The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Thirty-Four

Pontar River, 1242

Jaskier helped Robin hang their washed clothes on a line, watching Geralt curiously as he worked. The witcher was organizing his elixirs, fastidiously cleaning each bottle before putting them back in his satchel.

"What do all of those do?" the bard asked.

Geralt looked up, then motioned them over. "Don't sit too close," he advised. "These are dangerous. They'll kill anyone who ingests them if they're not a witcher."

"I'll remember that," the bard murmured as Robin came to sit beside him.

"Elixirs are an important part of a witcher's arsenal," Geralt explained. "These are two of our most used."

He held up two vials. "This one," he said, extending it forward, "gives me better control over my body. Essentially, my reaction times will be faster. It's got quite a few ingredients. Veratrum, stramonium, hawthorn, spurge, and others that have no name in human tongues."

"This one," he extended the other, "lets me see in complete darkness, even better than I do naturally. It turns my face white, and my eyes become entirely black because they're basically all pupil. Any amount of actual light would hurt my eyes greatly after I drank it."

"Do you even need those since you're a...?" Jaskier trailed off.

He'd made it a habit to not say the word werewolf out loud. Geralt and Robin both thought it was silly, but endearing.

"The elixirs still enhance my latent abilities," Geralt replied. "In theory, I'm more effective than any witcher, but that also comes down to things like training."

He returned the vials to his satchel. "What's even more critical, especially during combat, are signs."

"That's your magic, isn't it?" Jaskier chimed in.

Geralt nodded. "It's the basest form of magic. Nothing as intricate as your sister's." He glanced at Robin and smiled. "Aard is the simplest."

He made the sign with his fingers. "It creates a wave that pushes assailants back."

His fingers moved as he went through several of his signs. "Heliotrop, or Heliotrope, cushions against impacts. Quen diverts enemies off course. And Yrden creates a temporary barrier."

He glanced at Robin, making a final sign and pulsing magic through it towards her. "And Axii will calm a person or animal." He shook his head at her gently. "You've been too tense lately."

She sighed. "I know. I can't get any better at magic without a mentor, it seems. And I don't know where I'm going to find one."

"We'll find one," Geralt promised softly. "I swear to you, little mage."

"You know," Jaskier broke in as a distraction, "none of these tricks seem as impressive as you merely swinging those big swords of yours."

Geralt chuckled. "Well, ideally, I wouldn't ever need more than a sword to solve any problem. But if it were that easy, people wouldn't need witchers."

"True enough," Jaskier agreed. "But I've always wondered. Why two? Wouldn't a silver one be enough?"

"Silver is a naturally soft metal, so it's harder to maintain. My iron sword is made from a meteorite, which is traditional for witchers, so it's practically indestructible. And you don't always need a silver sword to kill a monster. It's just more useful against certain ones."

"I see," Jaskier nodded, getting up and moving over to Cricket to unpack his own things.

Geralt reached out and tipped Robin's chin up, looking into her eyes. "What would you think of us taking a few days to ourselves soon? You need to relax."

"Big words, coming from you," she teased softly.

"Please?"

That one word was enough to get him what he wanted. She softened and nodded.

"Yes, Geralt."

"Thank you. I'll come sit with you once I've finished."

She nodded. "All right."

He watched her as she sat down by the river and gazed at the horizon. She worked so hard, and yet she felt inadequate. He wished he could alleviate the feeling somehow.

Perhaps he would figure it out eventually. For now, all he could do was try and make her feel better however he could.