Chapter Text
Sentry duty is the most boring chore there is, and Gweld’s least favorite. It means he has to practically stand still all day at the foot of the mountain with nothing to do but watch people at the edge of town and make sure there’s no threat stupid enough to try and get into Kaer Morhen. Ever since Geralt, crazy fucker that he is, brought all seven schools together to kill the king of Kaedwen, and then sweeping through the North killing Monsters and Monstrous Men alike, life has gotten a lot more interesting. It's not just Witchers that live at Kaer Morhen now, but also human servants that don't smell like fear, mages who're actually decent people, craftspeople of several races, Geralt's fierce cub, several human lovers to Witchers, and the ever growing strange collection of nobles who've decided to stay. If anyone had told Gweld thirty years ago that there would be people praising Witchers when they come into town in groups on routine patrol, singing songs claiming them as heroes, he would've called them madder than a cat and sent them on their way.
Despite his dislike of the stillness, settling into a routine watch shift at the base of the mountain is a pleasant change after the horrible discovery of mages experimenting on Aren of the Manticores and using his blood to make new Witchers. Which killed over a hundred young women and girls except for four which he considers daughters, his newly dubbed ‘Manti-kittens’. This discovery by the new Duke of Velen who informed Milena, the cub's lady in waiting and Lambert's mate, which lead to the White Wolf killing king Vizimir and conquering the rest of Redania.
At least it looks that way, until Gweld’s shift is interrupted by a rather plain, androgynous man in warm thick traveling clothes who separates from the crowd and walks directly up to him and Serrit asking, “Hello, um, are you who I talk to if I want an audience with the White Wolf or the closest advisor he has that could give me answers?”.
Gweld shares a look with Serrit, doesn’t look or smell like they have an emergency, but people don’t usually ask if they can talk directly to the Wolf so this should be interesting. Gweld looks back at the strange young man (?) in front of him, “Yes, what do you need to ask the Wolf?”.
The strange young man is several inches shorter than he is, with dark, wavy, curly hair and very blue eyes. He’s wearing a plain but durable leather coat over a couple layers of shirts, with thick, warm pants and good boots. He smells nervous and then seems to settle into determination, “I knew a Witcher years ago and came to see if he’s here, if I could see him again.”
Gweld cocks an eyebrow, “Do ya have a name for him? Or at least a school?”
The strange young man gives a small wistful smile looking not quite at them. He smells of honey on warm bread, love, but also the sour tang of longing sadness, “Reim, of the Wolf School,” He comes back to himself and looks at Gweld’s medallion, “One of your brothers looks like. Almost mistook you for him from a distance what with the red hair, but you’re taller than he is, broader too.”
That throws him for a loop, thought he doesn’t let it show on his face. Reim is one of his least social brothers. Which is saying something since he’s pretty sure Geralt usually has a max word count per day. Serrit tosses him another look of confusion and ‘What the Fuck’ that he can only parse from spending years reading whether she’s about to kiss him or stab him. Looking back at the stranger, “Yeah, he’s here. Did you want ta see any of the others from his patrol, whenever ya met him?”
The stranger tilts his head in confusion, “Patrol? I thought Witchers traveled alone? Though I had heard of multiple Witchers being sent to deal with one problem or another, so I suppose it makes sense to do rounds of the Warlord’s territories. Anyway, no, I didn’t meet him on a patrol. I patched him up a couple times before all the warlord stuff happened.”
Serrit snorts derisively and raises a skeptical eyebrow at him, “You can’t have been more than a babe or a wee lad then.”
The stranger puffs up indignantly like he’s about to correct Serrit, unwise and likely to get him stabbed. Then a look of realization hits him, “Ah yes; almost forgot…”, he trails off as he reaches up to take a necklace off. Instantly there’s a smell of chaos in the air, Mage. Serrit and Gweld both reach for the closest knife or sword. The unknown mage puts his hands up in surrender with only the necklace in it, “Now you can see how I could know him before the Warlord started. Shackles or collar?”
“What?” Gweld says.
The unknown mage lowers his hands slowly to be held in front of him, offering his wrists, “Are you using Dimeritium shackles or a collar? I’m not stupid enough to think you’ll let an unknown mage in without them. If you do both prepare to carry me cuz I won’t be able to walk. Prefer the shackles honestly, collar being too tight usually.”
Gweld looks at him incredulously, “We ain’t gonna collar ya like some animal. To be honest you’re the first mage we’ve had approach since the Wolf’s mages swore themselves to him. Don’ really have a protocol in place,” he scratches the back of his head sheepishly for the last part. Serrit still has her hand on the hilt of her knife staring at the mage warily.
The mage looks back at them in shock, his mouth hanging open, “What do you mean no protocols in place? I mean I don’t intend harm to anyone unless in my own self defense, but what if I had been one of those slimy court mages? Would you have just looked at him and gone, ‘excuse me Mr. Slimy Bastard could you please play nice and not try to do anything nefarious for your own gain’? They’ll abide by that for all of 5 seconds!” his hands wave about gesturing wildly.
Gweld snorts at his impression. Serrit raises an eyebrow, “You’re telling the truth. Why?”
The mage raises an eyebrow back at her, “Why the fuck would I risk the only chance I have for finding the man I’ve spent so long looking for? My best case scenario is to stay and swear myself to the White Wolf so I can become reacquainted with Reim. Bit hard to do that if I go doing something stupid like lying to Witchers or trying to do someone harm within the keep.”
Gweld looks at Serrit, a bit lost on how to handle this. Serrit rolls her eyes and huffs at Gweld before looking back at the mage, “What’s your name then mage?”
The mage grins and gives a dramatic bow like he’s in a theater troupe, “I am called Arin Noir. Though I also go by other names, but I’d prefer to be in the keep before disclosing those.”
Serrit raises her eyebrow at him again for that, but Gweld cannot smell a lie in anything he said. Serrit looks past the mage towards some Witchers still doing business in the market, not bothering to speak above a normal tone, “Gardis, Brehen, finish up and come watch the gatehouse while we escort this one up the trail. Gweld, call the keep and tell them we’re coming with a possible new mage. Ask if we have any wearable Dimeritium till he swears the oath and the council deals with him.”, all three Witchers nod and do as she asked. Striding over the few feet to the tiny, cramped gatehouse, Gweld grabs the xenovox to alert the keep. He watches her focus back on the mage from the small distance, “You ride, mage? Or are ye walking the whole way up?”
“I’m not great at riding, but if that’s the fastest way up the mountain I’ll manage,” Arin doesn’t rise to her baiting remark and replies earnestly.
Serrit still seems wary, “We’ll have to sleep on the trail overnight since it’s past midday startin' the trail.”
Arin shrugs, “I have my sleeping roll. Won’t be any different than any other night on the road. Sleep better too, since I won’t have to worry about bandits or predators in the middle of the night.”
Gweld walks back over to find Serrit still giving ‘Arin’ a measuring, assessing glare, “Keep’s been alerted of our guest and is looking for something made of Dimeritium for him to wear once we get there. Knowing Jan they’ll have found or improvised something in a couple hours. Meanwhile we should get you set up with a horse.”
Arin nods, “The sooner we can get there the better.”
Gweld grins at him, “In a rush?”
Arin sighs, “Hardly, just tired of waiting when I’m finally so close to finding him.”
Gweld gives him a more mischievous grin, “Well, fastest way up the mountain is for one of us to carry you. Could get there in a couple hours that way,” Serrit glares at him in what he knows is a sign that he should stop talking. Shouldn’t matter, the mage isn’t gonna take him up on it.
Arin looks back and forth between the two of them, “I mean, that would be fine, but only if she’s the one carrying me.”
Both Witchers are taken aback by this. Serrit asks suspiciously, “And why the hell is that?”
Arin looks at her, “Cuz if he (points at Gweld) carries me I’m not sure you’ll let me get to that meeting with the Wolf with all of my limbs intact. Prefer not to be stabbed if it’s all the same to you.”
There’s a snort from Brehen as Gardis and he walks over. While his amusement isn’t visibly apparent, Gardis definitely smells like it.
Serrit glares at them both then back at ‘Arin’ with heavy skepticism in her tone, “And it’s definitely not because you want to accidentally touch somewhere you’re not supposed to?”
The still rather confusing young mage shrugs, “It really isn’t. ‘M not interested in women. Definitely admire and appreciate them visually as beautiful people, but no interest physically or romantically. Only been attracted to men, but even then it’s rare that I actually want to do anything with anyone,” he says all in a nonchalant tone while smelling and sounding only of truth. “If Red here ends up carrying me, I make no promises about unconscious reactions or if I mistake you for Reim when I’m tired. Personally I’d just prefer to save myself the embarrassment and potential stabbing.”
Gweld looks at Serrit to see what she thinks, and to confirm what he’s smelling. With a reluctant eye roll and a huff, Serrit gives Gweld a ‘you owe me’ look before looking back at the mage, “Fine then, I’ll carry you up the mountain. But if you try anything, and I do mean anything, I’m gutting you or tossing you off the mountain.”
Arin nods with an agreeable look, “Seems reasonable. Do you want me to put the necklace back on, or keep it off?”
Scrunching her nose in distaste even as she says it, Serrit almost growls, “Off.” She scoops him up bridal style, getting a squeak of surprise, before looking exasperatedly at Gweld, “Lets get this over with.”
Gweld just gives her a fond look back, his fierce prickly viper.