was just so pleasant and kind. Easy. And just the man I thought I wanted. But my father wasn't interested in arranging a marriage for the family rat, anymore than Codrick's father saw me as a proper match for his future blacksmith son."

She let that sink in. The idea that she was the only one who could have pictured a future for her and Codrick and let the grief pass. Let something die that had never lived. And moved on.

"Had I lost him in the way that you lost either Yen or Jaskier, Geralt…well, I'd probably be about ready to give up on the idea of love and friendship, myself. Hell, even now, I'm aching just remembering the last time I saw Codrick, and thinking about how long it may be before I see him again. It may be forever. In all probability, it will be. But at least I don't have your regret. I said all I needed to say to him. I told him how I felt, even though it didn't change anything about our futures. I would have regretted those unspoken words."

"Well, aren't you a comfort. You're really making me glad I agreed to this partnership." he bit at her with sarcastic cheer in his gruff voice.

"Oh, Geralt, don't take it like that. I didn't mean--"

"Shh." he held up a hand to stop her talking.

"Don't think you'll get the last word just because--"

"Shhhhh!" he repeated more vehemently and drew his silver sword. "Silver." he whispered, and she drew her silver dagger from it's scabbard at her hip and her steel sword still coated in silver oil. The horses then began sensing something in the air. Something sinister. They began to buck and whinny, especially Clove, who was not used to monsters like Roach was.

"I think we should go on foot a while. Roach will always find me, so there's no need to tie him up. What about Clove?" Geralt rasped.

"Got it covered." Ana whispered before muttering an unintelligible incantation with a hand outstretched toward each of their mounts. They took their leave of them with loving pats, and looked after them fondly for a moment.

"What did you do?" Geralt asked, curious.

"Quick protection spell for them both. And I bound them to one another. So when Roach comes back to you, Clove will come back to me." She worried telling him might bring up his past with Yennefer again, but…he asked. He grunted. But thanked her.

"Don't worry. I'm not judging you at all for the way you behaved to…the people you…lost." she tried to comfort. He was not interested at the moment.

"Just now, I'm a bit more concerned about us getting drained by a Bruxa. Maybe we can continue that discussion later, Ana." he growled at her. They drew closer to one another and advanced in a natural tandem maneuver toward the city's center. Geralt watched where they were going, Ana where they had been, and they each took in as much of their periphery as they could. Birds took flight from long-held nests and rodents retreated to safer dens as the witcher and the mage slowly worked their way inward. To the danger. And Ana hoped not to their death.

A blood curdling scream came from one of the hovels just outside the palace walls. Ana turned to look at Geralt who paused to smell the air, grasped his medallion to check for monsters, and raced off toward the obvious peril. Great. Now she had to, as well. She wondered if being on journeys with Geralt meant running toward danger more often than not and if perhaps Yennefer and Jaskier weren't a tad better off outside his company.

But then she found him in the small shack. One pitiful room that was all things to a family of gods knew how many. Now held one small, filthy little girl, who couldn't have been aged more than eight. The hovel was covered in the evidence of a bloody attack, but no corpses. This little child was all that was left. And she looked like she'd just awoken from the grandfather of all nightmares. Her eyes were wider than coins, and dark with fear, pupils dominating the hazel irises ringing them. Eyes bloodshot. The poor thing had scarcely slept, probably in days. Geralt held her to his chest, kneeling to her height to do so. Her hair was dark, by the look, although it had clearly been a very long time since her last bath, if she'd ever even had a proper one in such a place.

Geralt shushed and soothed her. Petting her filthy hair and holding her tight, as if she were his own, which she knew to be impossible.

"There there, shhh. It's alright, girl. Everything is going to be alright. You're safe with us. Don't cry. I've got you. Hush now, child. Sh-sh-sh." perhaps the skill with horses had transferred to children. Perhaps witchers learned this sort of thing in their training. She just knew she did not. But he was terribly good at it.

"There, now, that's better, isn't it?" she nodded, still whimpering a bit. "What's your name, child?" he asked, kindly. More kindly than Ana had ever heard anyone ask anything. Let alone Geralt speak, save for some choice moments last night…

"Geeta." she said, shyly.

"Geeta. What a pretty name. Pretty name for a pretty girl." he smiled and pinched her chin. She blushed furiously. "Tell me Geeta, do you know anything about what happened in the town? Why isn't there anyone here?"

"They…the women…came!" terror flooded Geeta's big eyes along with the fearful tears of the haunted.

"What women, Geeta?" he asked her, a knowing concern in his deep voice. They both knew. But still hoped they were wrong.

"They came, in the night, they didn't have clothes, their eyes were red, and their hair was dark…and…the singing!" she bellowed in tears, reliving the night that the Bruxae laid waste to her city.

"There, there, child. They're gone now. You're safe. Nothing is going to hurt you now." Geralt soothed her. "Where did you see them, child?"

"First, out there," she pointed out the window. "Then…" she looked tearfully around the room at the walls, which were spattered with something that, although now was brown, had once been deep red. Her family, however many of them there had been, had met their doom right here and she had somehow survived. What a strong little thing she was.

"Oh, little one." Geralt cradled the girl against him as if he was the one who needed comfort, and not she. Ana had given up holding back her own tears and let them fall freely down her lovely face. What would become of this poor waif, orphaned by monsters, her entire community wiped out by a blood-thirsty coven of Bruxae, and rescued by two of the least equipped and prepared people possible to care for her. Well, she shouldn't speak for Geralt. He was clearly killing the parenting thing. Regardless, if she came with them, she would be in perpetual danger. But then again, she'd come away from her last encounter with the she-beasts physically unscathed. Geeta may fit in swimmingly with the emotionally unstable duo.

Geralt looked up, hearing something with his mutant ears that the other two could not. Both of the females could, however, pick up on his spike in adrenaline and blood pressure at the sound, and his complete change in demeanor.

He held Geeta firmly by her shoulders and commanded her fullest attention.

"Now, Geeta, I need you to tell me, how have you kept yourself hidden from the monsters since…since that night? Is there somewhere safe in here?"

She pointed to the corner of the kitchen area where there was a cupboard, small, but well large enough for a seven-year-old child. And it soon became evident why she'd been safe there. A silver tray hung decoratively on the outside, apparently a family heirloom and not used daily.

"That's very good, sweetheart. Now, this is my friend Ana. And she and I are going to be out here practicing some fighting so we're good and ready for when we need to fight the monsters. It's very important so that we don't hit you by accident that you stay in there no matter what you hear. Don't come out until one us comes to get you. Do you understand?" she nodded. "Tell me what you're going to do for me."

"I'm going to stay in my cupboard while you and Ana practice fight, and I won't come out no matter what until you get me.

"There's a good girl. Now, get in there, and shut the door, nice and tight. And try to be quiet too, so you don't distract us. And here, I bet you're hungry." He winked at her, handing her an apple, a loaf of bread, and a small wedge of cheese he'd had in his satchel. Such a sweet moment when something so scary was afoot.

Once the child was safe and secure, the adults could properly panic.

"Geralt…what the fuck…are we going to do? How are we supposed to fight off a whole coven of Bruxae?! I've never even seen ONE!"

"I know," he said, grumbling in agitated fear, but holding on, she thought, for her, perhaps. "Bruxae are very rare, which, we should see as a mercy, but also, we are never as prepared for them as we could be if they were as common as bloedzuigers."

“So how do we do this?” Ana asked, stifling her own fear and apprehension about this battle.

“Well, we have a couple of options. We could leave. I can have Roach and Clove here in five minutes, we could abandon this quest, which almost seems doomed from the outset, forget the reasons we came here and just live for…” there was a pregnant pause where he said so much while saying absolutely nothing . “For the moment, I guess.” And she was ready to hear “themselves” or “each other.” But he couldn’t say it, apparently.

“And our other options?”

“You could take Geeta and run."

"Huh…I know we've only known each other a short time, Geralt, but I didn't have you pegged as a jester." Ana replied to his suggestion, entirely non-plussed and unamused.

"I'm not joking, Anathema. You two have a shot now while the Bruxae are far enough away that you can't hear them, but once you can, it will be unlike anything you have encountered before. It will hurt, physically and emotionally."

"It's not happening; I'm not leaving you to tend with gods know how many Bruxae on your own! You'd never survive, Geralt! THAT is what would hurt me physically and emotionally!"

"And if you're hurt during the fight?" he countered. "What of me? Hmm?" he stood there, panting at her in a panicked rage, eyes wide, nostrils flared. "If I get you killed--"

"Stop right there. You are not responsible for me. I insisted on being here in the first place, and it is by my own agency and accord I remain. If I die, you are to feel no guilt or responsibility. Understand?"

"Hmph." he assented, back to non-verbal replies. At least it was something. "I still don't have a plan of attack."

"Well, I may have some thoughts on that. I don't think we SHOULD attack them."

~~~~~~~~~

Ana had been marginally familiar with Bruxae prior to today, but had never encountered one. In theory, though, she knew their weaknesses from a mage's standpoint and what she could do to give Geralt an advantage. Geralt had a few signs in his arsenal that would be effective on them, as well as his silver sword. He didn't have time to mix any extra potions, but he had a small vial of Black Blood, which would make him toxic to any Bruxa who bit him, and a few extra vials of Kiss, Swallow, Tawny Owl, and some others. She knew a detoxifying spell that would help him recover from taking extra potions, and as an extra precaution, although it wouldn't be as effective as pure silver, he used some of her silver oil on his steel sword. He would be able to fight with both hands, at least for a while, this way, and do more damage. She re-oiled her steel sword, and had her silver dagger at the ready. She also rubbed a bit of the oil around the door handles and window latches and frames, in case they tried the house, where she would be providing ranged support under cover. She'd fortified the hovel with her enchantments, just as she had the campsite and tent the previous evening, as well as a few extras that she hadn't thought of then that might help today.

She could hear them now, faint and distant, but still began to feel a twist in the pit of her stomach. She also wanted to cry, but she didn't know why.

"They're getting closer. Here. This will help." he pulled out a large bundle of cotton tinder from his satchel, tore it in half, and gave it to her. "Roll a bit up and pack it into your ears. It won't get rid of the symptoms entirely, but if you keep your mind on something that makes you happy, the pain shouldn't steal your focus from the fighting." she looked at him, smirking.

"What?" he asked, the shadow of what could have been a darling grin if it just tried a bit harder passed his face.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Just…wondering what makes a witcher happy enough to drown out the song of the Bruxa?" she smirked at him as he ran a whetstone over his silver sword.

"Oh, plenty, little mage." he allowed himself to show the faintest smile as he sharpened his blade with that satisfying sllllllank. "We witchers live for bloodshed, you know. Once the fighting starts, I may not even need this cotton. I'll be in such a splendid mood, I'll be able to take the Bruxa song undiluted." He had found his sense of humour. Thank the gods.

"What about you? Thinking about stealing your blacksmith away from his fishmonger's daughter, little mage? Is that going to be your happy place?" he asked, checking the blade he'd just sharpened, finding it satisfactory, and asking wordlessly for Ana's silver dagger to do next.

She let out a huge sigh indicating her thoughtfulness on the matter as she handed him her weapon. If you'd asked her the same question last week, she would have said yes in a heartbeat. But now…after last night…even though it was foolish, perhaps, her happy place was sitting across from her in the desecrated hovel sharpening her dagger for battle. She didn't even have the heart to tell him that she could do it with magic so much more quickly. But he'd kind of stolen her heart, this big, grumpy oaf with a heart of gold.

"Well, Ana? Are you going to ride back into Velena, turn your rival into a trout and take that boy for your own, or aren't you?"

"Hahaha, well, it's most tempting, and if we make it out of this alive, I'll call it an option. But, umm, no, I don't think that's my happy place." she looked at him, squaring off with his gaze, unable to look away, but unable to speak her truth now. It would hold too much weight now, with a battle so near with such an uncertain outcome, that speaking her peace seemed…both overly sentimental and a bad omen.

Speaking of bad omens, the Bruxae were getting closer, their sickening song getting louder.

"I'm going to get into position. Are you ready?" they both stood, nerves causing them both as much unease as the Bruxa song, and for which no amount of cotton would ever help.

"I'm ready." she responded. Ready for it to be over, she thought.

"Good. One more thing." he added. He stood before her and pulled her to him in the most warm and filling hug he could have managed, armor or not, and then kissed her so deeply, thoroughly, and lovingly that she saw stars.

"Remember, don't give yourself away too early. Try to pick off the outliers and portal them away so the body count doesn't draw attention. And be safe."

"Don't forget to give the signal when you need me to detox you. And don't be a hero and wait until you're on the verge. Let's keep your toxicity low and manageable. I'd rather cast my spell a dozen times when you're more or less okay than have to worry about you passing out because you've only asked me twice. And you be safe, too."

“Be safe” seemed to translate into something more meaningful. He picked up his swords and headed out the door.

She held it together well as he left her. Fought back the tears with a valiant effort until she turned to the small crate on which he’d lain her dagger…and his wolf medallion. How did she miss him taking it off? She’d hardly had her eyes off him the whole time they were strategizing. Her eyes filled with tears now. She picked up a small note that was tucked under the hilt of the dagger. It read:

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m going to want this back after the fight. -G”

As messy as the scrawl was, the G was rather elegant and ornate, by comparison. She pressed the note to her lips and tucked it into her jerkin, near her heart. She slipped the medallion over her neck and chuckled. The wolf, which normally rested high between Geralt’s meaty pecs, now hung halfway to her belly button. He was so thick and broad. She'd barely noticed last night. There was hardly time. She regretted it now, not memorizing everything about him. The very shape of him. Every curve and ripple. Every plane and divot. If they got out of here, she'd be sure to do that. They'd make love at least once more before they parted ways and she'd see to it to document every perfect inch of him.

She was stunned out of her reverie by a shiver emanating from Geralt's medallion. The Bruxae were getting closer, but weren't singing. At least not loudly. She felt bad for wearing the medallion, which she felt was one of Geralt's best advantages over them. It helped maintain the element of surprise. But he must have had his reasons. Maybe he thought she needed the silver more than he did. It hardly mattered now, as the decision was long made and unchangeable.

He stood in the middle of the city street, eyes closed, listening, breathing in the crisp chill of the dusk. A Bruxa could function in the light of day, but they preferred the night. They were stronger outside the reach of the sun. Geralt thrust his steel sword into the dirt in front of him, downed the vial of Black Blood potion, and took a knee, casting Quen around him to protect himself from their imminent descent. He held his silver sword in line with his spine, hoping to deflect a few of the more timid creatures and make them easier for Ana to pick off. As they entered the street from above, floating in as if they were spores on a breeze, they began to test the shield around Geralt. It was the gold of pure sunlight, but didn't seem to cause them discomfort. Only curiosity. There came about 14 in total, Ana counted.

Their skin was almost like looking straight at the moon and each had hair so black, it was barely visible against the night sky. Their eyes were like rubies, and blood red, as were the tips of their fingers, if that’s what they could be called. It was as though talons, sharp and pointed as knitting needles grew from their hands. As Geeta had reported, they were completely nude, and had they not been so terrifying, Ana thought they may have been beautiful. Perhaps they were, once.

She started to portal them out of the hot zone as Geralt's shield weakened, and to the rooftops across the street…the top halves to one building, and the bottom halves to another. She'd been able to take out no less than five when the dwindling numbers were noticed by the others. They began to shriek in earnest and the Quen shield began to flicker, giving out under Geralt's new stress from the song, only partially blocked by the cotton tinder he'd packed into his ears.

He spun into motion now, drawing the steel from the ground and thrashing with both swords at the she-beasts as they advanced on him. He caught limbs on some, and drew blood on others, but it was not enough to take them down. He took a moment to cast Quen again so that he could safely take some more potions. Ana would later deduce that he took Kiss to rejuvenate him and Blizzard to increase his reaction time. He also signaled Ana to hit him with her detox spell. A good plan, and almost too late, three potions in. She'd have to watch him more closely if he was going to hold out like that.

Ana continued to pick off the Bruxa outliers, as Geralt cut down the ones that he could until they were down to just two.

They were clearly the strongest ones and Ana couldn't get to them before one was sinking her teeth into Geralt's neck. Ana felt her stomach drop. She didn't want the Black Blood to come into play…even if it would be effective. She heard him mutter a "fuck" as he struggled to staunched the bleeding wound. The dying Bruxa had also dropped him on his ample arse as she was gasping for breath through inky, sputtering lips. She had gotten a heroic measure of Geralt's tainted lifeforce, and was now paying the price. Ana smirked. Served the monster right, she thought. Until she heard the most chilling cry of all.

"SISTEEEEEEEEEEEER!" The last surviving Bruxa rushed to the one clinging for life in the dirty streets of the city they had eviscerated, red tears streaming from red eyes down a chalk pale face. "Shay! Shay, my sister! Do not leave me!" Ana almost felt pity. She'd had sisters, after all. And she loved them. As they did her, in their way.

"Meena…Meena, I'm cold." Shay, the dying Bruxa uttered and breathed her last.

"You MONSTER!" Meena, the last Bruxa of the coven spat at Geralt.

"You're one to talk." he chided her, having none of it.

"All we desired was the girl. But we couldn't find her. She hid from us. She hides still. Her blood is the cure."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Geralt was confused. Good. Ana was certainly confused, as well.

"We were cursed and a Mage's blood is the only cure. The little girl who lives in this hovel was the only conduit for leagues that my sisters and I could find. We needed her blood. But these…humans…wouldn't give her up."

Ana was piecing it all together now. That silver platter was no accident. Geeta was like her, and her parents were protecting her…in a cupboard…the irony was so rich, Ana could scarcely process it. And now, this Bruxa wanted to drink her blood to…what, become normal again? Would any mage's blood do? She was guessing. Ana was about to do something very heroic…or very stupid…the two, she knew, were often only distinguished by purpose and outcome.

"What about me?" Ana asked as she stepped out into the street from the small home.

"Ana! NO!" Geralt shouted at her.

Meena hissed in Ana's direction, startled by the appearance of a new adversary. "Who are you?"

"I'm Anathema of Velena. I'm a mage. And much better equipped to sustain a bite than the poor little girl you've been hunting." she stood her ground with a proud strength, unafraid of the demoness before her.

"I don't see why it would hurt to try." Meena laughed cruelly in her throat and darted toward her.

The rest, was a very dark, cold, and rather bumpy blur.

Parts 2 and 3 coming soon!

#netflix the witcher #the witcher #fanfic #henry cavill fanfic #geralt fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia #henry cavill

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izzy-b-hands · 4 years

Text

Boiling Point

Just a cute little something based on the sparse early days of Freddie and Roger in their flat together, mashed with the Roger story of Freddie once asking him how to boil an egg (and neither of them knowing lmao bless them.) Gender neutral reader is in this as their friend, and this is separate from my You Send Me AU since we have the reader meeting them so early on.

Also I did enough research on 1970 UK/London for this that I feel like I should be allowed to go back and live one day there, but I’ll take that up with the universe lol.

My love to all who read, like, reblog!

“Where did you even get the money for this?”

Freddie’s voice was muffled as he replied, still in the fridge, stocking it with the few things he’d picked up. “I definitely didn’t sell those two coats we were saving for ourselves.”

Roger’s face fell. “Oh.”

“It’s been a week, Rog,” Freddie sighed as he stood back up. “I’m not pleased about it either, if it helps.”

“Does a bit.”

Freddie laughed. “Good. Besides, food has to soothe the wound, doesn’t it?”

“What are we going to do with these?” Roger asked, and held up a small carton of eggs.

“Ah. I don’t want to get too wild, but I thought we might eat them!”

Roger smirked. “How are we going to prepare them, hm? Didn’t think of that, did you?”

Freddie frowned. “Well. You know how to...do whatever we need to, to cook one of those, don’t you?”

“Boil it?”

“That,” Freddie replied, resuming the packing away of the non-perishables in a cupboard. “However we do that.”

“Christ, I don’t know. With water, presumably.”

“Are you telling me you don’t know how to boil an egg?” Freddie scoffed.

“Are you telling me that you don’t know how to do that?” Roger scoffed right back.

There was a pause, and Roger set the eggs down.

“We could call our mums,” Freddie said hesitantly. “God, she won’t be pleased to hear I never picked it up from watching her cook though.”

Roger nodded. “Mine would feel the same, I imagine. So we absolutely can’t call them.”

“No,” Freddie agreed. “What about Brian?”

“He will literally never let us live it down.”

“John?”

“He will be even worse about never letting us live it down. Also, do we know for sure that either of them know how to boil an egg?” Roger asked with a tilt of his head. “We’ve never seen them do that.”

“That’s a fair point. But, hope is not lost,” Freddie smiled. “I think they should still be near the market; if I run...”

Like that, he was off like a shot, heeled boots clattering on the ground.

Roger shrugged, and sat down at the table to await whatever solution Freddie apparently had.

---

“I don’t know, maybe someone else could pull it off,” you mused over the scarf in your hands, the shop owner nodding sympathetically. “Like, maybe-”

You were nearly bowled over as Freddie ran into you. “Freddie!”

He was out of breath, and took a gulp of air, a finger held up to ask for a moment.

“...did you hear me find this scarf or something?” you asked with a chuckle.

“It really would suit him,” the shop owner agreed.

While Freddie recovered, you bought the scarf. You liked giving each other gifts when you could, and this was well within your budget this week.

“So, did you search me out just for this?” you teased as you draped the scarf around his neck.

He held out an arm for you to take. “No, but thank you, it is gorgeous. Actually, I have a question. You know how to boil an egg, yes?”

“...yes?”

“You don’t sound sure,” he replied as he led you down the street towards the flat he shared with Roger. “If you don’t know, it’s okay, I won’t judge.”

“Do you know how?”

He gave you a pleading glance, and you shook your head.

“Doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t be asking if you knew, right?”

He nodded. “So, you know how?”

“At the risk of sounding overly grandiose, I do know how to boil an egg.”

“Fantastic!” Freddie grinned. “Come have dinner with us.”

“You have food?”

“We do, for now,” he answered.

“Is it just eggs?”

“No,” he said, the paused. “I mean, that is the featured item for tonight. There’s rice too, and a few other things, but that needs to last us...well.”

He sighed. “Let’s not think about how long we need to stretch that food, hm? Not tonight; no, tonight is a dinner party of sorts!”

“And I’ll teach you two how to boil an egg.”

“You could just boil them,” Freddie said.

“But...then you’ll know for the future...”

“That’s a fair point,” Freddie said, and nodded, and the conversation ended there as you reached the door of the flat.

“I found them!”

Roger grinned as you walked in. “Hello, Y/N. Are you are savior for the night?”

“Because I know how to boil an egg?”

He was up in a flash, arms wrapped around you tight.

“Do you two even like eggs that much?” you asked. “I don’t mean to diminish the festivities, but it is just eggs.”

“We actually have food for once, and someone who can prepare it into something decently edible, and a guest,” Freddie said. “Nothing else matters except for that, at least for now.”

You nodded. “Alright. Do you want to watch the magic, or...”

“Is it exciting?” Roger asked.

“It’s boiling water,” you said as gently as you could manage.

“That seems like a no,” Roger said. “Would you mind if we didn’t?”

“I might actually feel better with you two sitting and resting and away from the boiling water,” you replied. “Before you go, do you have a pot?”

“Yes, technically,” Freddie said. “You’ll need the other bit though.”

You resisted the shiver of fear that rattled you. “Other bit?”

“Well, it did get, erm. I don’t know what you might call it, but it mostly survived that night,” Roger replied, and knelt down to retrieve the pot. “See? Still has most of the bottom.”

You took it from him and held it up. “There’s a hole in it.”

“That’s what this bit is for,” Freddie said, and handed you a thick piece of metal, similar to that of the pot. “John found it. That way we can still use it, and don’t have to try and find money for a new one.”

“That is...ingenious. I don’t know about safe, but ingenious,” you remarked.

“That’s what John said,” Roger mused. “I think he’d like you.”

“Cooking safety is truly the great common denominator,” you said. “You could propose to me with an intact pot and a pot holder.”

They nodded, and you weren’t sure if they knew you were joking or not. Frankly, considering how expensive it could be to get things for the home, you weren’t even sure if you were fully joking or not.

“Go, sit. I’ll call you when it’s done!”

They dropped to the living room floor with soft thuds, and you could feel the exhaustion in the air. Between their band (only recently named Queen) and the shop, it made for long days and nights, and it showed.

---

“Boys?”

You were greeted with soft snores.

They needed to eat, but it was too adorable to disturb right away.

Both of them, stretched on the floor, laying by each other in a way that suggested they’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, mid-conversation, mid-new wild plan they’d thought up. Out like lights, finally getting some much needed sleep.

You went back to the kitchen and prepared the small meal you’d managed: boiled eggs, chopped into slices with the only knife you could find in any of the drawers, on top of some rice (after you had sneaked out to buy them another bag. Hopefully they’d not remember that they didn’t have two bags, as your intent wasn’t to embarrass them or anything, just to keep them in food for a bit longer.)

It wasn’t an immediate wake up call, but after a few moments of the dishes sitting on the small coffee table nearby them, they woke up and reached for them.

Roger’s eyes weren’t even open as he ate, but he smiled. “Food is so good.”

“It is,” you agreed as you tucked into the small serving you’d taken. You wanted most of it left for them. “You should let some of us help you get groceries more often.”

Freddie shook his head. “We’re alright.”

You knew that was a lie at least some of the time, because there were times that the fridge was essentially empty. But you weren’t about to call your friends on that, on this night or any other.

There was a dinner party to enjoy as the boys woke back up fully, and if you had your way (and they had theirs), you would end up spending the night. Sleeping side by side on the floor, grateful the nights were less cold with good friends.

And in the morning, maybe you’d have just enough time to sneak away again and buy them a little more food. Just a bit, to see them through, to keep them and the big dreams they told you about in between mouthfuls of rice, alive.

#text post #LeeH writes #Queen band fic #this isn't much and I still have so much other Queen and Freddie specific fic in progress #but this wouldn't let me go so I had to get it out tonight lol

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