worstsin | (no subject)

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amalthea,
nina

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There was something wrong happening.

At first Geralt had avoided the woods, because it felt like that off-ness was concentrated there. The birds and insects had gone quiet at first, and soon after they'd started to flee to the forest's edges. Though autumn had barely begun, in some areas Geralt found trees turning rusty, leaves dying off.

That had been at first, and from there things had gotten wronger.

When Geralt realized what was happening, he went to the woods. He worried it had no longer become an issue of protecting himself until he managed to leave Darrow, but of protecting Darrow potentially from himself.

Whatever corruption existed in the forest, growing and spreading, it affected his body, and his mind. It had twisted itself around the witcher mutations, had expressed them in new ways, or simply more.

And so Geralt was back at his old camp. Hiding, biding time, and keeping a baleful eye on the situation. He ought to do something about it, but what? What could he do, when he didn't even understand what was happening to himself?

He sat beside the fire, hunkered over an evening meal in a foulest mood. His skin was paler than usual, dark veins standing out against the white. All of his senses screamed. He gripped his dinner in hands that had begun to end in blackened, pointed nails, that reminded Geralt too much of Regis. That was the bruxa in him, no doubt, a fact that he wanted to put little thought into, if he could avoid it.

The canines that filled his mouth too much more than they used to, those were likely more attributable to a manticore mutagen.

And the fact that he had made dinner of a squirrel, and had not felt the bother or desire to cook it, that Geralt wanted to put thought into even less.

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"I'd probably break his lute over his head. Or whatever instrument he traveled with."

Bull shook his head, thinking of the way Varric had gotten all poetic about it when he realized what was going on.

"Was bad enough having a bawdy romance author trying to immortalize it. Going on about two worlds tearing us apart, only love to keep us warm," he said, amusement creeping into his voice. He remembered that entire conversation, much to Dorian's consternation. "I think Dorian was ready to kill half the Inquisitor's inner circle when it came to light."

Bull wish he'd brought something of Dorian's with him. He missed how he smelled and the warmth of his skin when he first woke in the mornings.

"Took a long time for both of us. Dorian was the one to break first, but... he had to be." If it had been Bull, it would have seemed more like imposing, like true conquering. Dorian coming to him was permission.

"It's a lute," Geralt confirmed, with deep exasperation.

He did adore Dandelion, but the strumming could get old, when Geralt was trying to concentrate on tracking. Though, should anyone ever actually threaten his lute, Geralt would step in unhappily. Not because Dandelion wouldn't deserve it, but because that particular lute was made by the elves of Dol Blathanna, and was irreplaceable.

"'These scars long have yearned for your tender caress, to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own.'"

Geralt snorted over the lyrics, from that damn ballad about he and Yenn.

"Really love between you two, isn't it?"

He could tell, in the way that the Bull's tone changed, his expression. In other ways, that he couldn't finger, but were surely a part of his background senses.

"Oh yeah. I would've beat him with the thing," he huffed after he heard the verse Geralt recited. Worse than Varric; at least Varric was a good writer.

The look that crossed Bull's face was almost pained when Geralt mentioned love.

"It wasn't supposed to be." He quickly pressed on, not wanting Geralt to jump to any particular conclusions. "Under the Qun... there aren't relationships like that. Not really. We have friends, close companions, you could even say familial bonds but-- but nothing that would ultimately come before our service to the Qun. Dorian made that... difficult."

Before Dorian he had been softened by living with the Chargers for a decade, his adopted family. When they were ripped away, the only thing left that made him question his priorities was his relationship with Dorian.

"Loving someone like that and adhering to the demands of the Qun do not go hand in hand," he said quietly.

"A witcher doesn't usually find a long-term relationship. It's not part of the codex, not anything like that, but it just doesn't happen. It doesn't make sense. We spend everything but the winter constantly traveling and risking our lives, through every country on the continent, wartime or not. You don't find many people willing to be part of a relationship like that."

He and Yennefer had an arrangement, but that was something else entirely. That had started with the Wish.

"But isn't it worth it? To step off your path, even for just a while, to have someone to love."

"If stepping off the path means madness?" Bull shook his head slightly, but he knew some part of him wasn't being honest. It's worth it. But not if he killed Dorian in the process. "I almost killed him, Geralt. I had my hand around his throat, pinned down and crushing him. He had to use magic to heal himself before he could talk."

Bull growled under his breath. He wanted to headbutt something.

"I wasn't even awake."

He wanted to say that it was worth it. He wanted to say that having the Chargers and Dorian meant more than anything, but look at where he was now. Nearly murdering his lover, his kadan in his sleep. Dorian hadn't even been awake to defend himself.

"I can't do that again, Geralt. I can't risk it. Whatever's happening now, it's fucking up more than dreams."

Geralt, slightly drunk, stood from where he sat and, in fact, did headbutt the Bull, just hard enough. He grimaced afterward -- headbutting a fiend was worse, but damn, that was a hard head for a humanoid.

"Then don't do it again. But don't pretend like the choice has anything to do with whether or not you're being a good subject under your Qun. I know there's something wrong with me, that I can't have faith in anything at all. But maybe it helps me see through some of the bullshit. You need help, get help. Look outside yourself. You want to feel better, visit me. I'll make you meditate with me."

Geralt didn't have a chance to far before there was a second, firmer headbutt from the big Qunari. His skull was built to hold two massive horns; his neck was strong enough to bear and balance the weight. He tried to hold back, a little, but it was hard after the drinks he'd had and tempting to not bother at all.

But he didn't want to nurse Geralt through the ensuing concussion if he hit too hard.

He huffed a bit and sat back, listening while Geralt spoke. "You are not the first person to try to get me to meditate."

Maybe Krem would let him sleep in his barn until this whole thing just... reached some conclusion. But that wasn't fair to Dorian, was it.

The headbutt was strong enough that, for a moment, one of Geralt's pupils blew, but only one of them, as he reeled back half-confused. He recovered quickly enough -- taking punches from giants was, in fact, in his job description.

"Shit." He shook it off, and then leaned on the nearby maple tree for support. Even with some food in his belly, the Qunari liquor was damn strong.

"Yeah, and maybe I'll be the first to succeed. What's there to lose?" Geralt sniffed. "Ill be out here until whatever this is either kills me or blows over. You're welcome to linger."

"I might," he admitted. Maybe it would be better to ride this out with Geralt. Less risk of hurting the people he cared most about. Geralt was becoming a good friend, but... he wasn't Dorian. He wasn't his kadan, and he wasn't his lieutenant.

Bull considered for a moment and looked at Geralt, who still seemed to be reeling a little either from the headbutt or the liquor.

"Hey. You hunt monsters, right?"

"Mmhmm," Geralt said. He kept one pale hand still on the tree's trunk, though he was feeling steadier already. He debated having a few more sips of the liquor.

"Itinerant monsterslayer, at your service."

He gave Bull a yellow stare, wondering where this was going. It might lead to coin, it might lead to something more interesting, but Geralt's attention was caught.

"If I become one and there's no way to bring me back, kill me." He prefer options to be exhausted, but even now he believed that was still on the table.

It would have been if there were other Qunari around. They would have seen it as kind.

"I don't want it to fall on Dorian or Krem to have to do it."

He had not been expecting that. Though it was not the first time that Geralt had ever been asked something like that, the most standout among them being Regis, who'd asked Geralt, in his old and philosophical voice, to take care of him if he should ever fall back into his blood addiction again.

"I think you're a long way from that. But I understand. I respect your decision."

Geralt agreed very seriously. He would do as Bull asked.

In the next breath, however, Geralt leaned to grab one of the small apples off the pile near the tree and lobbed it at the Qunari.

That was for the headbutt.

"The steel should do it," he said, recalling that Geralt had a steel sword and a silver one. Steel for humans, silver for monsters. Either would kill him if it was used right.

And then an apple hit him. Bull snorted and lunged forward without getting up; he grabbed Geralt by the ankle and yanked to sweep him off his feet.

"Waste of an apple."

Geralt landed on his back with a deep grunt. Fortunately, far enough from the fire that none of his clothing or hair caught. Bull might not deserve the aggression, and he was absolutely drunk and making a bad decision to recklessly harass the giant ox man.

But it felt good, damn good, to get some of it out.

If he could get Bull on his back, he might have an easier time. Geralt propped himself up on one elbow and formed the sign of aard with his fingers. It released a shockwave of very cold air toward Bull.

Bull grunted when his back hit the ground, hard. He found himself staring up at the tree tops and wondering how he got there.

Right. Witcher. Magic. Fucking mages.

Even with the drink in him he didn't stay prone for long - he'd spent too long in places with multiple forces that wanted him dead, and it forced him to be quick to recover, whether his body was fully ready or not.

Bull rolled, braced himself up on his hands and knees to get a good look at Geralt.

"You sure about this, Witcher?"

Geralt gave a nod, and a tooth-baring smile that was unpleasant, though not unfriendly. Between his lips, Geralt's canines had taken on long, sharper appearance, visible nods to an otherwise hidden heritage. Nina had done what she could to halt the strange corruption happening in his body, but she could not do everything.

He was absolutely sure. He might even need this.

Geralt lept at Bull, aiming to grapple onto his back, get onto his shoulders, where he could use his center of balance against him. Geralt's goal was still the leaf-littered forest floor.

Bull grunted when Geralt landed on his back. He pushed up so he could grab Geralt's legs, wrapping his arms around them however he could to try to trap the witcher against his body.

He threw his weight back, intent on slamming Geralt to the ground with his full weight. When Dorian had flung himself onto his back at fight club, Bull had been gentle. He was too drunk to think hard about what he was doing.

Hopefully landing on Geralt wouldn't crush all the man's ribs.

They landed, backward rather than forward, and Geralt couldn't help but think it had been intentionakl, the way an angry or frightened horse would kick the rider, landing on them.

It was hard. Geralt could hear his bones creek, but he'd been crushed by larger, and his body survived it. He still coughed. The hit, along with the meal and the booze, gave him acid reflux. It only made him more worked up.

He struggled under Bull's bulk for a few seconds, before gathering up every ounce of strength he had, and throwing him off. He wouldn't throw very far. It was still enough to give Geralt freedom again.

"Sonnuvabitch."

Geralt's strength came as a surprise - Bull hadn't had any reason to grapple with him before now and so hadn't had any real way of gauging what Geralt was capable of.

He didn't go far but he hit the ground hard, not quite catching himself. Bull used his own momentum to try to scramble back up. This time he stood but stayed low; his center of gravity could be a problem. Krem used it against him all the time. Pain in his ass.

Geralt launched himself at the larger man again, his shoulder against the lower part of the man's sternum and his belly. He gave a shove, again with his witcher strength. He gave a deep growl of effort.

"Just fall."

Bull braced himself, leaning over Geralt when the man shouldered into him, hard. It forced the air out of him, which didn't help the already light-headed feeling the maraas-lok gave him.

The next shove made him slide, but Bull grabbed Geralt around the middle, trying to keep his balance. If he was going down, Geralt was coming with him.

Just fall.

A tremor shivered through his chest and Bull started laughing, low and rich. Geralt's frustration, not all that different from Krem's or Dorian's, sparked it. Bull had been fighting mages for... a long time. Geralt wasn't quite that, but he wasn't far off with his tricks. Bull was just stubborn.

Edited 2017-09-25 05:55 (UTC)

Geralt's growl got louder and more feral when, rather than being shoved backward and over, Bull leaned over him, planting his feet and resting his entire weight on Geralt's much narrower form. He was, frankly, just too damn tall.

Then he had the nerve to start laughing like an idiot.

Frustration peaking, Geralt suddenly slammed himself to the ground, his fist connecting with the damp, littered forest floor. The spell swept out of him again, flashing the area with pale blue light. The magic blast sent leaves fluttering in all directions, knocked Geralt's pots and pans about and knocked his swords over where they leaned against the tree.

The apples scattered, the fire spluttered out.

Edited 2017-09-25 06:03 (UTC)

The spell threw Bull back, nearly made him tumble ass over horns but he grabbed at the forest floor, digging his fingers in to avoid that roll.

Bull hit a smaller tree nearby, making the whole thing shiver and sending leaves falling. He grunted as he sat up, a little dazed after that one.

He huffed another laugh. "That was a good one," he rumbled in the dark.

Geralt stood, brushing the dirt and detritus off of his knuckles, watching Bull at the tree with low-lidded eyes. They could go on, if Bull felt it was necessary. Geralt had a prodigious stamina, for what he lacked in any other areas.

He kept watching, waiting for any potential sneak attack.

Geralt breathed in and out, evenly, but shallowly, the way that a cat might while scenting prey, seeing a chipmunk in the yard. The campsite smelled like adrenaline, like rushing blood, and something particular to the Iron Bull that Geralt could only liken to draconid pheromones.

He made an odd noise in the back of his throat, began to will himself calm.

Bull, however, stayed still, his back pressed against the small tree. He watched Geralt in the dark, still grinning and feeling more satisfied.

He could smell the witcher, maybe not as well as Geralt could smell him, but he wasn't unaware of the other man's excitement and adrenaline. The Bull just sat there, relaxing and breathing, allowing himself to come down from the rush of a good fight. Now he wondered what it'd be like to fight Geralt sober.

They might have to try it.

Bull waited until Geralt's heartbeat sounded calmer and he got up slowly to shuffle back toward the fire pit.

"You gonna light that again?"