The fire in The Laughing Bruxa had burned low, casting the tavern in shades of amber and shadow. The drunk in the corner had stopped snoring.. had perhaps died, though neither Geralt nor Triss felt inclined to check. The barkeep had retreated to a back room, leaving them alone with the dying embers and an unfinished conversations.
Triss had not left. Not yet. She had ordered a fresh pot of tea, more for something to do with her hands than any desire to drink it and had sat in silence for several long minutes, stirring honey into a cup that had long since gone cold.
Geralt watched her. He knew that look. That was the look of someone assembling questions in her mind, arranging them in order of importance, deciding which ones to ask and which ones to leave buried.
"The prodigy you have in Kaer Morhen," she said finally, not looking up. "Sebastian."
Geralt's expression did not change, "What about him?"
Triss set down the spoon. She wrapped both hands around her cup,
"How is he doing?" She glanced up. "Truly. Not the polite answer, the real one."
Geralt was quiet for a moment.
"He's fine," Geralt said. The words came out flat but Triss had known him long enough to hear the careful neutrality beneath them. The way he said fine when he meant I am not ready to discuss this. "He's more than capable, I'm not really worried about him out there."
Triss tilted her head with a small smile.
"I've only been to Kaer Morhen once," she said. "You know that. And I'll be honest, most of the images I have of him are blurred together in my memory, but..." She paused. Her smile widened slightly. "But, for Sebastian, I can't forget how extraordinary he was for his age."
Geralt said nothing.
"I remember how hell-bent he was," Triss continued, her voice softening. "On setting off on the Path, putting his skills to the test. The others most of them, Especially Vesemir, he was very nervous about that idea. I guess he didn't know what waited for someone like Seb out here. After all no one knows better than Vesemir that theory and practice are different beasts."
She laughed. "But Sebastian? He wasn't nervous. He was impatient. Like a wolf pup who'd caught the scent of blood for the first time and couldn't understand why the older wolves wouldn't let him join the hunt." She shook her head. "Vesemir didn't enjoy that about him. Not one bit."
Geralt's mouth twitched. The closest he ever came to a smile since what happened with Avallac'h.
"Vesemir doesn't enjoy anything about anyone," he said. "That's his job even with us Older witchers, he likes to keep us in check sometimes."
"True." Triss took a sip of her cold tea, made a face, set it down. "But I also remember how protective he was. Of Ciri. Of Sebastian. The old man pretends he doesn't care, pretends they're just more recruits to be hammered into shape and sent into the world but I saw the way he looked at them. When he thought no one was watching. He does care a lot."
Geralt looked into the fire. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"He's fine," he said again. And this time, there was something almost defensive in it. "He's more than ready. Vesemir made sure of that. We all did."
Triss studied him. The firelight danced across her face, illuminating the fine lines at the corners of her eyes.
"I see," she said quietly. Then, softer still: "He doesn't know, does he? About Ciri. About what happened."
It was not a question.
Geralt's silence was answer enough.
"Of course he doesn't, it only happened recently.." Triss murmured, mostly to herself. She looked down at her hands. "Stupid of me to ask."
She was quiet for a moment. Thinking.
"But shouldn't you try to contact him?" she said finally. "Tell him? He has a right to know, Geralt. They grew up together. She's.." She stopped, searching for the right words. "She means a lot to him.."
"No."
The word was flat and final.
"I'm not going to ruin this experience for him," Geralt said. "It's his first time on the Path. His first spring. His first real taste of what it means to be a witcher, the contracts, the travel, the loneliness. He's been waiting for this since he could hold a wooden sword. I'm not going to drag him back into our mess."
Triss frowned. "But Sebastian is strong. You know that. Better than most his age. And if this Elven sage proves truly troublesome, and if the legends about the Aen Saevherne are even half true, they're capable of magic that would make Vilgefortz look like an apprentice, then Sebastian could be a valuable ally. Besides, he cares deeply about Ciri. He'd do everything to help."
Geralt cut her off, he never raised his voice but it was sharp enough.
"That's exactly why I can't let him know."
Triss blinked. Her mouth closed.
Geralt leaned forward. The fire caught his face, the scarred cheek, the amber eyes, the hard set of his jaw.
"Ciri is my responsibility," he said. "She has always been my responsibility. We came here, to Vizima, to you and a couple more friends because we needed answers. Because Yennefer warned us. She said there would be pursuers. Assassins. People who wanted to use Ciri's blood for their own ends."
He paused and the fire crackled.
"Yennefer implied that Emhyr already knows where she is. That he's simply decided not to act yet." He looked at Triss. "Now you tell me he married a false Ciri. A fake. That won't last. Sooner or later, his people will start asking questions. They'll want to know where the real Lion Cub is. And when they do..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
Triss exhaled slowly. She rubbed her head with both hands.
"Yeah," she said. "This is all too complicated."
She looked up at him. Her eyes were steady. "But I still think Sebastian deserves to know," she said quietly. "That she's been kidnapped. That she's in danger. He's not a child anymore, Geralt. He's a Witcher on the Path with incredible power. He can make his own choices."
Geralt held her gaze.
"I will fix this whole mess," he said. "And when I do, when Ciri is safe, and the Elven sage is dealt with, and the world stops spinning sideways this will just be a story. Something we drink about during the winter. At Kaer Morhen. All of us. Together."
Triss searched his face for doubt. For hesitation, for any sign that he didn't believe his own words.
She found none.
"I truly hope so," she said.
She leaned back. Picked up her cold tea. Set it down again without drinking.
A long silence stretched between them of old friends who had fought side by side.
"Do you know where he is?" Triss asked.
Geralt's eyes narrowed.
"Triss..."
"I'm only asking.." She raised her hands in mock surrender. "I'm not planning to do anything. I'm just... curious. Worried, maybe. Is that a crime?"
Geralt studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he relented.
"He should be in Kaedwen, he and Vesemir departed toward it, possibly Ard Carraigh." he said. "Should be still there, I assume. But knowing his character.." Something crossed his face. "He'll hate the big kingdoms of the Northern Realms very shortly.. too many walls. Too many nobles.. too many people who look at a witcher like he's something they scraped off their boot. He'll move from one place to another in short amounts of time. That's my guess."
Triss nodded slowly, her expression was thoughtful, almost sad.
"I don't blame him," she said. "I've spent enough time in courts to know exactly what he'll find. The whispers, the sidelong glances. The way they smile to your face when they need help and then and lock their doors behind you."
Geralt leaned back. His hand found the hilt of his silver sword, a habit, nothing more. Comfort in steel.
"Triss," he said, and his voice was low now and serious. "I'm serious. Do not tell him."
Triss met his eyes. Held them.
"Alright," she said. "Alright."
She stood. Pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.
"I'll send word when I find something," she said. "About the sage and about Ciri. About anything that might help."
Geralt nodded.
"And Geralt?" She paused at the door. Looked back over her shoulder. "Be careful out there, you can find me in the Royal palace, they will make way for you."
He almost smiled.
"Alright Triss, take care." he said.
She slipped out into the street.
Geralt sat alone in the corner of The Laughing Bruxa, listening to the wind and the silence.
He thought of Sebastian. Young, fierce, and hell-bent on proving himself, he thought of Ciri. Taken, lost. Somewhere out there.
Then he stood, threw a few coins on the table, and walked out to find his daughter.
/-\
If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch: In One Piece / Shadow Monarch in DC
&
If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my pat-reon / FrenzyAren"
You can Get Access to More Chapters Ahead of Release on All of My Stories!