The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Three

Outside Vizima, 1239

Robin's eyes fluttered as she slowly woke. Her head was pounding, but the feeling quickly receded as she took a deep breath of fresh air and felt the warmth of the fire crackling beside her.

She sat up carefully. Her limbs still felt slightly heavy, but she could move, at least. She was very hungry, which wasn't surprising, considering how much energy she'd used. She was amazed that she even remembered what had happened or where she was.

Or where she thought she was, at least. She'd been moved, obviously. She was in the forest, and it was very nondescript. It could be any forest anywhere.

She looked around and spotted the witcher. He was sitting down, leaning casually against a tree. The seemingly carefree stance was ruined, though, by the fact that he was still wearing his leather breastplate and gauntlets.

The silver amulet around his neck glinted as he turned a page of the book in his lap. There was a wolf etched into the metal. She knew that was indicative of where he had been trained. The School of the Wolf in Kaer Morhen. He was a long way from home, if that was where he considered home.

It took her another moment to notice that her pack was beside the witcher, and that the page he was turning belonged to her bestiary. She frowned, rearranging herself until she was sitting facing him.

As she hugged her knees to her chest, he spoke. "Most of your book is unreadable," he wryly observed.

She had no idea what he meant, since she hadn't had a chance to look at it yet. "It's not my book," she confessed shortly. "I stole it from my teacher."

She wasn't sure why she was being so blunt around him. She'd used her necromancy in plain view of him, and she'd even kept that from her teacher. For a whole decade, no less.

His thinking seemed to be along the same lines. He smirked and glanced at her. "You're just going to tell me you're a thief?" he rumbled.

She'd thought his voice had been deep earlier in the cemetery because he was exerting himself, but it must have just always sounded like that. She found it oddly pleasing, despite his question. Perhaps it was his tone, which didn't seem to indicate he had strong feelings about her actions one way or the other.

"That's not very smart," he continued, raising an eyebrow as he waited for her to reply to him.

"Why not?" she protested. "I didn't think witchers caught thieves."

"We might, if there was money in it." He closed the bestiary, slipping it back into her bag before turning his amber eyes on her and leaning forward. "Why did you steal your teacher's book, little mage?"

She rolled her eyes at the nickname. She was short, certainly, but not little in any other respect, though she supposed everyone was little to him. He was a giant in every way that she could see.

She considered holding out on him just to set a precedent. He was clearly the type of person who expected everyone to give him exactly what he wanted because they were intimidated, like most men she'd met.

But this was what she'd come here for, so she couldn't justify angering him. She needed his help. She sighed and began her story.

"I served my teacher, Melcedem, for ten years. Tonight..." She glanced up at the sky and noticed light filtering through the trees. "Last night, now, I suppose," she corrected herself, as if it mattered, "I overheard him speaking to a sorceress named Yennefer. She's constructing a spell to destroy all the monsters in the world."

"Hmm," he growled, seemingly unimpressed. "That still doesn't explain why you stole the book."

"Well, I'm getting to that," she said defensively. "Apparently witchers aren't very patient," she grumbled, eliciting another smirk from him. "They mentioned you. This Yennefer wants you, probably for your knowledge of mutagens, but they were both being evasive. Melcedem was offering her specimens. She also wanted that book. I have no idea why. I haven't had a chance to look at it yet. He kept the fact that he had one of your hairs from her."

He nodded. "That's how you found me," he guessed. "Astromancy."

"Yes."

"Where's the hair now?"

She hesitated as he glared at her, clearly not happy with the idea that someone could find him at their whim. Finally, she sighed again and untied the ribbon from around her wrist, handing it to him. He took it and slipped it into his pouch without even thanking her.

"Do you know how this Melcedem got it?" he wondered gruffly.

"He didn't say. Of course, he couldn't say much. I killed him."

There she went again, saying more than she should. The confession might have made anyone else wary, but she doubted the witcher would be impressed that she'd killed one measly mage.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled in amusement. "Did you, little mage? I suppose you'll say he deserved it."

"Yes," she answered shortly, not wanting to explain herself to this very annoying man.

She doubted he'd care. She'd heard that witchers couldn't feel emotion. Maybe that was why he seemed so strange. Someone who couldn't feel would be logical and practical to a fault.

"I still don't see what any of this has to do with me," he admitted.

She stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. "It has everything to do with you," she replied slowly.

"Does it? How so?"

"Well, they know you by name. Melcedem is dead, but Yennefer isn't. You could be in danger."

He chuckled. "I can handle danger. Try again."

She felt odd about the way he was putting her on the spot. She hadn't thought she would have to work so hard to convince him that this was a problem.

"I've heard about you. That you have an unusual stance about what makes a monster. That you don't just kill everything and ask questions later. So shouldn't you care if someone's trying to kill all of them? I... I just thought you should know, I suppose," she finished lamely.

She felt confused. She hadn't exactly prepared a speech to give him, but she couldn't help feeling like she'd done this all wrong.

"Well, now I know."

He stood, her bag in hand. He closed it before tossing it to her. She caught it and hurriedly got to her feet.

"Are we leaving?"

"I am and you are, but not together," he clarified, putting the fire out and moving to his horse.

"No," she retorted immediately.

He paused and turned to her, at least.

"I risked everything to find you," she pointed out before he could stop listening. "To warn you. To stop this. You and I are the only ones who know, besides Yennefer. And you're my only lead. I... I honestly expected you to care more," she revealed in exasperation.

"Well, I don't."

He mounted his horse. He was really leaving, but she had to keep trying. Whether he could feel or not, maybe her plight would make an impression on him.

"I don't have anywhere to go," she told him, following his horse as it started to walk.

He shrugged. "It's not my job to take care of you. Your supposed conspiracy isn't my problem, little mage. Sorceresses get grand ideas all the time, and nothing ever comes of it."

"How do you know if you don't try to find out more?" she argued.

"If there's more to find out, I'll hear about it eventually," he remarked. "You can't follow me. Be on your way."

"I..."

She didn't even know what she was going to say, but it didn't matter, because he cut her off.

"We're just outside Vizima. You can go back to the city and make your own way from there. You're intriguing, little mage, I'll give you that. But not intriguing enough for me to let you tag along. I do better on my own."

With that, he turned his horse and galloped away from her. She felt pathetic as she called after him in one last desperate attempt to convince him.

"Geralt! Please!"

He didn't even acknowledge her. So she was left, standing alone in the middle of the road, with no idea what to do.