Cintra, 1249
As they all parted, everyone kept staring. But not at Pavetta. At Robin. Her glow had faded, but that didn't prevent them all from seeing how fierce and beautiful and powerful she was. Mousesack in particular was impressed, and even more curious now than he'd been before.
"You've been holding back," Geralt murmured. "You finished your advanced training as well."
"Yes, but I hadn't tested it yet," Robin murmured back.
She was fully in control of her magic now. She knew exactly what she was capable of, and how far she could safely push herself.
It didn't scare her anymore. Geralt had promised he wouldn't ask her to leave until Yennefer's plot was finished, and he kept his promises.
Geralt stayed at Robin's back as Calanthe gave Pavetta what she wanted. Mousesack's eyes flicked back and forth between the queen and princess and Geralt and Robin.
Robin watched as Calanthe married Pavetta and Duny with a simple handfasting ceremony. She could actually taste the jealousy on her tongue. She was standing beside the only man she'd ever love, the only man she'd ever want to marry, and she had to live with knowing that they would never be together like that.
She stepped closer to Jaskier, who put his arm around her comfortingly. Geralt looked at her, his face concerned, but she gave nothing away.
When Duny's curse broke, he insisted on paying Geralt. Not knowing what else to ask for, Geralt invoked the Law of Surprise.
Right after, Pavetta vomited and revealed that she was pregnant.
"Fuck," the witcher intoned.
It was all he could think to say.
A new wave of jealousy surged through Robin. To have him supposedly forever connected to a baby and not her felt like salt in the wound. She turned on her heel and left the hall, encasing herself in her silent bubble so she could scream and beat the stones briefly before Geralt caught up to her.
When he did, Jaskier and Mousesack were with him. Mousesack declared that he would stay in Cintra to teach Pavetta, and that he wouldn't tell the Brotherhood about Geralt's mage. He'd quickly divined that he would have heard of her before now if she had been trained by one of the schools, since she was incredibly powerful.
He urged Geralt to stay too, but the witcher declined. "I'm getting out of here, Mousesack," he declared.
"You're bound to this now, Geralt," Mousesack explained. "Whether you like it or not."
"I'm not for changing," Geralt reminded him. "You know me better than that."
Robin felt her heart shrivel in her chest. Absorbing so much energy had made her more emotionally vulnerable than usual, and she hated it.
Jaskier, who was just listening for once, noticed immediately and went to her, folding her up in a hug. She accepted it gratefully as Geralt and Mousesack continued their conversation.
"Yes, I do," the mage countered, "but you can't outrun destiny just because you're terrified of it. It's coming, Geralt. Not believing won't change that."
"Bullshit," Geralt replied calmly.
"So you say," Mousesack observed. "But the bond that will come into being between you and this child, when it is born, will be extraordinary."
Robin sobbed into Jaskier's chest, unable to help herself. Geralt turned toward them, his brow furrowed with worry.
Jaskier shook his head. "Just a strange side effect, I think," he assured the witcher, who nodded and turned back to Mousesack.
As much as Jaskier wanted Geralt and Robin to reveal their feelings for each other, he wasn't going to betray his sister. They had to come to a natural confession, anyway, for it to work.
"If you dismiss it," the mage continued, "leave without claiming this Child of Surprise, you will surely unleash true calamity upon us all."
Geralt glanced over his shoulder at Robin. "I'll take that chance," he decided.
If destiny existed, Robin was the only thing he wanted from it. But he was glad it didn't, because wishing that fate upon her would be intolerably cruel.
"Mind yourself," Geralt told Mousesack to show him there were no hard feelings. "True words are rare birds in courts like this. Watch for daggers in your back. Or, more likely, poison. Be careful, old friend."
Geralt turned and went to Jaskier. "Give her to me," he ordered.
Jaskier did. Geralt lifted Robin gently into his arms and clasped her to him. "It's all right, little mage," he soothed her. "It's over now."
She nodded. "I'm sorry I ran out like that. I'm sorry I'm crying. I... just..."
"There's no need to apologize," Geralt assured her. "What you did in there was incredible. I had no idea you were capable of so much."
"Neither did I, honestly," she admitted. "It affected me in ways I didn't expect."
Any excuse in a storm, as it were.
"Let's get you back to the inn so you can rest, then," Geralt suggested.
Jaskier melted into the shadows and went back to the hall to give them their moment and find his own conquest for the night.
When Geralt got them back to the inn, he slowly undid the ties at the back of her bodice, then slipped her dress down over her arms and hips until it pooled on the floor around her feet.
He'd planned to tuck her into bed and let her get some rest, but when she turned and put her arms around his neck to draw him down for a kiss, he couldn't do anything but give in.
When she bit his lip and raked her short, blunt nails down his chest, he couldn't help the moan that escaped his mouth. He was usually the one who was rough, not her, but he liked this already.
He let her turn him and push him onto the bed. She crawled on top of him, kissing, licking, and biting at his skin.
She bit down particularly hard on his nipple and he growled.
"Sorry," she murmured.
He shook his head. "Don't be, Robin," he rasped. "You can mark me. I'm yours."
She groaned at the admission and bit his other nipple, then made her way downward.
She put him through his paces. She went down on him, scraping her teeth against his shaft and biting at his cock, making his hips buck. When she took him inside her, she pulled on his hair and pushed down against his massive arms so she could grind her hips hard. He dug his fingers into her, hanging on tight, gasping as she took him.
She came around him again and again, calling out his name loudly each time. By the time he had taken his pleasure and they both fell onto the bed exhausted, they were sweaty and sore and disheveled in the best way.
She rested her head on his shoulder and slung her thigh over his. "You're mine, witcher," she insisted, her voice deeper than usual.
He turned his head and bent to kiss her. "I'm yours, little mage," he replied. "Always."
He hadn't meant to say it quite like that, but it was what had come out, and he wasn't going to take it back. Besides, he knew her. She wouldn't read too much into it, especially since it was after they'd just had sex like that.
Their sex was always amazing, but this had been even more incredible than usual.
He fell asleep almost immediately. So did she.
But in the middle of the night, she startled awake, vibrating with energy. The fire, which had almost died, suddenly roared to life, the flames flaring up the chimney before settling into a dense, heavy flicker that drew her out of bed and onto the floor in front of it.
Pyromancy was a hard magic to master, and even when it worked, the results were dubious at best. But she was thrumming with magical energy, so there was no time like the present.
"Show me," she whispered desperately. "Show me Geralt."
The sweat still on her skin from earlier beaded and glistened as it was pulled off of her body and into the flames. It was her essence mixed with his, just what the fire needed to show her what she wanted.
The flames flashed, beckoning her.
She saw a number of images in quick succession.
Geralt holding a broken clay amphora, the seal in his other hand.
A swirl of darkness surrounding her, the symbol from that seal painted on her bare belly.
Geralt passed out in her arms, pale as death, the veins around his lips green and filled with poison.
She flinched and the fire reached for her, speaking in sibilant hisses as it crackled.
Embrace me and I shall prevent his death...
She nodded eagerly, reaching forward to touch the flame.
"Robin, no!"
Geralt's voice rang out behind her, and suddenly she was pulled away from the fireplace and thrown on the bed.
She started to cry. "No, I have to!" she whimpered. "To... to save..."
Geralt threw water on the fire, putting it out, then knelt beside her to check her for burns. Thankfully, she was unharmed, but he knew from what he had seen that it had been a near thing.
He got back into the bed beside her, holding her tightly until she calmed down.
"What were you trying to do, little mage?" he finally asked, his voice quiet and worried.
There were so many things she wanted to say. She was on the verge of letting it all spill out.
I love you, Geralt. I thought I could do it. I thought I could carry on without telling you, but keeping it inside hurts so much that sometimes I think it's killing me. I love you. You almost died in Temeria, and I knew then that I can't imagine my life without you. I love you. Please love me. Please. Because I love you, and I always will, and if you ever tell me to leave, I might just wither.
But her instincts took over, and all that came out of her mouth was, "I wanted to see the future."
Geralt sighed and shook his head. "Pyromancy is dangerous, little mage," he reminded her. "It gives false predictions and promises to pull you in. You were about to tumble headfirst into the flames when I pulled you back."
She nodded. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't listen to Mousesack, Robin," he urged her. "None of it's true. There's no such thing as fate. Otherwise people wouldn't end up like us. Unwanted and alone."
You're not unwanted and alone. You have me.
"You're right," she agreed out loud. "I suppose I was just curious after everything that happened."
"I understand. And you had all that energy flowing through you. It had to go somewhere. But please," he added, his voice trembling, "be more careful from now on."
She felt a tear drip onto her skin and realized he was crying.
He might not love her, but he cared. He did. And that was enough to send calm flooding through her aching body.
She relaxed and settled contentedly against him, tangling their fingers together as he held her.
"I will," she swore sincerely. "I promise."
Her worries would pass. It had been an unusual and fraught night, but tomorrow would bring them back to what was, for them, a peaceful existence.
She closed her eyes and willed herself to go to sleep.
But the image of him dying in her embrace was imprinted on the backs of her eyelids, and even as she laid contentedly in his very alive, very safe arms, she heard the fire's message pulsing in the deepest recesses of her brain.
Embrace me and I shall prevent his death.
If it came to that, she would. Because a world without him would be unthinkable.
And while he would be able to move on if she was gone, that wouldn't be possible for her. So if she had to make a choice, it would be him.
It would always be him.