Witcher 1. Wooden Swords and Paper Tigers

I will do the best I can to keep these characters true to themselves; while I have not yet read this book series, I have played and greatly enjoyed the game based upon them.

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There was no fanfare. Curled into a fetal position in the belly of a rotting cow, Siegfried found that of all things to be one of the most principal on his mind. Maggots crawled over his arms and legs, as well as across his face. Closing his eye with a wince, he shook his head back and forth as one of them crawled over his eyebrow. He gritted his teeth against the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, his greasy hair plastered to his dirty face by sweat. What little light that seeped into the rotting belly was mottled by pieces of putrid flesh and muscle, the point of the ribs slowly being revealed as the sun, heavily shaded by the thick canopy of the swamp trees, sank further and further in the sky.

He was thankful that the cow had not been with milk, and dared not think of the revolting smell such an extra load would bring in death. The few remaining intestines had been difficult to pull out in order to make enough room for himself, his gloves spattered heavily with blood, and soaked with organic matter. He had managed to wipe off a sizable amount of it on the tall grass nearby, but much of it would remain to crust over. It hadn't been enough time, though comfort was irrelevant in terms of survival. Still, Siegfried felt rather disgusted by the fact that the cow's intestine was wrapped around his calves.

Somewhere outside of his temporary shelter lay the bodies of his brothers, sodden with mud and filthy water, shields dented or broken, swords driven into Scoia'tael assailants, or lying just inches from outstretched hands. Dropped banners lay upon the ground, mud caking them to point where the original color was not discernible. Arrows were driven into the trunks of trees, and axes were stuck in the ground, or in the necks of knights. A feminine hand, bent crookedly to the side due to a snapped wrist, remained aloft in the air a small distance below him.

"Filthy, putrid, dh'oinne!" That was the very least of the insults the female elf had flung at him once she managed to rip his helmet off of his head in a mindless fury. Deprived of her quiver and bow, the location of the former of which Siegfried was not privy to, and the latter he had snapped over his knee, her fighting style had degenerated to something much more visceral. So much for the elven conceit of superiority to the lower human beings, her statuesque body striking at him with limb and nail much in the vein of a drowner, and her eyes ablaze, her face contorted into a guise oddly resembling a rabid rodent, her teeth viciously bared.

She'd fought dirty, grasping fistfuls of his blonde hair, and yanking on it. Siegfried had responded in kind by driving his knee up against her groin to shove her off of him as tufts of his own hair floated down to the ground past him, or were stuck under her fingernails along with fragments of his skin, and droplets of his blood. Scratches and gouge marks from her nails, particularly along his cheek, only added to the adrenaline and sheer rage he felt, his sword drawn. Her long black hair was wild, her headdress having been knocked to the ground in the struggle, one of its horns scraping along his jaw line. Fragments of feathers remained in his nose, stinging his tearing eyes from the irritation. His one eye was closed against the spit she had attempted to expel into it.

She ran at him manically, her hands splayed out before her. Stepping back a leg and biting the side of his lip, Siegfried propelled his sword forward. The huntress' jaw dropped, her eyes stretching wide as her hands fell to her stomach, her knees buckling. Her head hung, with one hand shooting up to her mouth to catch the blood that was beginning to fall from it in a gagging cough. Clenching his free hand in a fist, Siegfried flung it across the side of her head, snapping it to side. Her eyes rolled wild, her skin rapidly lost color, and her mouth gasped out a surprised breath.

Her head rolled of its own accord as she coughed harder, her hand gripping her neck as she choked on the blood that slipped down her trachea. Blood gurgled in her mouth as she shook violently, her hips grinding into the ground as she attempted in vain to sidle back off of the sword that impaled her. Her nose began to bleed a slow-falling stream that dribbled onto her cracked top lip. Bent and crooked to the side, she locked eyes with the knight, her chest heaving upward, and her breasts bouncing with the moment. Her thin shoulders shuddered, the hardness of the eyebrows that formed her glare slackening. Siegfried coldly returned her stare, his tight grip unwavering. Her eyelids dropped as a strangled, liquid noise forced its way out of her, and she collapsed, falling completely over the blade, Siegfried catching her contorted frame on one shoulder.

Within the belly of the cow, he clutched his blade, coated with the blood of the heifer, and as well as that of the huntress and her brethren, close. The sweat on his face and neck stung at his wounds, furthering the discomfort. Burying his cheek in the chain mail that covered his arm, Siegfried wondered as to what sorts of infection he would develop from all of this. Wounded again in the swamp, he hoped that this would not become a trend, an axe having cut shallowly into the right side of his chest, his tunic and mail torn. He'd already yanked the shaft of an arrow out from the small of his back, the embedded barb forcing him to lie on his side. The rose design on the front of his tunic was hopelessly torn from a botched stab wound.

Emotionally and physically drained from the bloodbath of the day, he entertained the notion of the earth swallowing him to reunite him with his fallen brothers. Was this what his father felt when he lost to the manticore, broken, tired, and at long last, ready to bid death welcome? Poring over the short-handed archive of his sire, Siegfried had selfishly wondered on occasion whether his father had thought about him or his mother in his time of dying, when the monster's eyes had glared back into his.

Now he found his answer, and he was utterly disappointed. Modeling himself in the guise of the pious Eyck of Denesle, he had adjusted his temperament so, despite his mother's words to the contrary. "You are your father's son, Siegfried, but you must remember that you will not be him." At least, that was the gist of the conversation that his memory could recall. He doubted little that his mother had been more eloquent with her point than how he had given her credit, but at the time, he was more focused upon masking his disappointment by busying himself with the task of adjusting his sword at his belt.

Whatever the case, he felt the instinct of battle. Staring into the eyes of the huntress, his emotion toward his men had ceased existence, the forefront of his thoughts occupied with the goal of survival. The very real fear of her gouging out his eyes with her fingernails had taken all precedence over the possibility of being able to bury all of these lost knights, and giving them the proper last rites. But now, the guilt of it came crashing back. If, and that was a small chance to begin with, he was found, he would have to the bear the weight of his shame on his back.

Siegfried turned his head further away from the dying light of the day. Not even suited to be his father's son, he had hid in this carcass to preserve his own life. Perhaps the maggots and he found a kinship in it. But there had been no choice, rationality trumpeted. His men had either lain dead upon the ground, or very extremely close to death due to their wounds, the rapidly rising water levels, the vicious local fauna, or a combination of the three. He'd managed to force a drowner off of the still-living knight it had been feasting upon, the latter squealing and flailing his arms about as the fiend tore off his facial flesh. The sight of the hanging skin, its blood and juices dripping, suspended in the teeth of the bug-eyed, sickly blue-scaled, abdominally bloated abomination set him off immediately. His sword lopped the head clean off to roll upon the ground. Seizing his prize, Siegfried yanked the stolen face from between the creature's jaws, albeit not without tearing off part of the left eye socket, and dashed over to his comrade. Collapsing to his knees with a gasp of air, he promptly dropped the face in despair upon seeing the knight, his skinned face staring back at him with green eyes wide open.

His lack of medical expertise effectively tied his hands. After the bout with the echniops, he had applied himself to the medical books, but not to the extent this warranted. True, he could bandage a wound, and even set a broken limb, but facial reconstruction was far beyond his capability. Grasping the knight's hand between his, Siegfried found it hard to hold back childish tears of frustration as the dying man whispered, his eyes imploringly rolling toward him, "Help me…"

Any man of any station could become a knight, and so the threads of began to unravel in Siegfried's mind as he bent his stiff right leg, the intestine squishing around it. Doric, formerly a peasant farmer, had been mourning the death of his sister, a milkmaid whose child had survived the birthing. He had fallen from the arrow of an elf before ever seeing his newborn nephew. The skinned man, Calhoun, had led a storied existence in his life. Kidnapped as a youth and sold into slavery, he had escaped to keep a nomadic lifestyle for five years before joining the Order. Owain, once a coddled noble, had grown up with a romanticized image of knighthood, much like Siegfried. Needless to say, it had crashed down upon his head when an axe had amputated both of his legs, and a boot had stomped down hard upon his skull.

He didn't the pity the dead in the slightest. But the idea of carrying their lives with him burdened Siegfried heavily. He tried not to think of it, but he also did not long for the warmer and cleaner lodgings of his post. No, he could not let his mind drift away, for despite his desire to be swept into oblivion by the swamp water, he still clung bitterly to life. And so it made the sensation of the moist, putrid air, and the squishy, squirming surface that much more of a glory.

He envied Geralt. A witcher's life was a lonely one, but that released the burden. No, that wasn't correct; Geralt had friends, as demonstrated by the party to which he had been so graciously invited. There was the bard, Dandelion, a mentioned dwarf, Zoltan, and the medic, Shani. Siegfried vaguely remembered her excitement at seeing him again, and although that did give him a slight smile, he found it did not hold the previous warmth it once had when he had returned to his bunk that night. Hands clasped upon the pillow behind his head, he had entertained the notion of singing more songs to the gentle lady, and see her smile again. She rightfully deserved another smile, the weariness of her occupation at St. Lebioda's clearly showing upon her face at the party in the guise of dark circles under her eyes.

Was this how one of the dead felt, once he or she was placed in the burial pit outside of that hospital? Certainly, Siegfried knew the dead could not feel, not anymore, but here he lay, squashed within a mangled corpse on deeply disturbed earth. Did Shani accompany the bodies as they were taken away? No, probably not, as there were far too many sick. He wondered if she felt any sadness upon making the proclamation of a death, or if the demands of her line of work, and a history of already having served on the battlefield of Brenna, desensitized her from such. He had once wondered if he could hear tales of the battle from her, but decided to let the bad memories lie.

He remembered that pulsing adrenaline when he had fought the cockatrice alongside Geralt, the worry for his comrade's life and the pride in avenging his father driving the high of it even further. But by contrast, the battle with the huntress had been one of sheer pain, the adrenaline yanking out a primal beast from him, one that still made his fingers shake with the sheer thought of an image of himself, teeth gritted and hair flying wild, stabbing his assailant with a primal lack of control.

He had sung of hope to Shani, Geralt, and Dandelion, but felt it slipping between his fingers now. Perhaps it had been wrong to launch into a political debate over the position of the Order, but the drinking of wine and the merriment of music had soothed all opinions present. He doubted little Geralt's judgment in making friends, and perhaps if he met Zoltan himself, he too would be fond of the dwarf, but for now, Siegfried found that difficult to reconcile after the meat grinder he had been forced through. He had seen the monster in the non-human today, although it was not the only one. The human monster that dwelled within spooked him tremendously, shaking him to the core.

Holding up a hand, he swatted away a maggot that was attempting to feast upon the gash in his breast. Yet, despite this hideous revelation, his body functioned normally. He still breathed, and he still warded off unwanted intrusions and hitchhikers. He knew would have to exit the corpse eventually, the water from his canteen depleted, and rapidly collecting in his bladder. A bird unknown to him called out as the shadows grew ever longer.

He remembered "forging" a toy sword out of a piece of wood as a child, and poking it in the direction of a little white rat that the old smoky gray kitchen cat had been too lazy to capture in her paws. In a flurry of skirts, the maid had borne him off, fretting and exclaiming about him catching a disease from the ball of fur. Retrospectively, he felt a hand grasp his insides at how much of a near miss it had been, what with this plague's marriage to the vermin. Vizima's growing population of exterminators stalked the gutters and pantries much in the vein of how he had ardently patrolled the sewers. Whole wheels of cheese and loaves of bread with tell-tale bite marks had been thrown to the streets for the beggars to grasp and feast upon. He gave his kindness whenever he could, despite the fact that it was sorrowfully meager for such a massive problem.

The hacking old woman he had offered a red apple to had swatted it out of his hand to bounce and skid down the road. Careening into the alley, it had smashed into a pile of refuse. Spitting at his boots, she snapped, "I don't need yer damn charity!" Glancing over her shoulder as she shuffled away, Siegfried spied a little dirty girl, her faded pink dress torn and her feet bloodied from a lack of shoes, fall to her knees to grab it. She promptly jammed it halfway into her mouth for a large bite, her matted brown hair bouncing. Siegfried started toward her, his hand outstretched, but she jerked at the sound of his clanking armor, and darted further into the alley.

But this beast within remained, and it haunted him, as he could find the idea difficult to fathom. Within the virtuous light lay a sleeping devil even he could not defeat, for as to its bane, he was clueless. He chided himself against the ghastly thought in order to give himself a sense of normalcy. The non-humans had their own beast within, the huntress was evident of that. He could at least defend humankind from it.

Sleep was hard to come by, be it from continuously having to fend off the maggots, or from the fear of drowning, or being discovered. He couldn't remember the occasions when he had dozed off, but he knew for certain he must have, given the rising of the sun without the first graying of the dawn. He ultimately decided to burst forth from his cocoon upon the graying of the second dawn. His shelter was worn down to the bone, and the discomfort was too difficult to bear for another day. The ascent was slow, the disentangling of his legs arduous. Propping himself upon his elbows, Siegfried a spat a maggot from his lips. He limbered his legs, stretching each one slightly from having been so long without much movement. Wincing at the tingling sensation, he stood carefully, his back brushing against the cleft of the rib cage.

Staggering slightly on his feet, he attempted to take a breath of fresh air, but immediately closed his mouth in disgust. Death and decay still hung heavily. He couldn't help but imagine how badly he would smell once he returned to civilization, caked in blood and mud and smelling slightly of piss and metal. Following the hand of the dead huntress, he came to stand above her body, crooking his head slightly to see that the right side of her face, upended to him in profile, had been stripped down to what little muscle remained over her bone. Where her wild eye had once stared at him, a gaping black hole remained. Siegfried backed away from the hole to stumble off, leaving the empty eye socket behind.


	2. Roses and Wine

De Soto is my character.

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New position, new uniform. Siegfried found wearing the much bulkier scarlet attire of an officer rather hard to become accustomed to as he sat at his desk. A heavy shower not been enough to cleanse him of the sheer amount of stink that he had picked up from the swamp battle; it had to be repeated thrice over, and still he felt as if the foulness remained upon him. Thankfully, that had dissipated over the week. Even so, however, it did not change the fact that this new uniform had been bought in blood.

Back to what was "normal," his jungle adventure completed. The rumor mill continued to churn. For a time, the notion of him being the bastard of the Grand Master was quashed for a more venomous one. Siegfried wasn't a fool; he knew his action of hiding in the swamp had soured many opinions toward him. In truth, he was surprised that he had not been thrown from the Order for his lack of courage; that was to say nothing of the result itself, which only threw more fuel on the fire.

His helmet stared emptily back at him from where it sat near the low-burning candles, the wax dripping slowly onto the basin set below. It was late, but he found little motivation in sleeping. Dipping his quill into the bottle of ink set near it, he scrawled further notes as to the progress of the Iron Flame upon the paper. He sometimes missed Geralt's visitations from when he still held his guard post, although the witcher did not always have the greatest sense of timing. Why the white-haired warrior thought it was a good idea to wake him at three in the morning to present him with ten tongues of the drowned dead, he would never know. Cloistered within the Order as he was, however, that possibility was removed.

He wished that Geralt would reconsider his offer, but though he could lead a horse to water, he certainly could not make it drink. The knights of his unit were nice fellows, but only the surface had been scratched with them, the novelty of the unit still maintaining personal walls, especially those that remained between grunt and officer. Siegfried was not one to wax poetic over loneliness, having ventured underground with no companion but a torch on several occasions, but he did crave the days when he was of lower rank. It was not simply for the social aspect, either, rather it was a removal; replace the old armor, and turn back the clock to erase the massacre of the swamp.

He came into his own behind coffins, that fact remained. The Scoia'tael corpses, those of which could be salvaged from the mud, were either set ablaze, or hurled further into the swamps for the wyverns to consume. Those of the Order that were saved, a piteously small number at that, were placed in tow boats back to the dike of Vizima, their exhumed bodies borne to the parcel of the Viziman cemetery set aside for the Flaming Rose. The thuribles swung over the coffins as the names of those who had passed, present or missing, were read slowly out. Starting forward from the crowd, his wounds heavily bandaged, and wearing a clean version of his older model of armor out of respect for the battle, Siegfried knelt to the ground before the caskets, lined up in a row.

Pressing his palms to the ground to keep himself from shaking, he lowered his head in respect. The earth did not buckle below him this time, no attempt to swallow him made. Siegfried of Denesle did not stand among the names on the list. Standing slowly, he turned to face those gathered before him in a small lake of red and silver that glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. The banners of the Flaming Rose stood above them, borne by some, or staked in the ground. The air lay thick with anticipation, the procession staring at him Siegfried wondered how many of the men gathered before him had been forced through this ceremony before, bidding their farewells, and having such farewells weighed in opposition to the quality of others.

It was for that reason Siegfried resolved to say nothing, turning his back on the crowd to start toward the bearer of the scroll of names, a senior officer by the surname of de Soto. He did not recall any personal interactions with the man in question, but he did well remember the fact that he was rather decorated, a medal from the Grand Master being the most principal of his accolades. De Soto furled the scroll at his approach, his imposing form, bulked out by his heavy armor, driving Siegfried to perform a half-bow to him. "What is it, brother?" The senior officer asked in a quiet tone, his voice heavily muffled by his helmet.

Rising from his bent pose, Siegfried took a breath, his shoulders rising and falling. "I believe we should continue the ceremony."

"Do you not wish to say anything?" De Soto's tone remained neutral, and a knot formed in the younger knight's gut at his inability to read the man's voice or face.

"No," he replied softly, "Whatever words I say will not pay enough tribute for them. I refuse to make this affair about me when I owe my life to these men."

A moment's pause came, and Siegfried continued to stare into the empty helmet. In the silence, he found he did not care what de Soto had to say to him; rank and accolades aside, the knight's judgment did not matter. He returned to the carcass of the cow, sheltering himself within it from the blow that was sure to come, the brow-beating for his lack of propriety. Instead, however, de Soto replied, "Very well." Turning on his heel, he signaled for the procession to begin.

Buried under the paperwork for the Iron Flame, Siegfried found little time to further research the background on de Soto, not that he cared much to do so. Had it not been for the funeral, the interaction would have not occurred. Perhaps he had once found the prospect of learning of the exploits of other knights to be interesting, but that was when he had still been in the nursery, listening to fairy tales. He was proud of his devotion to the Order of the Flaming Rose, no one could take that from him, but it did place a different emphasis when the knights were his colleagues, rather than the heroes he aspired to be.

Reaching over, he grasped the bottle of white wine on the opposing side of the desk from the candles to pour into his empty glass. However, he hesitated before picking it up to take a drink. Siegfried never considered a risk of alcoholism, his spotless pedigree providing him the protective armor against it. Still, he did not want to make a habit out of this, staying up late and nursing his wine from night to night. Not to mention the fact that he did not wish to deplete the stock of wine the Order had (although he understood that he would not make a sizeable footprint of it even in the worst of circumstances).

Placing the glass to his lips, he took a sip. He'd started this ritual after the funeral for his brothers, hoping to eventually drop it, and move on toward dreamland. However, the funeral for Raymond had set the ritual in stone. Siegfried tried on more than one occasion to console himself with the idea that the detective was at peace, reunited with his wife by a grave at her side, but he knew in his heart that it wasn't the truth. Raymond's son, or rather, what little remained of him, unfortunately could not be exhumed, his body left to rot in the carrion pile in which it had been found despite his father's petition otherwise. Raymond's dog had been another matter, taken by a butcher long ago.

Raymond never dwelled too heavily upon the matter, at least from what Siegfried could tell, but then again, that was the guise of the detective. The matter of the son was rarely if ever brought up, and the knight was thankful for that. The incident was well-recorded in the archives of the Order, despite the fact that the city watch had been the discoverers of the body, as the fact that it was a monster made the case that of a crossover.

Siegfried had conducted his own investigation on the matter, picking through the stack of papers that had alluded to it in a file. Unfortunately, his findings were meager, with only the recorded testimonies of Vincent Meis and any on-hand witness accounts, Raymond included. The sketch of the little boy prior to his transformation had caused the knight to leave the main room, file under his arm. The boy himself was not remarkable by any accounts, save for his shoes, but even then, he was an innocent child, most likely clinging to his mother before being ripped from her hands. He couldn't bear the thought of the young one being forced to see his mother impaled in such a grisly manner as she had been, much less the sheer amount of torture he must have undergone when the mage had transformed him.

"Don't think I have little knowledge of what you are doing down there," Raymond once curtly remarked to him.

Caught off-guard by the sharpness of the statement, Siegfried asked innocently, "I'm sorry?"

The reflection in the detective's monocle flared in the changing of the light as he adjusted it with one hand, hiding it from his friend's vision. The other hand was stuck half in the cage of his pet parrot, offering a wafer. Inching forward on the perch, the parrot stuck out its foot to take the treat before holding it aloft to take small bites. "I see you enter that sewer every other day to protect Vizima from the monsters that dwell within it. While I condone what you do, I'd recommend you remain on that path only."

Siegfried continued in his act, pushing aside the half-eaten pear on his plate. "I assure you that it is the only function I serve. I do have my duty to uphold, after all. If it disturbs you that I use such an entrance, I can gladly find an alternative route."

Raymond turned his attention back to his pet, and with a sigh, the knight acknowledged that he had been caught. "Siegfried, while I'm grateful that you want to help bring the men who are responsible for the murder of my family to justice, I must also ask you to stop."

"But a mage is involved!" He exclaimed, latching onto what straw remained, "It concerns me then!"

"A mage was involved in a cold case," the detective replied, surprising Siegfried at his objective divulgence of fact, "while each day another person disappears off the streets of Vizima, whether due to bandits, plague, or monsters. Though the causes of each disappearance are different, and remain in a state of flux, you are attacking one aspect of the problem that needs addressed. That is what is important right now."

Rising from his seat, Siegfried attempted to further defend his position, but was pre-emptively silenced. "I'm not talking down on you when I say that, mind you, but you need to understand that some matters must be left alone." The parrot, having finished its snack, climbed onto the finger Raymond offered. Stepping backward, he lifted the bird out of the cage. Crawling up his owner's arm to settle himself upon his shoulder, the bird began to preen his feathers. "You are one of the few friends I have in this city, Siegfried. I intend to not lose you, as well, if I can help it."

Standing defiantly, he replied, "I understand that, but you are neglecting the fact that I have my own moral obligation that must be fulfilled in this."

"Then put yourself at ease, there is no moral obligation." Folding his arms, the detective tilted his head to the side as his parrot fanned his wings. "As a knight of the Order of the Flaming Rose, you would have been obligated to effectively put down my son, had you encountered him after his abduction. That is your code, and you are bound by it. I cannot hold it against you, let alone force you to redeem yourself for an act you did not even commit."

"But what then?" Siegfried demanded, waving his hand emphatically, "Am I simply to tell you 'there, there,' and do nothing? Trained in the way of the sword as I am, I cannot submit to apathy; it would simply not be right! Had it not been for those scoundrels, your family would be alive today! I as a friend cannot do you a disservice by allowing this to simply pass."

"Had I not been your friend, these deaths would not have been as fresh in your mind as they are," Raymond replied quietly. Lost for words, the knight turned his head away. "You are not a fool, Siegfried. You've seen the beggars in the streets, and you've likely heard and experienced the misery of the people that hangs over this city like a shade. While I admire your virtue for becoming a knight, you must learn that you cannot save everyone."

"But I must try!" He cried, his voice cracking with his intensity.

"All right, you've made your point. Calm down," Raymond soothed, tapping the side of his arm. His pet obeyed his signal, climbing back down to his hand. Crossing the room slowly, he held out the parrot to Siegfried, who presented his arm to the bird. After a slight hesitation, the parrot stuck out a foot, and climbed onto his arm. With a slight smile, he began to stroke the bird's brightly-colored feathers.

Raymond's chuckle made him look up. "Sometimes I want to ask you what it's like to be a hero. Children try to act like they're knights, people flock to see the knights on parade, and I've overheard quite a few women commenting on how handsome they find Siegfried of Denesle to be." The younger man blushed at that, and immediately looked away. "Detectives, well it's a different story. The work, though whether it is more or less gritty than yours is in debate, tends to be rather thankless."

"You do get paid, though," Siegfried interjected, stroking the bird under his beak.

Raymond snorted. "Do I look like a rich man to you?"

"Er, no comment."

"That is to say nothing of the lack of attention, but that is also immaterial; if any of us went on parade, we'd all be shot dead."

Siegfried refrained from reacting to Raymond's sour humor, instead focusing his attention on the bird, who was rolling his eyes in pleasure at the visitor's touch. After a long pause that followed, he glanced up, realizing that Raymond was waiting for him to say something. "Yes?"

Holding out his arm, the detective whistled. With a flap of wings, the parrot returned to his master. "That is the sort of world you would be entering into, should you continue to pursue this case. I cannot stop you, Siegfried, but I can warn you that you are not properly trained to handle an operation of this sort, and I do not want to see what would happen to you if I did so."

"Curious," the knight inquired, "What did your son wish to become in his life? Would he have taken up the craft of his father, do you think?"

"No," he replied flatly, "for multiple reasons, the most principal one I remember being him latching onto my leg, and begging me not to go. He didn't want the 'bad people' to put me in chains and take me away."

Siegfried's eyes widened. "Knowledge of slavers at that age?"

"My wife and I tried to protect him from it, but it seems that unless you are of noble blood, that pursuit is an unfulfilled one." The knight rubbed the back of his neck at that, and Raymond added in a gentler tone of voice, "You're a good kid, Siegfried. Just remember to keep to what you know best; I wouldn't want any of these guys to get their hands on you."

Tipping back his head, Siegfried took a long drink of his wine. Raymond's sentiment had been kind, but he neglected to recall the fact that part of the duty of the knight was to fight the Scoia'tael, who were arguably as brutal as the Salamandra low-lives who had murdered his family. Case in point was the band that had taken the hostages in the cemetery. While he was thankful for Geralt's act of rescuing the people trapped in the crypt, he was also disgusted that the opposing faction would sink so low. The hunt was still on for the perpetrators, and it was one of the few problems that was responsible for keeping him awake. He mused as to whether Raymond dealt with similar issues involving his cases, and guessed that it probably was the same.

Shani's tired eyes appeared in his mind again, and he wondered once more after her welfare, any thoughts of her having not made their appearance since the ill-fated battle. He wondered if she was all right, and swallowed the lump that formed in his throat at the notion of whether she could already be dead, having contracted the plague from the patients she nursed. He silenced such paranoia with pure fact: Shani was a professional, and therefore, would not have allowed such a thing to occur. They had promised one another a meeting, after all, but the prospect was shaky, at best, either party being preoccupied with their own concerns at the moment. He doubted he would be much of a singer for her now. While his voice was undamaged, the trauma he had suffered on the battlefield had taken a toll on his zeal for doing so. His work as trainer had taken away any free time he had once had for the choir, anyway.

His moroseness was confirmed one night when he had been returning to his room, studying a set of dossiers of his unit. The baritone voices of the choir, offset by the tenors, drifted over to him from down the hall. Leaning against the side wall, Siegfried listened, the familiar words becoming clearer to him as he continued to listen. When he opened his mouth to join in, however, he found himself loathe to do so, the purity of the sound contrasting too heavily with recent events. Shani's songbird had flown away, but as to whether he would return, only time would tell.

Dropping the quill, he rubbed his temples. Shani's songbird? Either the sleep deprivation or the alcohol intake had gotten to him, or both at once. He was not someone's pet, much less a performer at beck and call. The complaints he had overheard about women from the city dwellers ranged from the petty to the notorious, and at times, he had considered himself lucky to have taken his vow of celibacy. At the same token, he knew that others broke what oaths they had taken. De Wett, the twit that he was, provided a shining example of such.

He thought of her tirelessly walking the battlefield, her garments, face, legs, arms, and hands splattered with blood, bending down before each mangled corpse. The two days he had taken in the swamp had given him a mere taste of the brutality of Brenna. Siegfried dropped his hand at the thought. Talk of the battle had not been a possibility for him, as to conform to a policy of stiff upper lip was imperative, especially in the rather precarious situation he found himself in. He doubted little that there were a few men in that gathered crowd who had thought he should have been in the ground, as well, but the fact remained that he had lived. Shani would be someone to talk to regarding that, if only there was a chance.

Siegfried tapped his index finger on the words "Greater Brother" penned by his own hand with a question mark following. At the moment, however, there were other issues to think on, most notably why he was not allowed access to this particular topic. He found it odd that De Wett, who was of equal ranking as him, clearly seemed to know something, but he was left in the dark. Could it have been because of his rank not being held long? Perhaps. He chided himself; the project would not be occurring without the approval of the Grand Master, therefore it was right. Opting to take Raymond's advice, he held the paper out the candle's flame, and watched it sear the words off. With a yawn, he folded his arms on the desk's surface, and lay his head down upon them. A little rest wouldn't hurt.


	3. Old Flame

This chapter was difficult for the simple factor of characterization. I did not wish to portray Thaler as an antagonistic force, which he is certainly not, though I could not help but think his interactions with Shani (especially considering their previous relationship) would be strained, if not mutually antagonistic. Even so, I see him as more bark and less bite when it comes to her. Shani's dialogue was also difficult to nail, and I fear I might have made her sound too sophisticated.

* * *

"It's not a party, exactly, but it's something that will take your mind off of things," Shani assured, leading the way to her house.

With a shrug of her shoulders, the nurse inquired, "How strong is the liquor?" A passerby stopped and tilted his head in surprise at what had come out of the nun's mouth. Shani and her companion turned to stare back evenly at him, and he continued on his way.

"Not too strong. Remember, we still need to be at the hospital tomorrow morning," Shani admonished. Though, come to think of it, she could see the nurse's point, more so now than before. She had gotten used to walking her own path over the years, but to have Geralt completely cast aside her professional judgment, and hand over that defenseless child to a scheming sorceress was a horrendous insult. He would be lucky to be allowed in her house again.

"I suppose," the nurse replied, picking up her skirt to avoid splashing through a puddle, "Thank you for allowing me to stay with you tonight. It will be nice to have a companion for once."

Shani nodded her head knowingly. "It's no trouble. Tonight, we should talk about other things than the hospital. It would definitely give us some much-needed ease."

A thump was heard as the antiquary placed his wares into a cart to push away to storage for the evening. With an anguished cry, the food shop owner failed to catch a falling jug of milk, which promptly burst open on the ground. The nurse skirted the fall easily, but Shani caught a few droplets of milk on her leg. The herbalist stood from her chair to carry it away with one hand, the other hauling a sack of flora over her bent back.

The clearing of a throat caused the two to turn. Shani's initial surprise melted turned to familiarity as she commented, "Haven't seen you in a while, Thaler." Put off by the rather scruffy and abrasive look of the newcomer, the nurse drew close to her.

"Rather a poor way to greet an old friend, but I suppose I can settle," he replied curtly, "We need to talk."

"What is it?" She inquired, her curiosity piqued at the subtle urgency of his tone. He gazed pointedly over at the nurse. Taking his cue, Shani urged her, "You can go inside, if you want. I won't be long." With a nod, the nurse promptly set off. The medic walked over to Thaler, who clapped a hand onto her furthest shoulder from him, squeezing it once as he led her back the way she had come. "I gather that you've missed me," she observed, his reply to which was the quirk of a smile.

"Have I made myself that obvious?" He asked in a light tone, his voice indicating a lack of care as to her answer.

She glanced behind them. "No one's following us today?"

"Eyes front," he corrected sharply, "We needn't draw attention to ourselves."

Swinging her head back around, Shani found what little sense of humor she had to be slipping through her fingers. A flock of cawing crows rose from the garden of the hospital to fly into the darkening sky. Thaler's much-worn coat dusted over the rapidly-deserting square, the few remaining women and men within the area returning home, bearing purses, loads, and tired children. A signboard, struck by the palm of a passing youngster, swung back and forth. A city watchman lit his torch to bear past them.

She'd remembered having awoken in that coat, Thaler having draped it over her shoulders when she had fallen asleep at the Hairy Bear Inn. The sensation she remembered most heavily was the stickiness of the table before her, the front locks of her hair having fallen into it. A glass thumped down before her face as a rather large man fell into the seat before her. "Evening, lass! Fancy a drink?"

With a shake of her head, she'd replied, "No, I've had enough." Rising from the bench, and biting the inside of her mouth as she disengaged the backs of her legs from sticking to the wood, she glanced curiously about the bar, her vision blurring at the motion of others walking past. The waitress swung her tray, bearing a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread, past her head. Grunts and exclamations of pain followed the sounds of clashing fists from the corner. She tugged the coat more closely about her shoulders to keep it from slipping off, pleasantly finding that despite its wear, it smelled musty, but not filthy.

Moonlight streamed in through the bar's windows, and the fire roared in the fireplace. A poker tumbled the logs, and sparks floated into the air, or flew out to hit the floor. The crowd, while still being graced by a newcomer here or there, had visibly thinned from the last time her eyes had been open. She needed to return home, but a few furtive glances about the area found Thaler to be missing. Walking up to the counter, she inquired, "Did a man leave here recently? Bald with a monocle?"

The innkeeper shook his head without pausing in his act of wiping the counter clean with a rather stained rag. "Can't see I've seen him go." Finding little other choice, she turned from him to head toward the door, pulling it open. The cool night air greeted her, causing her to shudder further into the coat. The gazebo stood starkly in the square, with bandits milling about the area, leaning against doorways and talking in low tones. Shani patted the pocket where her knife sat as she stepped toward the gazebo. A few minutes more she would wait. Placing her hand against one of the supporting poles, she leaned against it, tapping her foot.

She tried to recount the moments before she had fallen asleep. Thaler had been asking her about the lands she had seen outside of Vizima, most notably the outskirts, and the tales of the barghests. "What, are you grilling me?" She asked with a laugh. Tilting her head to the side, she gauged her date's reaction, which was summed up in a rolling of the eyes, and the draining of his glass. Placing it down heavily upon the table, he excused himself to order another round, standing from the table. Shani remembered watching the tail of his coat sway as he drew further from her, and nothing more.

A scream, followed by sound of running, booted feet, rung out from somewhere on the suspended pathway above. Shani leaned further upon the pole, yawning as a dog howled a long distance off. She had been on her own in the middle of pitched combat, but the environment for that point in time had been different, filled with chaotic sound and the constant drawing of shadow, the earth shaking. Vizima slept lightly, the civilians safe in their homes from the crossfire of patrolling legions of criminals and lawmen.

The creaking of a door, and the sound of footsteps drawing near her over the uneven stones caused her to turn, her apprehension falling upon seeing Thaler, wearing a rather disgruntled look on his face, emerging from the bar to move toward her. "Thought you had abandoned me, girl."

"I could say the same thing," she replied, her relief masked by an irritated tone. Slipping the coat off her shoulders, she held it out for him to take. Thaler insisted that she keep it on for the night, and after a brief argument, he resigned to wear it over his arm as he led her home. In retrospect, Shani was unsure as to why she had not picked up on Thaler's office of employment earlier, given such an example as that night. She chocked it up to the fact that she had been more focused upon the misunderstanding. By the time she had focused more upon the issue at hand, her attention was called away to work, and the topic was dropped.

"Ploughing waste of space," Thaler grumbled as he fumbled with his house key in the lock, the silver item rather worn by his fingerprints and dirt, as well as his rather rough handling of the item. Shani smiled and looked away as the door rattled under his hands. A gray mass of fur, presumably a dog, was curled into itself under an abandoned cart, most likely to sleep for the night. With a slight gasp from Thaler, the door opened, Shani turning her head at the noise to see him waving her onward.

"Have some new pieces, I see," she observed, glancing upon the sets of furniture placed on display a short distance from the door.

"Have to keep up with the clientele," he remarked with a trace of humor in his tone. Moving further along, Shani more closely explored the objects, brushing her hand across the surface of a small dresser, her attention sending up a thin layer of dust.

Turning back to him, she asked, "What did you need me for tonight?"

Moving toward her, he gently placed his hand to the small of her back. "Come on, we should talk this over in a more civilized manner. Are you hungry?"

Shani refused to budge, grasping his arm to pull it off of her. "I appreciate the generosity, but I need to get back in a timely manner."

"If this is about what happened at the bar, I thought we had passed that point," he replied in an annoyed tone of voice.

"I'm not holding that against you any further," she replied with a dismissive wave of the hand, starting further into the room despite herself, and circling around the items on display, "But I will be honest with you, if you are trying to implicate me in something, I'm not interested."

Thaler smirked as he passed her, striding over to the fireplace to grasp a poker. "I don't recall having tried to coerce you into anything before."

"But that's the point, is it," Shani replied evenly, settling herself down upon a mat that had been set onto the floor, "We've had little to do with each other since our relationship ended."

"Correction," he replied, jabbing at a log, "When you ended the relationship, but that does not imply anything about my current intention. If anything, all I've wanted as of right now is to have you fed."

Casting her eyes up at the ceiling above, she insisted, "And I graciously declined. Now, what is our business concerning?"

"You've gotten rather tense, haven't you?" He asked, turning his head to look at her.

Shani's expression soured. "I'm tired from a long day at work."

"Come now, girl, there's more to it than that," he prodded, rising fully.

"Even if there was, it's none of your business," she responded in a biting tone of voice, "You don't intimidate me, Thaler, and I refuse to be dragged into whatever you may have in mind." At the sight of his hand beginning to slip into his pocket, she took care to add, "You may be head of the secret police, but that doesn't change the fact that we are still next to the city dungeon. I could easily find help if I needed. You still need to keep up your appearance as a fence, after all."

His hand slipped to lay flat against his side. "Clever girl. Though I can point out the fallacies in your argument, it's a good effort, nonetheless."

"Look, what did we need to talk about, that you were so eager to separate me from my friend? It obviously wasn't this battle of wits that made you seek me out," she demanded impatiently.

A pause followed, one that was filled by Thaler studying her face, his eyes searching. Shani refused to bend to his scrutiny by looking away, but felt uncomfortable by his stare all the same. She'd once joked to Geralt over how her former lover's expression would scare off any other potential suitors, and would rather not have such a look aimed in her direction, much less with the power he wielded. Doubtful though it was that he used his powers to put away any man who so much as stole a glance at her, Shani did not wish to think of what he could do to her, should she continue to refuse cooperation.

"You told me a few times in the past that you were acquainted with Geralt of Rivia." At the sight of Shani sighing and rolling her eyes, he added, "It seems you aren't on good terms right now."

Rising up from her seat, she replied in an irritated voice, "He isn't welcome in my house any longer. I hope my answer is good enough for you."

"I would say that is enough assurance. It just so happens that I have spoken with Geralt recently in the Trade Quarter."

Shani snorted at that. "I gather Triss Merigold was hanging on his arm when you saw him?"

Thaler chuckled in amusement, and Shani bristled at him. "Merigold was present, as well, but not in that manner. I suppose I would be correct in assuming the two of you had a lover's quarrel."

She folded her arms in indignation. "He entrusted a defenseless little boy to her, despite the fact that he was quite safe in my care. That boy isn't a son to her; he is a political bargaining chip, one she greatly covets, and fears losing."

"Alvin, I think you mentioned his name being," Thaler commented, and Shani gave a curt nod, internally regretting just much information she had related to him in the past.

"If you want to know where the boy is now, I haven't a clue," stepping close to him, and craning her neck, she added in an icy tone, "But if you lay a hand on the child, you will have to deal with me. You already know how great an enemy I can be."

"I'd be a fool to forget," he replied simply, brushing off her threat, "Although as of now, you should be aiming that threat elsewhere, and thanking me."

"For what might that be? Humor me," she asked, refusing to back down.

Backing up a few steps, he began to pace before her. "I can only relate so much, as you rely so heavily upon your neutral alignment, but I will give you the facts. After I spoke with Geralt, I was arrested by Count De Wett, a member of the Order of the Flaming Rose." A foul look crossed his face at the mention of the incident. "Without getting into further detail about it, Geralt stepped in to keep me being taken away."

Shani's eyes widened at the story. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. What this leaves me to worry about now is what other means De Wett will employ to achieve his ends."

Her eyes narrowed. "Such as coming after me? Our past together aside, I'm nothing more than a traveling medic; not only do I not have any important connections in this city, but I also do a much-needed service for which few have volunteered. If De Wett wants to kill me, he'll have hell to pay, and not just from you."

Thaler shook his head. "Shani, you forget the other side of this. You are a traveling medic, therefore a practical nobody in this city," pointing at her, he added, "If you were killed tomorrow, your death would be noticed by a few, but otherwise it would be unremarkable."

"Not when you, or Geralt of Rivia is among those few," she replied shortly, "Although I wager that the reason I would be marked for death is due to something either you or he were involved in."

Thaler took his monocle from his eye to polish against his sleeve. "Can't say I could argue with that, although," setting his monocle back into his eye, he declared, "you hold the blame for association."

"Pfft! I, quite frankly, didn't know you were when we were dating, and Geralt, for the time that I knew him until recently, was not entrenched in Viziman politics. You can't pin that on me." Turning on her heel at that, she began to walk away, only to be halted by a hand clasped upon her shoulder. "Let go of me."

"Whether you wish to be involved in the political climate of the city or not is moot, and if the entrance of a witcher and a knight of the Order of the Flaming Rose into your home is any implication, I feel that you are not completely telling me your intentions."

Gnashing her teeth, Shani spun, hitting his hand with the back of hers to get it off of her shoulder. "I had a few friends over for drinks. I didn't even know that Siegfried was coming to start with."

"Be that as it may, you had best be glad that it was my intelligence that picked up such knowledge. You are further into this than you may wish to believe." Thaler's voice lost its edge, and Shani took notice.

"I'm a medic," she reiterated, "No one will come after a neutral party like me."

"Be that as it may, I will still advise you to keep your friends close. You've washed your hands of this Alvin character, but that does not mean others believe the same of you."

"But what could a little boy like him really do?" Shani broke in, taking care to hold her tongue on Alvin's power of prophecy. Thaler did not know, and despite their history, Shani would not put it past him to utilize Alvin.

Thaler's eyes narrowed. "You never did tell me how exactly Geralt slew the Hound."

Shani thought on her feet. "The influence of the Salamandra in the village was the cause of the Hound's appearance. Once Geralt eliminated them, the Hound was soon to follow."

Reaching out quickly, he pushed up her chin with his index finger. "That does not explain the deaths of the Reverend, Haren Bogg, and Odo. Though few care about that ploughing village in this city, that did not escape my notice."

"There was a pack of barghests, a gang of Salamandra, and a raging fire on top of it. Do the math," Shani hissed, ""I don't see you having done anything about Mikul."

"Because I cannot make an arrest on purely circumstantial evidence," Thaler replied, letting go of her, "Although if there is something you know that I do not…"

Throwing up her hands and slapping them down at her sides, she exclaimed, "I want whoever drove that poor girl to suicide to see justice."

Thaler smirked at her, and she resisted the urge to strike him. "If I could tell you how many 'innocents' lay among the gutters of Vizima, we would be here all night."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," she murmured, her glare hardening.

The smirk grew more prominent, and he touched his hand to the side of her face, stroking her short hair out of the way. "Can't say I would disagree."

Shani pointedly looked away. "Am I free to go now?"

His hand fell. "Pity, I was hoping that you would wish to stay."

"I have to work," she muttered.

"Doubt you would say that to me if I was Geralt or Siegfried," he observed, his voice taking on a more sinister tone.

"Keep your hands off of him!" Shani snapped, shoving him back a step. "Whatever Geralt has gotten himself into, I, quite frankly, don't care (Thaler's attempt to cut her off with a snort was blatantly ignored), but as for Siegfried, he hasn't done anything worth your raking him over the coals, as well." Indicating herself with her thumb, she declared, "You won't drag me into this, you won't drag Alvin, and you won't drag Siegfried. Now, if you'll excuse me." At that, she took off, circling the furniture to reach the front door, and pull it open.

"Keep telling yourself that, Shani," Thaler called after her. The door slammed shut hard enough behind Shani to rattle in its hinges.

Burning torches illuminated Shani's path as she walked the quiet path back to her home, nodding to a guard as she passed. The city watchman was dozing at his posting before St. Lebioda's hospital. With a passing glance at it, she turned onto the side street, stopping short to press her back against the wall, and slide alongside it, whatever drowsiness she had felt evaporating at the sight of a mace-bearing, muscular member of the Salamandra looming victoriously over a viciously-beaten victim. Angered exclamations sounded from the gate to the Trade Quarter, followed by heavy footfalls of the watchmen to assault the outlaw.

Shani sprung from her spot, dashing to the right side of the pathway, and pressing against the stalls to keep herself out of sight. With a war whoop, the mace bearer descended upon the watchmen. Bracing her hands on the market stall, she sprung forward, landing before the bludgeoned man. Much to her anger, she found his skull was caved heavily in, all traces of life eliminated. Swinging her head up, and unsheathing her knife from its holster, she sprung up with a grunt. The Salamandra man whipped his head about at the new source of sound, and locked his ice blue eyes with hers.

The next moment, however, his head began to lift slowly off of his shoulders with a crunch of bone, and waterfall of scarlet pouring down his bare shoulders and chest. The sword that sawed into the side of his neck, its silver coated with the crimson of his blood, stopped, becoming stuck. Shani blinked, the tip of her nose and her forehead splattered with blood as the outlaw's head sagged on his heavily-cut neck, his eyes wide open, and his gaping mouth releasing a strangled scream. His eyes darted down to the knife in her hand, and he attempted a botched head shake, his head wobbling precariously upon what remained of the stalk of his neck.

Ignoring his plea, Shani grasped the knife with both hands, and jammed it into his back. Blood erupted from the man's mouth as she drove it in further, her fingers becoming sticky as it spurted from the cavity the knife had created. She bent her head low, the shadow of the sword swinging over her head with a sickening crunch as the head was torn off, showering her in a rain of blood. With a grunt of exertion, Shani tugged out the knife before the body hit the ground.

"Thank you, miss," the watchman commended, "Do you need an escort home?"

Wiping the blade upon what little green remained on her shirt, she replied, "I actually live a few doors down from here, thanks. Will this man receive a proper burial?" She pointed down at the body of the victimized man.

The second watchman rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh well, we need to identify him first, but don't worry, we will. You just get along home now."

"Good enough," Shani replied simply, sheathing her knife to walk off. Rubbing her temples at the door, she found it rather disturbing how soon Thaler's words became reality. Turning back, she looked over her shoulder as the guards began to pick through the murdered bystander's clothing in order to determine his identity. She doubted heavily whether the incident was a rather ridiculous and overly-intricate attempt by Thaler to gaslight her, given the fact that his allegiance was south of the Salamandra.

Closing the door behind her, she resolved not to think any further on it. The first floor of the house was dark, her landlady having passed away. Not to say she had been necessarily happy to see her go, but she had felt a sense of relief once Geralt had informed her about the hag's demise. Without the home bequeathed to a descendant, the crown took possession of it. For as long as she paid her taxes, she could live within its entirety.

Light from above shined down on her, bathing her speckled hands and clothing in a warm orange color. She held up her hands before her face, turning them back and forth. Dropping them, she decided to climb up to her bedroom before washing. Her friend was waiting upon her, and it would be better to check in first. Climbing slowly up, Shani reached above her head to grasp the top of the railing, tugging herself up.

The light, cast by a lamp, glowed out from a side table. Sitting upon the main table was a gently-arranged plate of fruit, two bottles of wine, one opened and half-drained, and the other closed and full, standing beside it. Soft breathing whispered over to her from her bed. Shani followed the noise to see the nun, fully-clothed with her headdress drooping, fast asleep, one hand curled at her side.

With a sigh and slight smile, Shani turned to descend back down the stairs.


	4. Swing Shift

I had to do some research on the process of amputations, as well as the procedures of medieval medicine. Needless to say, such research served as a firm reminder as to why I'm glad to not have lived in an era so long ago. I originally was going to give Shani a plague mask, but I decided against it, unsure as to whether there was a mask of that invention in the universe of The Witcher during the game's duration, as Shani is seen without one in the hospital.

I'm a little concerned as to whether I am making this story boring due to lack of action, as the majority of it details the characters doing mundane things, but I feel that fits the story best; in a complicated and rather dark atmosphere such as the one of this fandom, I think the mundane gives the characters time to breathe, so to speak.

* * *

"Put him here," Shani ordered, gesturing with a flat palm toward an outlaid mat. Obligingly, the city watchmen set down the stretcher of the green-faced, barely-conscious man beside the mat. Grasping his arms and legs between themselves, they lifted the man to settle him upon the mat. "Thank you, gentlemen." The two nodded to her, grasping the stretcher to leave.

Dropping the blanket she had draped over one arm on the floor, Shani knelt to examine the rather ragged-looking man, his veins standing out upon his hands and neck. Despite the fact that he could not hear her, she whispered, "You'll be all right." Grasping the buttons of his shirt, she undid them carefully to take a better look at him. Tugging up the white undershirt underneath, she shook her head at the extreme paleness of the skin, and the prominence of the ribs. The lymph nodes below the ribs and above the hips were swollen, his hands blackened by the effects of gangrene. A saw would be needed soon. The body jerked upward, and the eyes snapped open. Shani slipped back as he reared up, retching. Blood hit the ground beside him, his mouth coated scarlet, and his yellowed teeth rotting.

She reached into her set of supplies, to present a potion, blue in color. As she uncorked it, he shook his head tiredly at the sigh. She placed a hand to the back of his head, holding it up. He relented, closing his eyes as she poured it down his throat. Turning his head to the side, he closed his eyes, his chest heaving. A few moments later, he reared up again to cough up more blood.

Shani let out a sigh, reaching back to pick up a rag, and clean up the splatter. The nurse from across the aisle glanced over at her, a bowl of broth with chunks of meat and a spoon resting upon a tray in her hands. A small cloud of steam rose from it. Little help could be done now, her hands tied by the lack of proper knowledge in the area of the plague. Shani rose from the man's side, and left the small partitioned area. She would have to write down his name in the annals of the hospital, the watchmen identifying as Joe, but with no given surname. He was already quite far along, and Shani doubted little that he had immediate family, otherwise he would have been brought along sooner.

The gardener outside would have another body near his fields soon. For as much as Shani attempted to not be pessimistic about her patients, the writing was becoming more firm upon the wall for each of them. Though there would be a healed man or woman here or there, the tears of happiness would soon be swallowed by those of sadness as another body passed by. There was once a young man Shani had released, his youth thankfully being enough to preserve his life. On the day of his release, however, he broke down and cried as the bodies of his mother, grandmother, and younger brother were buried, his father soon to follow on a mat within the hospital.

Late afternoon light shined down upon the statue of Melitele in her three guises, the nun on duty kneeling before it with an offering of sweet buns and a large melon. The cries of agony and sadness, the moans of the old, the squeals and sobs of the young, filled the air in a mournful chorus. Shani kept her stride tight, smoothing out her apron as she walked, the blood stains crusting over it in a light brown residue. Despite herself, she glanced over her shoulder to see if Geralt would enter. Though it was rare that he did, it was at least nice to see a trace of the outside, living world.

"Shani!" A white veiled head appeared from the adjoining room beside the statue. "Shani, we need your help."

She quickened her stride. "What is it?"

The nurse beckoned to her, exiting into the room with a swish of her red skirt. Shani knew the gesture well, her heart sinking at her action. She quickened her step, though it felt as if she were moving through water, not being able to reach the room quickly enough. She knew what was to come, but the dread of the process wore her down considerably. Even so, they needed her for it; she had the surgical prowess.

Strapped down upon the table, face up, was the patient in question, sedated by a euphoric potion, his eyes half-closed in sheer bliss. His arms and legs were bare, the blackness in his hands and feet plain to see. Scars from bloodletting dotted his pale forearms and thighs. Embarrassingly for him, a catheter had been inserted, the necessity of the spreading of his legs for the procedure exposing his rather vulnerable groin. A chamber pot was set below. Other metal tubes, supported on short metal poles, were inserted into his dead limbs, with pots set beneath each of them, as well.

Shani selected a cloth mask to tie about her nose and jaw from a side table filled with instruments. Two masked nurses stood at the table, one on each side. The nurse who had summoned her returned into the hospital's main area. Shani circled the table to stand at the patient's head. Tugging on a pair of white cloth gloves, she inquired, "Date of arrival?"

"About one fortnight prior," the nurse to her right replied, "The operation that will be completed today is the removal of his hands and feet to keep his infection from spreading."

"Name?" Shani asked softly, turning her head to look through the selection of saws set before a small sharpening wheel.

"August Lovengrath, age twenty-four. Widower, no children. His wife was interred in the garden cemetery half a week ago," the nurse on the left replied.

Shani grasped a medium-sized saw, and held it away from her to glance upon in the light for appraisal. Her reflection stared back at her through a collection of scratches. Whomever had cleaned the blade had needed to utilize steel wool. Turning toward them, the saw in one hand, and the other placed, palm up, against its side, Shani declared, "Ladies, it is time to begin."

August's head lolled, his eyes remaining at half past as the left nurse steadied his arm. Reaching forward with one hand, Shani squeezed it, feeling for a pulse, and found one rather slow. For a better comparison, she let go to squeeze his hand. As she feared, no pulse sounded. Shani braced herself, aligning the saw at a forty-five degree angle above the wrist. With a quick release of breath, she brought the saw blade down, carving into the man's wrist with a splatter of blood, and a crack of bone. Slowly, slowly, she carved through, the blood coating her gloves and apron, soaking it heavily with warmth. A slight moan sounded from August, though whether it was at her attentions, or it was at a hallucination, she was unsure. The saw stopped, becoming momentarily stuck on bone. Pausing and rolling her shoulders, she commenced her carving once more, refusing to stop until the blade at last struck through the outer layer of skin on the bottom.

With a slight thump, the blade hit, the black hand detached, and appearing to curl into itself onto the raised wooden platform. The nurse on the respective side hurried to the stump of the arm to pull out the dead tissue from the wrist, as well as clean and dress it before properly covering the area with a stocking. Shani remembered how Rusty had once snorted at how such a fabric was considered a luxury, as compared to its more visceral uses. Holding the saw by her side, picked up the hand to discard into a medical refuse bin. Circling to the right hand, she nodded to the nurse on the respective side before repeating the procedure.

Shani bit the inside of her mouth as she carved slowly, her shoulder shaking as the saw tore at an odd angle. Closing her eyes and releasing her grip on the saw to roll out her wrist, she composed herself before beginning once more. "Steady," the nurse whispered. Resetting the saw on its course with a tear of flesh and muscle, Shani cut through the bone. She frowned heavily at the botched cut as she tossed out the hand into a bin. August would be scarred quite roughly on the stump of his right hand, and the torn muscle would be painful.

As the two nurses were currently preoccupied with the task of completing the dressing, Shani took the time to clean the saw with a cloth, her reflection in it this time unable to seen clearly through the bodily fluids and the rubbing. Rusty would not have been thrilled with her for the slip-up, but it was unfortunately not uncommon. Brenna had forced her hand to human error on a few occasions, as did the hospital. She merely had to find the way to minimize it.

The nurse on her left waved her to the foot, and Shani dutifully walked over, saw poised in the air. It was not to say that she did not feel pity for the man, but rather, should she have allowed for her sensibilities to overcome her, she may as well have dropped the saw, and left. He would awake from the dulled mist to find himself little more than a functional torso, with a slight pain in what remained of his right wrist. She let the thought go as she dropped the amputated left foot into the bin. She cracked her neck to one side as she made her hand over to the right foot. Breathing hard through her nostrils, she steadied herself before bringing the saw down, cutting hard through it. Squishing heavily through the ankle, the saw severed muscle and blood vessels, Bone at last crunched, the saw plunging through it to become embedded into the wood below.

"Well done, Shani."

With a shake of her head, she dismissed the praise. Bringing the saw to tub of soap and water, left near the furnace to heat, she began to rinse and clean it, mechanically lathering with the sponge, and the drying with the towel. Discarding the surgical mask and gloves in the bin, Shani sat the nearby desk to write down the entry of the surgery, as well as the report of the new arrival. Rising from the desk, and laying the quill aside, she removed the apron to throw into the bin, as well. "Good evening, ladies."

"Good evening," they replied in unison.

The hospital continued to echo its pain, and Shani, despite the tiredness in her limbs, felt compelled to stay. Glancing from side to side, she stared out at the fitful sleepers as they rolled back and forth on their mats with fitful exclamations of pain. The nurses hurried back and forth among them in an attempt to keep the peace, but to little avail, as a few strangled exclamations escaped, anyway. Turning back, Shani stared once more at the statue of Melitele. She had, on occasion, heard the whispers of despair among the nurses at their goddess's lack of intervention into this plague, and wondered if it would continue. Turning away, she pushed open the front door to leave.

Taking a deep breath of air, Shani stepped past the city watchman, who spared her a passing glance. She immediately wrinkled her nose at the smells of piss, shit, garbage, and body odor, but found the scents of rain and the flowers of the hospital's garden to be satisfactory. That was not to mention the musk of body odor, which, oddly, she found to be the most refreshing of all. There was no sickness, no disease in the odor of the man who stood beside her, rather it was the healthy smells of sweat, dirt, and the metal of the armor he wore. Shani took care to leave quickly, however, lest he gave her an odd look.

"Keep your friends close," Thaler had told her, and the advice had caused the hairs to rise on the back of her neck. The implications of the statement set her on edge, although it did not necessarily pull a completely startled reaction from her. She would have been blind to not see the tension in the city after the debate at her party, but even so, she decided it was better to keep her eyes closed as to what would occur in the future; the present day was filled with enough tumult as was Still, she knew better to take his advice. Added to that was the factor of Thaler's reference to Siegfried.

Shani's stomach growled, and she placed a hand to it. She knew it was nursing a long shot, but it was a welcome distraction to the clockwork lifestyle as a result of her occupation. After all, she did promise him a second meeting. Be that as it may, however, she resolved not to search for too long on the grounds of the cloister, otherwise she would draw unwanted attention to herself. Nevertheless, she decided it to be a better alternative to merely possessing the shaky alliance of Thaler.

Smoke rose from the Order's blacksmith stall, filling the air with the odors of molten metal and burning wood. Lifting a hand in the air, she waved the acrid smoke cloud away from her face. Metal clanked as a few lower-ranking members of the Order marched past her, barely paying her any heed. The banners above her flapped in the wind, the dying light catching on them. Climbing the hill slowly, she glanced about carefully, so as not to miss him among the small group of silver-clad men that filed past her. Shani followed their movements, her face falling further and further as she stood off the side. She supposed that Siegfried was merely elsewhere, and the consequence was understandable, considering her rather hasty decision.

Placing a hand to her brow, Shani glanced up at the descent of a red-cloaked figure toward her, presumably an officer. Gathering the appearance to be the end of the short procession, she turned to leave.

"Wait, just a moment!"

Craning her neck back, she smiled in relief to find her quarry, clad in red, hurrying toward her with a rather dogged expression on his face, as if fearing she would elude his grasp. Shani waved at him as he came to halt before her. "Hello, Siegfried."

"Miss Shani," he greeted breathlessly, pausing to take a short bow to her, "A pleasure to see you. How have you been? What brings you here? Oh, my apologies for the barrage of questions," he quickly added with a wave of the hand.

"It's no problem," she replied reassuringly, glancing about, "Do you know of somewhere we could talk?"

"I would recommend an area away from the Order's grounds if you opt for privacy m'lady. Besides, I do think a walk would probably be the better for me right now," he offered.

"All right," she replied, turning to set off in the opposite direction from which she had been heading, "Do you have anywhere in mind?"

"Not necessarily, although if you would not mind bypassing the nonhuman dwelling area of the city," he answered, waving away the cloud of smoke from his head. Shani felt the eyes of the smith upon her, and stared back in that direction. The smith quickly returned to his work, bowing his helmeted head. She subtly nudged Siegfried, who cleared his throat before continuing on at a more brisk pace. Shani lengthened her stride to catch up with him.

"I suppose that is all right," she replied, though her tone was rather half-hearted. She remembered well the debate Siegfried and Dandelion had engaged into about the relations between the Order of the Flaming Rose and the nonhuman dwellers of the city. She could understand why he was hesitant to interact with the nonhuman residents as a result of the oaths he had taken for knighthood, but still, he tended to bend those, as well. He was happy to interact with her despite his vow of chastity, after all. Fair to say, his intent was disturbing. Certainly he could at least talk to a dwarf or an elf in a neutral manner to establish a rapport. However, it was too early in the conversation to bring such a topic to the forefront.

Siegfried smiled at that as they turned the corner back into the square. "Thank you. Now, what would you like to discuss?"

"Well, congratulations on your promotion. Was it recent?" Shani asked, gesturing to his uniform.

"Oh," Siegfried replied, his modesty showing in the breathlessness of his tone, and the dusting of a blush on his cheeks, "Why yes, it was."

Shani's smile broadened. "What was it for?"

"Distinguished service, m'lady," he answered, his faltering tone falling away to be replaced with a stronger one.

When he did not continue, she added in a lower tone, "If you don't walk to talk about it, we don't have to."

After a pause, he inquired, "Could you tell me about Brenna?"

Shani's eyebrows rose at that, and she glanced through the fading sunlight toward the turn leading off to the sewer entrance. "Siegfried, will you come with me to the dike?"

"The dike?" He repeated in surprise, "It is a little late to go, is it not?"

Shani smiled. "I doubt you should worry about drowners."

"It is not that I worry over," he replied gently, casting a sideways glance at her.

"Thank you, but I can handle myself," she explained, "I've come this far mainly on my own, after all."

He rubbed the back of his neck at that. "Be that as it may, I would be more contented to have you in my sight for the time that we are there."

Shani's smile broadened. "I suppose that would be all right. I don't have anywhere else I need to be for the night." She wrinkled her nose at the rank scent as they passed the entry to the sewers. Siegfried let out a soft sigh that caused her to turn her head. "What is it?"

He had paused before a house, the signpost hanging above it reading that it was the property of a dentist. "A dear friend of mine once lived there until recently."

"I'm sorry," Shani offered, "Was he ill?"

He shook his head, but did not elaborate further. Turning to his left, he inquired, "Shall we continue onward?"

The dike was quiet, the boats having docked safely in the harbor, or gone off into the night. A few torches illuminated the path in the falling sunlight for passing sailors and merchants. A seagull cawed once before flying off. The smell of smoke from the torches filled the air, mingling with the scent of tobacco from the soldiers who sat about their campfire. Shani cast her vision past them to the gate of Old Vizima, shut tight and heavily guarded. The blowing wind caused her to clasp her hands over her shoulders. What was once a calming sound of the water lapping against the shore became disquieting,

She could not ignore the area, much unlike the government officials in charge of the quarantine. St. Lebioda, however, was her first priority. Not that she was complaining about being able to attend to her patients there, however; rather, she was glad that she could at least have a hand in attempting to prevent their demise. But she could not leave these other people to die, forgotten and lost. She could not neglect her obligations as a medic.

"M'lady?"

"Hmm?" She turned her head to see Siegfried dutifully standing a few steps behind her, his hands clasped together. The look on his face was solemn.

"Old Vizima troubles you, does it not?" He asked in a quiet tone of voice.

"You know my profession well," she replied in confirmation, turning fully to face him, "But what about yours?"

"Pardon?" He asked with a confused expression, one hand extended toward her.

"Does the Order of the Flaming Rose provide any aid to those who dwell within Old Vizima?"

Siegfried's hand dropped, and he let out a sigh. "I fear that we cannot."

"What?" Shani asked in surprise, her voice rising, "Why not? You profess to protect the human citizens of Vizima, yet the sick remain uncared for?"

A scowl twisted Siegfried's face for a moment as he recoiled at her accusation. The medic firmly held her ground, despite her shock at the appearance of such an expression. It was rather unlike the more serene or dutiful faces he wore. Then again, the idea was not that unfathomable, as he probably directed such rage at an enemy. Oddly enough, he appeared just as surprised as her at his own reaction, his eyes leaving her to stare off into space for a spit second with a muted gasp. Drawing himself back up with the clearing of his throat, he apologized, "Forgive me, Miss Shani. That was not appropriate." Gesturing toward the wooden railing overlooking the water below, he invited, "Please, join me."

Bracing her forearms beside him, Shani crossed her right leg over her left, leaning forward. Their reflections, darkened to outlines by the setting sun, stared back up at them, Shani's more slight form slumped casually, while Siegfried's body, bulked out considerably by his armor and cloak, was more formal, his hands folded as he stood up straight. In a solemn tone, he began, "I have gazed upon that gate for scores of occasions, and desired to go beyond it," he shook his head, "But I also cannot disobey the orders of the king. A royal decree has placed the quarantine, and we, as knights of the of the Order of the Flaming Rose, are bound to it. To break or ignore such an order would be treasonous."

"Is it possible to make an exception to the order?" Shani asked, the water below rippling from the dripping off the dock.

Siegfried chuckled. "Surely not! I fear that I would not deign to have the influence to make such a request," his tone shifted to a more serious manner as he added, "Though I have attempted to present my case in the past, as have others."

"Can't your new rank give you a little more of an inch?" She asked.

"It is a new rank, Miss Shani," breaking off, he buried his head in his hand, "the origin of which is in contest."

She tilted her head to the side at the slight drop in his voice. "Siegfried?"

He stared aimlessly down at the water, the sky above him violet. His hands unclasped to knead the wood before him. His shoulders were raised in the air, and bent forward. A pause followed between them, as if he had not heard her. Taking a breath, he prompted, "Please, tell me about Brenna."

Shani folded her arms upon the rail, and began in a more gentle tone, "I will tell you what I can, but you have to understand that some details are too personal."

"Those pertaining to that Rusty fellow?" He offered, turning his head to reveal a rather lost expression, his fair hair further emphasizing his child-like features.

She shook her head. "He was my mentor. Our relationship went no further than that."

A flicker of emotion passed through his eyes, although of what, she was unsure. His features relaxed, and she fought the urge to either reach out to, or correct him. As a medic, she had trained herself to place a barrier over her emotions in the face of her patients. She doubted little that Siegfried employed his own guises in his career as knight, whether they be the mask of a steadfast hero in shining armor, or that of a fierce, vengeance-driven warrior, but to see them fall, and to see such a sad, yearning boy behind them threw her. She caught a glimpse of his yearning during Dandelion's song, but the loneliness of it had been different in its way. She remembered that loneliness, having once clasped it so earnestly to her breast in her adolescence. Wait, wish, wonder for the eyes she sought to turn to her, and the fairy tale would at last begin for her. She had dropped that soon enough in her time.

"A girl your age should be married." She thought she had found that fairy tale in Geralt once, but it was still dissatisfied, her mind hardened by her experiences on the battlefield. As such, all she had found in him was a lay. Though she could not deny how incredible the sex had been, that was all that it had led to. Such a glimpse had been utterly charming to see in Siegfried, if not sad. She could understand why, as his vows had disallowed him to take a lady as his own. Still, that expression he had given her made her wonder as to how many women with whom he had interacted in his past, and to the extent as to how far he had romanticized his position.

Turning on her heel, she leaned her back against the rail, and folded her arms. "I will admit this to you. Had it not been for Rusty's experience and constant reassurance, I'm not sure that I would have returned from the battle alive. The sheer carnage the day presented was utterly horrific. Each day I thought I saw the end of what atrocious things human beings could do to one another, but just as soon, I was presented with something far worse." She waved her hand. "I can spare you the details on that."

Siegfried nodded stiffly, gripping the railing tighter.

"The nights were far worse. The battle itself was chaotic in the daytime; everyone was in a panic, with the ground shaking, and the sky erupting in flame and arrows. The cover of darkness only added to it." With a shake of her head, she smiled. "I wonder if Rusty had considered me a child in comparison to him. While I would fall to the ground, or try to curl into a ball whenever the ground shook hardest, he would stand tall, carrying a lantern over the patients," lowering her voice, she imitated, "'On your feet, girl! Unless your legs are blown off, you will stand!'"

Siegfried coughed at that. "I am certainly glad that possibility did not come to fruition."

She attempted to play it off with humor. "That makes two of us." It earned her a slight smile from him. "Rusty's methods were unconventional, to say the least, but he taught me practically everything I knew. The parade of patients seemed endless, our tools and clothing almost perpetually dirtied. Sleep was hard to come by. Most nights we would just fall upon whatever surface was uncovered." She winced. "Smacked my back on a rock once that way; I was too tired to think before I fell."

He shifted his position. "Your injuries were not extensive, I hope?"

"It was just a bruise, but it wasn't pleasant," she replied with a shrug, "Given what amount of hell the soldiers on the battlefield were being dragged through, what I endured was benign. At least I wasn't injured."

"True, but still," moving his hand toward hers, Siegfried explained, "To know that you survived such an ordeal with nary a scratch, contrary to such crippling odds I do not even wish to fathom, cannot be anything less than a miracle."

She lifted her hand, which caused him to begin to retract his, an apologetic look on his face. It soon melted away to surprise, however, when she covered it with her own. "We healed soldiers from all walks of life on that battlefield. On whose side the wounded was, it did not matter to us. Human or non-human, we attempted to heal them all."

"You honor the medic's creed well, m'lady," Siegfried replied warmly, studying their hands, "Take pride in it."

She sighed. "I wish I could give a better ending to the story. The burials were not with grace; rather, they were hasty, of mass graves. To us, it did not matter; enemies though the dead were in battle, they were nothing more than people in death. To their officers, it was more a matter of principle."

"Something I would be better acquainted with," he murmured as an afterthought, his eyes not leaving her pale hand. Shani wondered if a woman had ever touched him in such a way.

Siegfried's other hand appeared on top of hers, squeezing it. Shani released her grip on his hand to allow him the freedom to bring hers up, holding it between his hands as the very last rays of light disappeared beyond the horizon. "I do believe I owe you an explanation."

"I'm listening," she replied, patting the side of his top hand with her free hand, "Although, if this is an uncomfortable topic for you, we can speak in private." Her point was further emphasized by the sound of a soldier spitting.

As if suddenly aware of his presence, Siegfired promptly dropped his hands, allowing them to fall to his sides. "I wouldn't want to intrude upon you."

Smiling at his accidental innuendo, she replied, "It isn't an intrusion; it's an invitation. Please, come to my house for a while, sit and talk with me. You can leave whenever you want." Her stomach growled. "I need to get home anyway; I haven't eaten anything since a little after noon."

He shook his head at that. "Forgive me, I seem to have taken leave of my manners tonight. I will escort you home straight off." At that, he stepped away from the railing.

Catching up to him, Shani offered, "If you haven't eaten, I could certainly feed you."

Shadows passed over them as they entered the doorway to the gate leading back into the city proper. The watchman on duty moved to open it for them. "While I appreciate the gesture, Miss Shani, I fear I would have to refuse. The primary reason is that I could reciprocate such a favor, as I cannot take you with me into the cloister. The secondary reason is that, well," a sheepish smile crept onto his face, "I simply find your landlady to be insufferable. Though her protectiveness of you is an admirable trait, she practically turned me back out onto the streets as soon as I had stepped over the threshold."

Shani chuckled as they passed by the houses once more, an exterior door to one of them closing. "I thought she would find a knight of the Order to be passable."

She had quite a few choice words involving your friends. My arrival to her seemed to signify that you were, ahem," turning his head, he coughed onto his wrist, "Not that I would believe such a thing, of course."

"You needn't worry about her now; she has passed away. My living arrangements now fall under the jurisdiction of the crown," she replied.

"Eternal Fire, what news!" He exclaimed, "I feared I would have to have a word with her, but I see it is not necessitated."

"Defending my honor? You're too kind," she replied genuinely as they exited into the square.

"'Tis my duty as a friend and as a knight, if you would have me for the former," he declared, stopping before the hospital's palisade to face her.

Thaler had marked Siegfried on the record involving her, so to speak, and the manner involving De Wett had been disquieting. The fact that De Wett was a member of the Order only twisted the knife further. Shani did not know this Count, and as it stood, she was unsure as to Siegfried's relationship with him. Then there were the circumstances under which Thaler had been arrested. She doubted that Siegfried would have gone along with the arrest, had he been present, due to his rather idealistic notion of justice, but then there was also his devotion to the Order, which balanced the scales. Despite her protests to Thaler, it would seem as if Siegfried would be dragged into this mess, as well. But how in the dark was he now? He had been speaking politics at her party, but he had also known when to back off. This conversation tonight had a slight political edge to it, but its core was something of a more esoteric meaning. The loneliness in his eyes, and that lost manner in which he asked her to relate her tale of the Battle of Brenna to him, had signified that.

Shani smiled. "Of course you are my friend."

He practically glowed at the title. "Then let us friends return to your home, shall we?"

She nodded her head. "Right. I would suggest we be careful. The other night, I got in a fight with a Salamandra man. There seems to be more of them around each night. It's particularly bad in the non-human ghetto."

Siegfried made no comment.


	5. Dear, Lantern's Down

It did cross my mind on occasion to possibly elaborate on the possible interactions between Siegfried and Shani in Chapter 5 of the game, but the tone of Chapter 5 didn't quite integrate with this story's tone. As such, Thaler remains a wild card, as do Shani's intentions. While I like Siegfried as a character, I find him to be piteous, as I do Shani (especially when her romance is not pursued).

* * *

She was alive. A friend was alive.

Despite the conversation he had held with her at the dike, and the uneventful walk that had followed, Siegfried still found that difficult to fathom as he watched Shani eat. She apologized in advance for any lack of manners she would display in her hunger before pulling a slightly stale bun in half, to which he hand waived; her behavior was understandable. He made a mental note to better enforce etiquette within the Iron Flame; it was a polished fighting force, after all, and should behave as such.

But to watch her in the simple act of feeding herself, one taken so granted by far too many, he thought with a touch of bitterness as the image of the beggar child re-entered his mind, and at just an arm's length away, was a victory in itself. His brothers had fallen in the swamp, and Raymond had been murdered, yet here she sat. The Battle of Brenna had torn scores from the land of the living, yet she emerged from it alive, and still with the ability to walk, no less. Truth be told, he had wondered as to whether that damn plague had taken her, her close correspondence with the patients being what it was in the hospital. Images of her borne out on a stretcher, limp and lifeless, to be tossed unceremoniously into the pit on occasion filled his darker fantasies. For all he had known, she had been lost to him, a beauty he had serenaded on one night, only to slip through his grasp, and fade into the night. Failed knight that he was, his blade could not protect her from the pathogen, and he was forced to kneel to the ground before Death, accepting his loss.

Eternal Fire, here she sat, safe and sound in the room they had met, no less! He nearly laughed aloud at the sheer simplicity of it. He chided himself just as well; she was a friend of Geralt's, and therefore it should have been no surprise. Siegfried's previous regard for friends had felt a lifetime away, despite its only recent time of being. That was understandable, as it had been altered by the battle in the swamp. No longer did he take the ability to see his closer acquaintances day after day for granted, rather it was a gift; not all would live to see tomorrow.

With a sigh, Shani rested her hands upon her empty plate. "Are you sure you don't want anything? Wine?"

"Thank you, m'lady, but I fear that after the spectacle I made of myself at your party while under the influence, I should probably refrain," he replied sheepishly.

Shani smiled. "Siegfried, we were all drunk that night."

He chuckled. "How reassuring. While I thank you for your hospitality. If I become thirsty, I will pour a glass of water from the jug."

"All yours," she replied, pushing it toward him, "Now, what is it that you wanted to talk about?"

He placed a hand to his chest plate. "The perceived dubiousness of my promotion."

"Go ahead," she prompted, focusing her full attention upon him.

Lowering his hand, he began, "I am not sure if you have heard, for you have probably been busy with your work at the hospital, but there was a large skirmish between the Order of the Flaming Rose, and the Scoia'tael."

Shani nodded her head. "I've heard a few details here and there, but nothing concrete."

He hesitated for a moment. "I was involved in that battle. I had once ventured into the swamp before for a smaller raid on the Scoia'tael garrison there, but I unfortunately was displaced from the action by the thorn of an echinops." He winced at the memory. "More painful than it was worth; while the wound was far from mortal, it did debilitate me to the point where I could not participate."

"You were lucky," she interjected, "in more ways than one."

"Truth be told, m'lady, I am not so sure as to whether it was luck," he replied carefully, "Regardless, however, I had thought this to be a redemption of sorts for myself, but," his fists clenched and unclenched on the table, "the battle took an expected turn. I had seen a brother fall before, but this? It was slaughter on both sides. The fight was brutal and disgusting, the unstable terrain and wildlife adding to the utter instability of it. The field became a perpetual meat grinder for the duration, and then the water level of the swamp rose…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "The screaming, the staunched exclamations, the gasps…I could hear them in my sleep for the nights that followed."

Rising, he began to pace the room, waving his arm. "What did I do?" He stopped, facing Shani dead-on. "In the carcass of a cow, I hid, the wounds I had sustained in the battle, as well as the fatigue, drawing on me too heavily." Sharply waving his arm in a chopping motion, he declared, "Forego my noble blood, forego my knighthood, forego my pride, forego it all, for I deserve it." His arm dropped back to his side, his hand balling into a shaking fist. "I stole forth from Death's grasp by seeking refuge within its very guise." Eyes closed, he held up his fist close to his face as it continued to shake. "It matters little what information I gave my superiors from that battle. A true knight would have died upon that battlefield." Shani's clothing rustled, but he barely heard it. He felt the moistness of the carcass entrap him once more, the crawling of the maggots, and the coldness of the air about him. His legs grew weak with the burden of it all, his knees buckling.

"Siegfried!"

His eyes snapped open, and he gasped, the familiar surroundings of Shani's home yanking him from the swampland. He stumbled to regain his footing, and found his left shoulder to be held in a tight grip. Glancing over, he found it to be in Shani's grasp, her scarlet hair standing out to him before her widened eyes did. "Are you all right?" She asked breathlessly. Overcome with embarrassment at his near faint, he found he could only nod at her. "Can you stand on your own?"

Clearing his throat, he replied firmly, "Yes, I can. My sincere apologies, m'lady."

Shani slowly let go of him. "I recommend that you have a seat."

"I appreciate your concern, but I can stand well enough," he replied in an attempt to cobble together what little remained of his pride.

"Siegfried, you praised my act of honoring my position as a medic only a little over an hour ago. Please show me that same level of respect."

He sighed, knowing that she had caught him. "Very well." He swept back to his seat, Shani taking the seat opposite from him from once more.

The silence lingered between them for a few moments, Siegfried finding himself unable to look at her. He filled the time by pouring himself a glass of water, and raising it to his lips.

Shani broke the silence between them. "Siegfried, why did you ask me about the Battle of Brenna?"

After a few moments of thought, he replied, "I once wanted to ask you for two reasons. The first was that I was curious as to acquiring a first-hand account of the battle. The second was that I personally, if I may be so forward as to admit, wanted to get to know you better, Miss Shani." His words earned him a warm smile. It soon slipped off, however, as he went on. "But when I asked you tonight, I wanted to know that I was not merely calling out in the darkness."

"Our paths differ, you being the giver of life, and I alternating my goals between protecting and taking life, but they converge upon the battlefield." He shook his head. "I'm afraid I will not be singing for you tonight, as I had once promised. I know I must sound the fool, begging you to help me past this, but I desire the same as you do, to talk, if only for the night. Perhaps it will be sufficient, perhaps it will not, but should the latter be the case, then I will pronounce this a step in the right direction."

"Have you considered speaking to one of your brothers?" Shani asked.

De Soto appeared in his mind, but he recounted that it was only once; he had not spoken to the man since. "You must understand that such conduct is not becoming of an officer. As a knight of the Order, we profess mental as well as physical stability within our ranks. The lower ranks may have a bit more reign over such, but even then, it is staunched by bravado." His voice dropped as he added, "It's embarrassing; I appear to be so broken that I can neither perform the duty I was given, nor even function in the profession for which I have trained so vigorously."

"Look at me," she replied sharply, grasping his attention. "You are not broken, you are not damaged, and you are not unfit. If anything, this is normal; you left a traumatic event barely alive to tell the tale. It will have changed you in its way."

Relief washed over him at her words. Not broken, she said? The reassurance gratified him in its way, lifting some of his burden from his shoulders. Siegfried could not help but wonder, however, if that burden would remain off, say, when he was sitting alone at his desk in the cloister. His stomach twisted at the idea. He chose to shove that thought away, instead relishing the present in his lady friend's home. "Could I ask you something, Miss Shani?"

"Go ahead." She shifted to make herself comfortable once more.

"Brenna, it changed you as well, didn't it?"

She nodded her head. "Obviously, it changed the way I looked at medicine, as well as how I viewed war. What I knew of medicine at the time did not stretch far beyond the confines of the textbooks. To actually see and practice such procedures added a new factor of realism to it, one that, I will admit," she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, "led to, and on occasion leads to, error. I'm only human, but that does not mean I can allow that to be my crutch." Letting go of her face, she continued, "War before the Battle of Brenna was a source of taxes. It wrote the history books, brought misery to mapmakers, and pushed strangers into the arms of lands unknown to them. But after I served, well, I think you can understand, if only a little."

"Whatever happened to Rusty?" Siegfried inquired.

"The plague took him in Maribor," she answered.

"My condolences."

"Live by the sword, die by the sword, so it goes for warriors," she mused, "I suppose I could make a similar mantra for medics in Rusty's memory, but I don't have the right wording in mind." Her tone shifted back to the darker subject at hand. "But even now, the war's left its impression on me. It's hard to sleep at night; I've often spent most of my time lying awake in bed, staring at the wall." She shrugged. "What was nice about having the landlady around was that she followed a meticulous routine before going to sleep. The sounds of her moving on the floorboards below would lull me. Now, however, I'm still learning to appreciate the silence."

Taking another sip from his glass, he inquired, "Do you drink?"

"It helps me to sleep on occasion, though I did drink before the battle. I assume you do?"

"One glass of wine per night, it seems. As you can tell, I'm trying to break the habit, but to little avail," he replied, indicating the glass of water.

"Bad habits die hard," she replied with a shrug, "It wasn't as if you didn't drink before."

"True, but not as habitually as this. It concerns me," he mused.

"What do you drink to?" Shani asked.

"The memory of my fallen brothers, and that of my friend," he sighed, dropping his hands back to the table, "I returned to two funerals. The first was for my brothers, and the second was for a detective, one who I had in fact referred to Geralt. Murdered by a Salamandra mage, his body was dumped into a crypt to be forgotten until Geralt found him." The bitterness he felt added considerable venom to his voice.

"I'm so sorry."

He pressed the palm of one hand to his forehead, lowering his head. "And I have the guilt of Raymond's death holding over my head, as well. Had I not informed Geralt of him, he would still be alive today."

"And then who knows what the Salamandra would have done to Geralt, or any of us who knew him, for that matter?" Shani pressed, causing him to look up. "Had it not been for your friend, Geralt would have been much further behind Salamandra than he is now."

"That is true…" Siegfried mused, "Tell me, have you spoken to Geralt as of late?"

"No, we recently had a falling out," she replied curtly.

"A pity to hear that," he replied, choosing not to press the issue further.

Shani steered the conversation back to its original course. "As far as the drinking, you seem to have it under control. There is no iron clad method of learning to live with our experiences."

Siegfried turned to glance at the moonlight that streamed through the window. "Do you still see them?"

"Rusty, I sometimes do. As for the patients, it depends upon the night. There some are nights where I do not dream of them, but others I do. It's never the same person, as we had so many patients in the past. Sometimes they're the wounded in the war, and others it's the sick in the hospital. I've even dreamt that I was still at work, at times. Then there would be the nights when I dreamt of the patients, but they were faceless. Those were the most unsettling."

"I can sympathize," he replied, "I've dreamt that I was still in combat, though without a visible ending in sight. On other occasions I would be alone, trudging through the marsh, and surrounded by the bodies of my brothers, as well as those of the Scoia'tael. No matter how far I would walk, the line of bodies would not end. You told me that you needed to learn to appreciate the silence. The secondary dream holds nothing but silence. No wildlife calls, and no monsters harass me, or the dead. It is a perpetual dusk."

"Not quite the subject we should be discussing after nightfall," Shani commented with a light laugh.

"No, no, it isn't," he replied, laughing as well.

"Siegfried, could I ask you a question?"

"I'm listening," he replied, picking up his glass.

"Do you know a Count de Wett?"

The glass paused in the air. Raising an eyebrow, Siegfried repeated, "Count Roderick de Wett? I know him, but I would not recommend keeping company with him, if you could help it."

"What do you mean?" Shani asked as he took a drink.

The glass thumped back down upon the table. "Aside from any possible connections he holds, most principal of them being a position as full-time attendant to Princess Adda herself, he is a mockery of a knight. Yes, that is even coming from me. De Wett, in short, is an egomaniac. He believes the alliances he has forged in Vizima supersede his duty to the Order, though that is merely staving off the inevitable. It will come to naught eventually." He waved a hand dismissively. "Why do you ask, m'lady?"

She folded one leg over the other. "Siegfried, you know I haven't lived here long. However, I did make a friend here. It wasn't until much later, however, that I found out what sort of power this friend had."

"Which explains your interest in politics," he noted, folding his arms, "I must say, Miss Shani, you are certainly full of surprises."

She smiled meekly. "It's not so much that I am an interesting person myself, rather the fact that I meet interesting people, and become involved in interesting events. Geralt was one of those people."

"I wouldn't discount myself as much, if I were you," Siegfried corrected her, "And I suppose this friend is to remain anonymous?"

She shrugged. "I don't think so, as you may know him. De Wett did, at the very least, as he held the arrest warrant. Still, though, I'm not sure if I should tell you. I don't want to drag you into this."

Siegfried leaned forward. "Please, tell me what is wrong. It's the very least I can do."

"Then again, I really don't have a choice in the matter," Shani muttered bitterly, "Because you know me, and de Wett knows you. My friend is chief of the secret police here in Vizima, and someone wanted him deposed. De Wett tried to accomplish that with a false writ by the king."

"What?!" He exclaimed, standing, "I must confront him forthwith about this!"

Shani rose as well. "Think for a moment. You just said that de Wett has several connections across the city, not to mention that he is a personal confidant of the princess. I don't see an accusation by you going far."

"Then why tell me this information?" Siegfried demanded.

"Because the chief of the secret police was my former lover. He worries that de Wett will try to use me against him," she pointed at him, "That may or may not involve harming my friends, as well."

"I see…" His response was tinged with a slight disappointment. Siegfried knew that he should not have been surprised, but even so, he felt he would rather not imagine her in the bed of another man. As Shani's face fell, he understood that she had detected the resentment in his tone, however small. Traveling had to have been a lonely life for her. "I appreciate your warning, and I will take care to keep on my guard. M'lady, I apologize for overstaying my welcome, and keeping you awake for as long as I have."

She shook her head, rounding the table. Siegfried took a breath as she grasped his arm. "Stay a while with me."

He took a few moments to regulate his breathing. One day she would eventually leave, and he would no longer see those green eyes again. "We haven't seen each other until tonight. Why not enjoy our time?"

"What would you suggest?" He inquired, his hand covering hers, and his fingers fastening around it in the beginning of an attempt to pull it off.

She grinned. "Let's talk about something different. I hardly know you, after all." Releasing her grip, she allowed him to remove her hand.

Siegfried returned the grin. "I suppose that would be adequate conversation. However, if you do become tired, don't hesitate to turn me out, m'lady. I will gladly leave."

"Well come along, then!" She exclaimed, gesturing emphatically toward the floor mats and cushions she had set before the fireplace. Siegfried felt spurned by her enthusiasm, and hoped that this version of Shani would remain with him for a time. Though she was still quite fatigued, as could be told by how she practically flopped down upon her selected cushion, she was still quite gay. Siegfried more gracefully took his seat upon the mat across from her, and attempted to reconcile this excited version of her with the sullen-faced cowl of mentor she had take up only a short while before. He wondered which of them was the more dominant of her persona, but found, as he folded his hands over his bent knees, that he couldn't care less, as he gladly enjoyed the company of one, and clung to the other.

"Where were you born?" Shani asked, beginning the conversation on a natural note.

"I am a native of Vizima, and have lived here my entire life. Though I have ventured beyond the gates on several occasions, I fear my knowledge of the world about me is limited to the tomes of the library of the Order," he added sheepishly, "Truth to be told, to arrive in the Temple Quarter was an accomplishment in itself, as I was rather mollycoddled in the Trade Quarter."

"What's it like there?" Shani asked, "I've only heard about it, but never been," she shrugged, "despite living next to it."

"You miss little," he replied, "The illustriousness of it is found in the architecture, polished marble and clean obsidian on a mahogany frame. The people wear expensive fabrics, the gossip poisons the reputations of what once were the godlike, and the marriage vows secure the finances, while the bedrooms are left stale." He grimaced at the memory of his mother, wishing to continue the family line, demanding to his father that he, the eldest son, be married off at the earliest convenience. Thankfully, Eyck had shot down that possibility, but the fact remained that he had been treated as little more than breeding stock for a time. Not to say that the mares he had to choose from were ugly, far from it, but he worried as to whether their good breeding and manners concealed an ulterior intention.

"Siegfried of Denesle? He's a darling, but he lacks adventure," he had overheard one such woman of his station mutter. She later married a quite heavy noble twice her age, who provided the gold, jewels, and finery she had desired. Heavily pregnant with the elder's twins, she had paid copious amounts to allow for more give in the fabrics. Siegfried supposed Raymond had a point with his statement as to his admirers, with the flowers tossed at him, and the tissues waved in his direction as he had marched past, but they had also been waved for the other men with him. Yet here he sat before Shani in comfortable intimacy, no favors attached. Odd indeed.

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you know as much as you do about the last category."

He smiled sheepishly at that, a blush dusting his cheeks. "It was rather hard to be deaf to the rumor mill of the blue bloods. Could I ask you a question this time?"

"Go ahead," she replied, making herself more comfortable.

"Where did you study medicine? You mentioned that you had some experience in the field before the Battle of Brenna."

"At the Academy of Oxenfurt," Shani answered proudly, "Dandelion's alumnus was at that institution, as well. It was actually during my time as a student that I met Geralt." She shrugged, "I guess I can say that my field experience began before Brenna, but the incident was of a differing context." She sighed. "I miss Oxenfurt more and more these days, it seems. Since Rusty's passing, I've had to 'take up the mantle' in my own way as an educator to the nurses, although without the simplicity that the Academy offered." She cast her gaze aside, and Siegfried followed her vision to see that it had landed upon the skeleton set up across the room.

"Was that once the property of the Academy?" He inquired.

She nodded her head. "I guess you could call it a relic from old times at this point. I still use it for more than just show from time to time, in order to brush up on my skills." Turning back to look at him, she asked, "What made you join the Order of the Flaming Rose?"

"Multiple reasons, m'lady," he replied with his own sense of pride, "My father before me was a valiant knight. I wished only to follow in his footsteps." The pride drained out of his voice, however, as he added, "Aside from that, the Order was the avenue I felt to which I was the most suited."

"What do you mean?" Shani asked.

"As you could probably infer from my earlier impressions of the Trade Quarter, it was not a life which I wanted to lead. Though there are a few exceptions within the Order, de Wett being one of them, this lifestyle of constant social climbing is not one to which we knights subscribe." Siegfried paused in his pontification to notice a shadow pass over Shani's face. "You find this disagreeable?"

She smiled reassuringly. "No, I understand why you chose the Order, but doesn't it bother you more that men like de Wett are allowed to act as they do?"

He sighed. "More than I say, in all actuality. The fact, however, remains that my hands are effectively tied by my current rank. Though it would be nice to entertain the notion of rising higher than such corrupt men, I would then be subverting the very reason why I became a knight."

Shani rose to pick up a log from the stack near the fireplace, and feed it carefully in. Squatting down to compensate for the short length of her skirt, she picked up the poker. Siegfried looked away, but not without catching a glimpse of her hindquarters in the corner of his eye. Sparks flew as Shani stabbed at it. "To counter your question, m'lady, why did you become a traveling medic? A woman of your competence could certainly have retained a prosperous living at the Academy."

"The thought has crossed my mind more than once," she confirmed, the fire glowing in her face as she placed the poker back, "but I can't sit by and let the plague take others." Rubbing her hands together, she held them out. "Why give up stability when I could just as easily throw myself to the wolves? A child knows better than me," turning to him, she added, "This isn't even my house. When I leave, few would miss me."

At his disdainful expression, she added, "That's part of the reason why I'm glad to have met you."

"But why not remain in Vizima?" He pressed, "Certainly your skills would be necessitated after the plague."

With a sigh, she replied, "You make it sound so easy. Though I would like to think about 'after the plague,' that time never seems to come. With the steady to rising amount of patients we receive each day in the hospital, there is not an 'after the plague.'" She pointed at the sword at his belt. "If I could only swing that, and chop off the head of this disease, as you do."

"I hope you do not feel as if you are imprisoned here," he observed in a concerned tone of voice.

Placing one hand on the mantle, she leaned toward the fire. Siegfried's breath caught in his throat at her rather careless way of being near it. "Seldom do I have time to actually live, not just work, but that is my profession, and I knew that going into it."

Rising, he offered, "I do wish I could somehow help you."

"Unfortunately, not much can be done at this point," she replied, "The kings built these walls to keep invaders out, but the disease remains inside."

"But it did not originate in Vizima," Siegfried countered, "therefore one enemy went by unabated."

"True, but until it is exterminated in here, we can't possibly start worrying about the outside world," she argued gently, turning the conversation toward another topic, "Still, though, I don't know if I could stand traveling forever. Though it's to see foreign lands, I might not be cut out for it."

"You said, however, that you thought you could make more of a difference by traveling," Siegfried reminded her.

She turned to look back at the fire. "True, I did say that, but now I see the other side of it. I don't regret coming here, but I need time to think while I'm still young. If I must return to Oxenfurt to find what I'm searching for, I will. If it is here, I will stay. The point, however, is that whatever I seem to think I want, is moot in comparison to the plague, and will continue to remain as such."

Siegfried's mind conjured the image of Shani, her back to him, walking further and further away through a desolated alley of the dead and dying, bodies stacked upon bodies, stretching off into infinity. Reaching out to her with his voice, he broke the illusion. "Do you ever fear it?"

"Fear what?" She asked, looking up.

"This plague, do you fear it will take you, as well?" He asked quietly.

"Sometimes."

The fire crackled between them in their shared silence. Siegfried stood resolutely before her. He knew it was getting late into the night, but he dared not leave, not now. His words formed rapidly in his mind, and fell just as quickly into nothingness.

"How did you and Geralt meet?" Shani inquired at last.

"I was hunting a cockatrice in the sewers. Geralt had been cast down there to find the same creature," he explained, folding his arms, "Working together, we were at last able to slay the beast."

"Together?" Shani chuckled, "I'm surprised at Geralt. He usually works alone. I would suppose he saw something in you."

Siegfried was meek in his wording. "I believe it was more of a comparison of interest. I did ask Geralt to join the Order, but he declined. Pity, he would have made an excellent asset."

Shani blinked at that. "A witcher joining the Order? Are you sure that's allowed?"

He nodded his head. "He should certainly be allowed. After all, he is still human; the only difference lies in the mutagens he has consumed."

"But what if it was a different witcher than Geralt who wanted to apply?" Shani asked, "Would the same allowance be given for him?"

"In theory," he replied carefully, "There is no rule that says witchers are disallowed, only nonhumans."

She held up a finger at that. "And women."

He smiled sheepishly. "Yes madam, forgive me."

"No need," Shani replied, "Though I think it was more than a comparison of interest; if he invited you to see me, it was more than that."

Siegfried dropped his hands at his sides. "I worry on occasion if I will sing again. How could two mere days have taken as much as they have from me?"

She said nothing for a few moments. "Siegfried, you said you've lived in this city for most of your life. Did you ever want to go elsewhere?"

He could tell her of his fantasies of roaming the wilds, searching for monsters to slay, and novel lands to explore, but decided against it. It all seemed utterly pointless in retrospect. Why bother trying to live that childhood fantasy again? At the end of the day, leaving Vizima would not solve his problems; he was willingly bound by his civil service, though he did note that as he rose through the ranks, he was more deeply concealed within the cloister. If he had his way, he would have rather worked in the field, as opposed to being chained to a desk, and he feared that he would be swept further from it. Start in Vizima, work from there, dismantling the issue of the Scoia'tael at its root, and allow the human citizens to sleep in peace for once in their lives. Siegfried doubted heavily that there would be true peace between the humans and non-humans, not after such brutality he had experienced, but to at least have one small step in the direction of such idealized peace would be enough. He was unsure if some of the more extreme proposed methods, those of evicting or jailing all non-humans, would truly solve the problem, much less be affordable. Not to mention that such methods did fall into the inhumane. For as much as Siegfried did attempt to justify such means with the carnage he had seen, even he found that the scales were tilted in the favor of the non-humans, at least to that extreme.

"In the past I did," he answered pensively, "But for now, such notions will have to remain upon the table for me to think of another time. For as long as we remain in conflict with the Scoia'tael, it will have to wait." He thought for a few moments, and at last conceded, "Though if I was called to leave Vizima in order to face a new foe, I would gladly accept the challenge."

He sighed. "This is absurd. You refuse to plan for your future until this plague recedes. I refuse to do so, as well, until there is no further threat to pursue. Though, I suppose I have already found my path with the Order." Leaning his shoulder against the side of the fireplace, he asked, "Could I ask one last question?"

"Go ahead," she allowed, stifling a yawn, "Sorry."

"Do you regret your choice to travel here?"

Shani studied the fire in silence. Siegfried knew better than to blaspheme, yet his mind still wandered. Her red hair glowed in the light. He doubted heavily that she was an emissary of the Flaming Rose, but he could not help but make the connection with her hair. Then again, he thought she could probably make her own ridiculous connection with him, as far as his armor was concerned. Red roses in a bouquet, offered to the lady, were often followed by a night of passion and pleasure. Still, he knew that Shani did not see the red rose in his intentions.

When she turned back to look at him, she appeared to be a few moments from crying, her eyes blinking rapidly, her head cocked slightly to the side, and her breaths short. No sex tonight, no empty comforts given, empty promises broken, and dreams of what just might be. She cleared her throat roughly, her resulting tone gritty as she answered, "A few," taking a croaking breath, she added, "Some selfish and material, others bigger than myself."

"Most importantly," she began, wiping her eyes with her arm, "becoming a sobbing wreck before a man I hardly know."

"It's all right," he reassured, attempting to back out of it, "I'm sorry I asked such an intimate question." He turned toward the stairs.

She grasped his arm, stopping him. "Siegfried, why did you come here?"

To see her. To talk. To spend a night away from the echoing halls of the cloister. To call back the ghost of the party. To forget the infernal machinery that was politics for at least one night, although that purpose was left unfulfilled. Each possible reason was there for him to select. He knew he could simply dodge the question altogether, tell her to know her place, and leave promptly, the affectionate titles of "miss" and "m'lady" promptly dropped. As Shani herself had said, they had barely known one another.

But despite that, when he turned back to her, that slight frame standing against the glow of the fire behind her, he replied, "I thought you had died."

Shani's hand fell from his arm at that, and she stood to full height quietly, her jaw firmly set despite the blank expression upon her face. He elaborated, "I lost so many brothers in the course of two days. I had never felt so alone as I did, staring into the eyes of death," his voice faltered, "I…I did not like it."

"But then, I knew that you stared at that same demon each day in St. Lebioda's. Veterans, heroes, men who laughed at the sheer notion of death itself were taken by the scythe, and to think that you stood as resolutely in its path as they," he broke off, "I apologize for underestimating you, but at that point, and during what I could barely call a recovery, I was simply unsure." He shook his head. "Stupid, isn't it? I saw Geralt only recently, but at the time, I was focused more upon halting the Scoia'tael." The speed of his voice accelerated, his tone dropping to a mutter as he looked away from her, "It would not have been appropriate, anyway, not with Iron Flame training before us. It was the furthest from my mind at that moment, with the battle still at the forefront of my thoughts."

"Siegfried," Shani called firmly.

He glanced back up to see her walking toward him, her face surprisingly not as hard set as her voice had implied. Coming to a halt before him, she replied in a much more relaxed tone, "You didn't underestimate me. While I appreciate your concern, I understand why you didn't ask after me."

"If I may?" Siegfried asked, holding out his hands.

Shani smiled. "I thought you had taken a vow of celibacy?"

He returned it. "I remember it well, but that does not mean I must cut myself completely off from all intimacy."

She remained tentative. "Siegfried, I can tell the Order is very important to you. I don't want to step on that."

His smile broadened. "If I thought you would, I would not have come here." He was surprised at the steady tone of his voice, despite the fact that internally, he felt more compelled to promptly exit the conversation.

Shani continued to study him, and he worried as to whether he had sounded as firm in his words as he had perceived himself to be, and more so, what her reaction would be. Should she attempt anything with him, he could easily pin her, and leave unscathed. At the same time, however, it would signal the loss of a perspective friend, not to mention evidence of a bad judge of character on his part. But should his judgment have proved correct, as it already had, then they would have tonight.

Once more, her smaller hands grasped his gloved ones. Siegfried wondered if he would feel a callous on either hand, or just more general toughness, had his gloves been removed. He gasped, drawing back for a moment as her hands left his to grasp his forearms. Shani glanced up at the sound, and released him, dropping her hands. Backing up a step to give him space, she reassured, "We can go as quickly as you please. It's only one night."

His gaze flicked toward the stairwell. "If I decided this was enough, and chose to leave now?"

"I wouldn't fault you for it," Shani answered truthfully, cracking a smile, "We had our fun tonight, didn't we?"

"We have, but, oh, hell with it!" He exclaimed in frustration, turning his head back to her. "I sound like an unwashed youth!" Shani made no comment, standing before him in anticipation. He weighed his options carefully. Suppose he did give it a try, shirk his vows just a little further tonight. An embrace or a kiss certainly wouldn't hurt matters. On the other hand, he knew that logic to be faulty by reason of emotion. He was, quite simply, a wreck to begin with, and he heavily disliked the fact that Shani's bed was within the same room as them. Damn piece of furniture, that. Even so, Siegfried knew better than to blame it. There was always the wall, or the mats, or the floor…He wondered for a moment as to how his mind had slipped into the proverbial gutter, and determined that perhaps Geralt's influence on him was showing a different side.

Much to his own unhappiness, he murmured, "I'm sorry, it must be very late."

She nodded her head, although he couldn't help but notice a flicker of disappointment. "Let me at least give you the courtesy of a walk to the door."

"You are too kind, m'lady." As he followed her down the stairs, Siegfried felt his own sense of tiredness, as well as that of hunger, begin to surge through him. Drained heavily by the happenings of the day, he grasped the top rail once to steady himself. Shani kept a grip on the banister as she descended slowly into the darkness below. He kept an arm's distance from her, and found it reassuring when she stepped upon the floor.

Reaching into a pouch at her belt, she procured a key, turning back to him. "I'm afraid this is where we part ways."

Siegfried hesitated, glancing first at her, and then at the bronze key she held aloft, the old style of it resembling an antique. "Perhaps we could meet again, Miss Shani?"

She smiled, lowering it. "I'd like that."

Though he wished to return her smile, he straightened up. "I apologize. We treat this as if it were a courtship, but I fear that it will not reach the same end."

"That's all right, we can enjoy the time we have together."

"But," he sighed, placing the back of his hand to his hip, and crooking his arm as he looked away, "what end will this reach?"

"There does not have to be one," she answered simply, "Why not just enjoy our shared company?"

He turned back to look at her, revealing an anguished look on his face. "You know that answer as well as me. You told me about your regrets of leaving what life you once had at Oxenfurt. Why should you content yourself with seeing me?"

"Why not?" Shani prompted, "I don't have the ego to force you to give up anything for me, but I need you now."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

She slapped her hands at her sides. "Look at me, I'm tired, I'm far from the place I used to call home, and I'm facing problems that are way over my head. Seeing you here, though, at least gives me a chance to forget everything for just a while."

Siegfried frowned. "I suppose that the subject matter I bring with me derails that goal."

"I don't mind," she reassured, "If anything, I'm happy to help you."

He was unsure what to make of her. The sleep deprivation was probably leading to her spouting such contradictions toward him, but all the same, he did appreciate the fact that she wished to see him. If his liaison was found out, however, the consequences would be rather unsavory, to say the very least. Seeking a lady outside of the Order, not to mention a friend of a witcher, was a risky venture to begin. How great a fool he was for pursuing it, he was unsure, and yet he still remained, with little incentive to leave.

He had nearly fallen to the floor before her, and she had come close to crying in front of him. Standing before a closed door in a darkened room, he felt utterly stuck. He knew he had to return; training was tomorrow, and he needed to sleep. But all the same, he could not bring himself to turn the knob with her standing there, her pale skin giving off a ghostly glow.

Eternal Fire, he thought to himself, and all precepts surrounding it, he had gladly offered his life to them. And Shani stood at the altar with her skeleton. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them as the dream-like image morphed into the absurd, her dancing with the skeleton, arms and legs flailing in a caricaturized fashion. He chuckled at it, wishing she could see it. Shani's eyebrows rose at the noise. "What's wrong?"

Siegfried smiled tiredly. "It's nothing, m'lady, just a dream."

She reached out to him again, and he held his ground rather stiffly as she touched his cheek, her fingers stroking it. The rough patch of a small callous scratched against his cheek once, the skin around it worn and toughened by frequent use. "Be careful out there. It's not safe this time of night," she fretted.

"Thank you, but I think I can handle myself."

She sighed. "I know, it probably sounds silly, but I wouldn't want to lose you."

Siegfried tilted his head inquisitively to the side. Grasping her hand, he lowered it between them. Shani's eyes narrowed, her posture less stooping from her fatigue. "I know it isn't much, but should you be injured, or if you just want to spend time with me, my door's open to you."

"That is all I could ask for, Shani," he replied warmly, dropping her hand.

His fingers tentatively found her hair, stroking its short strands. She closed her eyes in contentment as he ran them over her scalp. Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead. When he pulled back, she murmured, "I'll see you soon, hopefully on a better day."

The air outside Shani's house was cool, a welcome break to the heat that burned within his cheeks. Siegfried rubbed his sweaty forehead with the heel of his hand. Vizima loomed dark above him, the night stars hidden by clouds. The rustling of a cloak (or was it merely an empty sack) drew his attention. Siegfried released his sword from its sheath, all thoughts of the red-haired medic vanishing with it. Tomorrow's sunrise would come, and normalcy, or a semblance of it, would return, with only him changed. Submitting himself quietly to his fate, he trudged dutifully away.


End file.
