Chapter Text
It began with spring cleaning. After hours of berating from Yennefer over the state of Geralt’s trunk and saddlebags, the witcher agreed to organize what was useful and dispose of what was not. While sorting through dozens of stacks of lesser runestones, Geralt stumbled upon it: the key to the Unseen Elder’s lair.
His gaze drifted from it to the Vitis Vinifera medal hanging on his wall, and he remembered the events through which it had been awarded. One of the biggest regrets Geralt had was that Regis, the one truly responsible for Detlaff’s death, had been banished from his people because of it. Regis, who had nearly died helping him once before. Regis, who in spite of having the power to conquer and feast off of them chose to live in fear and discomfort among humans, and who was now left with no recourse but to do so for all time. It was at that moment that Yennefer interrupted his cleaning to excitedly announce that Ciri was coming to visit.
It was in this way that the plan arose. After explaining it to them and reminding them how much they owed the poor vampire, Ciri and Yen agreed to help; Ciri with her powers and access to the empire’s resources and Yen with her magic and access to tomes of knowledge. It took months of planning and research, weeks of preparation, and thousands of crowns to procure a rare stone from Haakland, but in the end found it: a way to give Regis a second chance. Or at least, that was their hope.
To say the vampire in question was against it was an understatement. Regis reminded them to no end just how dangerous the Unseen Elder was. Geralt needed no aid in recollecting; the scars from his fangs still adorned his neck. He impressed upon them all that they were under no obligation to help, that he had acted of his own free will, and that he accepted the consequences of said acts as penance for betraying Dettlaff, but eventually the three of them wore him down. He agreed to try so long as they took every effort to minimize the risks involved.
It was in this way that Geralt found himself again bowing before the Unseen Elder, the ritual stone held out before him. Regis and Ciri were in a room at the Nilfgaardian Embassy watching the cave entrance through a spyglass and listening through a xenovox, a duplicate of which was hanging around his neck. If the Elder reacted poorly, they would hopefully have enough warning to escape. Yen had, with much protest and after much arguing, agreed to remain at Corvo Bianco. Neither Geralt nor Regis wanted to involve any more people than necessary.
“Eclthi, lautni ama,” he muttered. The ceremonial crystal was gone from his hand in an instant, with only a slight wind suggesting that the ancient vampire had moved. The witcher arose cautiously to see the being he had come to meet glaring at him from atop a ledge.
“Why have you returned?” His voice was dry and raspy, as if the last thing he’d had to drink was his blood. It probably was.
“To make a deal,” replied Geralt. He had barely survived his last encounter with the creature, he knew not to mince words.
“You have nothing that I want,” croaked the Elder.
“I have one thing.”
“Speak,” commanded the vampire.
“I can get you home.”
“The gate is closed.”
“I’m not talking about the gate,” said Geralt.
“Then how?” Geralt could tell that the Elder was growing impatient.
“The Elder Blood. Hen Ichaer.”
“I know not of this.”
“It grants those who have it the ability to travel through space and time. To other worlds, other spheres.”
“And you know how to get this blood?”
“My daughter has it. She can take you there,” clarified Geralt, realizing that the Elder believed the blood granted power via consumption. To be fair, he knew little about it. It very well might.
“And where is she?”
“Far from here. I had to be sure you would listen first.”
“Hmmm. What is it you ask in return?”
“I want you to pardon Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godfrey. To make clear to all others of your species that he is to be forgiven in full. There shall be no retaliation against him and his friends for Dettlaff’s death.”
“Unacceptable,” growled the Elder. “Our rules are clear. To kill another higher vampire is to be anathema. Forever.”
“And yet an Elder’s word is law. You can supersede that sentence.”
The Elder hissed before vanishing, reappearing mere inches away with his claws to Geralt’s throat. His speed was such that even the witcher did not see him move. “Summon your daughter, or I will kill you.” It was only due to years of harsh witcher training and emotion dampening mutations that Geralt held his gaze.
“No deal. Either pardon Regis or go back to waiting for your gate. You probably didn’t hear, but there was another conjunction recently. If your portal didn’t open then, it never will. I’m your only hope.” The vampire roared and then disappeared, reforming on the other side of the room and slicing through a stalagmite in anger. The foot-thick pillar of granite did nothing to impede the movement of his claws and collapsed to the ground in a pile of rubble.
“Fine,” spat the vampire. “I will pardon the traitor. But you, he, and your daughter will come too. If you lie, if the girl cannot get me to my home, all shall die.” It was the longest string of words Geralt had heard the Elder say.
“Agreed.”
*
Despite the fact that the only light came from the stars and moon, the Elder squinted as he walked out of the cave. When Geralt emerged beside him, Ciri took it as the cue for her and Regis to join them. The Unseen Elder glared at Regis when he saw him, but otherwise made no move to attack.
“How will you send the message that Regis is forgiven once you’re in your world?” asked Geralt.
“I have already done so,” rasped the Elder. “If you fail, it will not matter, for I will kill you all myself.”
“So you said,” muttered Geralt.
“I can start whenever you’re ready, Elder,” said Ciri, the future empress bowing to the ancient entity.
“Now,” he demanded.
“You’ll have to hold onto my hand,” she said. The Elder wordlessly extended his own, which Ciri grasped onto, careful not to cut herself on the razor sharp claws. As she prepared herself to make the jump she felt Geralt grab onto the other one, and assumed Regis was holding onto him. She inhaled, exhaled, and then she moved .
When she opened her eyes they were no longer in Toussaint. Where once the sky was a dark blue and full of stars, it now was pitch black and empty. The only light came from glowing red flora that covered a floor of gray grass and clung to pale, twisted trees and rocks. They were overlooking a valley of sorts, at the bottom of which Ciri saw a lone protofleder sinking its fangs into a glowing vine, drinking from it like an aphid from a flower.
“Home,” muttered the Elder. His voice was no longer grating, instead tranquil and soft as a feather in a gentle summer breeze.
“As promised,” said Geralt. “If that’s all…”
“It is. Leave.” Those were the last words the Elder said before transforming into a colossal bat and taking off into the endless night.
“It would be unwise to linger here for long,” cautioned Regis. “The rest of my kind do not share the same respect for other sentients as I do, and those of this world have no experience with humans.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” said Ciri. “Grab hold and let’s get back to our home.” Geralt and Regis acquiesced, and once again Ciri teleported.
She had meant to deposit them in Corvo Bianco. Yen would be anxious to know they were safe, and Marlena had promised to greet them with a celebratory feast. However, when the turquoise light faded she did not recognize her surroundings. They were near the edge of a sparse wood, long since tamed. Ahead of them was a mid-sized village, normal save for the broken down gate. The crowd gathered around it and the fact that it hadn’t been repaired suggested it had happened quite recently.
“Ciri, where are we?” asked Geralt.
“I’m… not sure. Sometimes I don’t end up exactly where I expect. I’ll try again.” Ciri took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then…
Nothing.
Ciri felt a growing sense of unease. She looked to a mountain far in the distance and concentrated. Again, nothing happened. In desperation, she focused on a rock several yards from them. This time at least, she was able to travel to it. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Anything more than a short distance and it’s like I hit a wall. And even then it’s far more strenuous than usual. I… I don’t think I can get us out of here,” she panicked.
“Not ideal,” commented Regis. “But at least your powers are not completely gone. That is something we can work off of.”
“And there are halflings in that village,” noted Geralt, his cat eyes able to see further and more clearly than Ciri’s. “That means that we’re still on the Continent.”
“That’s certainly a relief. Mere distance, no matter how great, is far less of an obstacle than the fabric of reality itself. We can head back to Toussaint, where hopefully we can ascertain why the full extent of your powers lie beyond your reach.” The vampire put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
“We still don’t know where we are though. We should head to the village, ask around.”
*
“Do these humans seem at all… different to you?” pondered Regis, as they strode through the town.
“Different how?” asked Geralt.
“They seem… nicer,” noted the vampire. “There aren’t any glares or mistrustful looks being directed at the halflings here.”
“Dunno. I’m still getting plenty.” It was true. The townsfolk, no matter how kind they were to the halflings, stared at him with suspicion and fear when he approached.
“Maybe they’ve never seen a witcher?” suggested Ciri.
“Maybe. Wait, there! An inn,” he said, pointing to a small building with a white pony rampant above the door. “We can find out more about where we are from the owner.”
Inside the tavern was crowded and chaotic. At every table people and halflings were drinking and chatting. Geralt overheard a few fragments.
“...heard them was poking about the Shire, asking for a Baggins.”
“...trampled poor Goatleaf…”
“...black riders in the night…”
“Ello there! What can I get you folks?” asked a man, interrupting his eavesdropping. He was large and hairy, but seemed jovial and bright.
“You the innkeep?” asked the witcher.
“That I am. Barliman Butterbur, at your service!”
“My friends and I aren’t from around here, and we seem to have gotten lost. I’m afraid we don’t even know the name of this village.”
“Why, this here’s Bree, of course! Westermost settlement of men in all of Middle-Earth!”
“In where?!?”
“If you don’t know the name of the world you’re in I’m not serving you any alcohol.”
“How far from here to Nilfgaard?” asked Geralt, dreading the answer.
“Nilthgart? This some kinda joke?”
“Uh, no. Sorry. Like I said, we’re not from around here,” said Geralt, panicking. If they weren’t on the Continent, and Ciri’s powers weren’t working, then they were in very serious trouble.
“Hmmn. Guessing you don’t have money to pay for a room either,” grumbled the man.
“Not much, and none you’d be familiar with. Is there anything you need done?” he asked, realizing they might be here for a while.
“Well, I need someone to fix my door. Wraiths kicked it in during the night, destroyed some of my best beds too,” he mused. “Damn things terrorized the town and then rode off as fast as they came.”
At this, Geralt perked up. “I might be able to help with that. I’m a witcher. I kill monsters for money. I can kill yours… for a price.”