The White Wolf: Destiny

Chapter Two

(Geralt)

The wilting flower standing at Jaskier’s side seemed ready to s**t herself. My lips pulled into a sneer, eyes dropping back to my ale. She feared me. Witcher, White Wolf, Butcher of Blaviken. She had plenty of reasons. She should pick one. Everyone else did. Well, everyone except the noisy, cumbersome bard that now pulled the terrified girl over to where I sat. He all but forced the girl to sit. She wouldn’t look at me.

“Geralt, buddy!” Jaskier exclaimed, moving as if to throw his arm around my shoulders.

“Don’t touch me.” I warned. 

“Ah. Right. Of course.” His attention shifted to the girl at his side. “See? I told you he was real.”

The girl did not look well. A flicker of pain, one that I knew all too well from my own experiences with that demon, swept across her face. Jaskier jostled the frightened female. To her credit, she did her best to smother how uncomfortable she was in my presence

“I never ...never doubted you.” She lied, a ghost of a smile lingering on her lips. 

With an inclined eyebrow, I studied the two. It was clear they were familiar with one another. Was she the reason he all but insisted I travel to this backwater town that quite clearly did NOT have a monster problem? She certainly wasn’t much to look out. Mud smeared dress, dark disheveled hair braided down the small of her back….the only thing remotely interesting about her was the fact that her eyes were two different colors.

One blue, the other green. Hm. A rather unusual trail in a human. He took a large gulp of his ale. A shadow fell over the table. My nose crinkled, the scent of s**t and stale sweat hitting me in the face like a sack of potatoes. Even Jaskier smelt it. His attention wasn’t focused on Jaskier or myself. It was the girl that held his interest.

“Hey, girlie. How much?” He leered.

“I beg your pardon?” Jaskier gawped, “She is no common w***e. She is a lady!”

I regarded Jaskier with a lifted eyebrow. He was defending her honor? She must be something special indeed. The man chuckled, making a rather lewd gesture towards the girl who seemed quite oblivious that the crude louse had even spoken to her.

“Hey! You deaf?” The man sneered, moving as if to touch the girl.

Jaskier moved as if to intervene. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” I sighed. 

The man’s eyes narrowed, “Witcher…” He spat the term between pursed lips, “Your kind isn’t welcome here.”

I didn’t speak. Nothing I had to say would change his opinion of me and my kind, few as they were. The Witchers were a dying breed. The girl, who had yet to be introduced, finally decided to defend herself. She tilted her face towards the man with a lifted eyebrow.

“I wonder what your wife would say if she were to find you in a place such as this.” Her words were even, without malicious. Perhaps I had misjudged her, “I cannot imagine she would approve...her being with child and all.”

The man’s mouth opened and shut several times without forming actual words. His cheeks an almost impressive shade of red before he shuffled away from the table. Jaskier slammed the palm of his hand against the table ...as if he’d had anything to do with the man deciding to call it quits.

“Barkeep!” he shouted, “A round of drinks for my friends!”

“Jaskier, you know I don’t-” The girl started to argue. Jaskier grabbed his lute, bounded from the table, and proceeded to crudely serenade the entire inn. She smiled. She actually smiled. Did she actually enjoy the bard’s bellowing? Surely not.

“You and Jaskier….” My words trailed off though my meaning quite clear.

“Friends.” She assured, “Nothing more.” With a lick of her lips, she finally met my gaze, “Have ...have we met?”

“I do believe I would recall meeting a woman with eyes like yours.” I took another large swig of ale. “Why do you ask?”

She blinked. “You look...familiar, is all.” She went to extend her hand in greeting. I took note of her recently bandaged hand. She retracted it. “I’m Iliria.”

“Hm.” I grunted in response. There was a moment of silence before I spoke again, “You should have that looked at.” My eyes fell to her bandaged hand. The blood had already begun to seep through.

She fiddled with it a moment, shoulders hunched slightly. Her eyes lifted, watching the bard dance and fling himself across the tavern like a graceless duck. “I didn’t believe him, you know.” She sighed, “I thought you a figment of his imagination.”

“Hm.” 

It was odd that, in our many travels together, Jaskier had failed to mention Ilira to me. Then again, his favorite subject seemed to be himself. Jaskier reappeared at the table, offering his hand to Ilira. “A dance, fair maiden.”

“Oh, I couldn’t…”

He didn’t leave her a choice. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and all but hauled her into the center of the room. He twirled her about and, for a moment, she seemed to enjoy it. At first glance, one would suspect the two of being more than friends. Ilira seemed to fall into his touch rather than recoil from it as others did.

Only when Jaskier seemed to struggle beneath the weight of her did I realize just what had happened. “Uh, Geralt.” He called, “A little help here?”

“Ah, fuck.” I grumbled, rising from the table.

The rest of the inn folk didn’t even bat an eye at her condition. Looping an arm about her waist, I heaved her from the floor. She barely weighed anything. “Does this town have a healer?”

Jaskier’s mouth flopped like that of a fish. “Damn it, Jaskier.” I growled, “Out with it.”

“There’s a witch just north of here. About a mile or so. She’s handy with herbs.”

Without another word, I carried the limp female from the inn. Her chest rose and fell so at least she still had life. The rag wrapped about her hand was soaked, tiny droplets of blood trailing us as I carried her into the street. Jaskier nipped at my heels like a mangy mutt. 

“Geralt, is she…?”

“She’s still breathing.” I quipped. “Now, point me to this witch.”