Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12023505.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Wiedźmin_|_The_Witcher_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Geralt_z_Rivii_|_Geralt_of_Rivia/Iorveth, Geralt_z_Rivii_|_Geralt_of
      Rivia/Original_Female_Character(s), Geralt_z_Rivii_|_Geralt_of_Rivia/
      Vernon_Roche
  Character:
      Geralt_z_Rivii_|_Geralt_of_Rivia, Iorveth_(The_Witcher), Vernon_Roche,
      Original_Female_Character(s), Olgierd_von_Everec
  Additional Tags:
      Blood_and_Injury, Loss_of_Virginity, Roche_is_a_sick_bastard
  Series:
      Part 2 of La_Valette
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-07 Words: 10136
****** The Dragon and the Maiden ******
by fizzbuzzler
Summary
     We are back in the dungeons of La Valette castle. Geralt and Iorveth
     are still part of Roche's little fight club and now the commander of
     Temeria's finest has devised a new attraction for his show.
     Tough times are ahead for the boys.
     By now I feel the need to apologize to everybody, because no matter
     how I plan it, in my stories Geralt has to suffer. Prepare for blood,
     pain but also sexy times and a bit of feels.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
“You want me to do what?” The disbelief in his voice was nearly as evident as
the contempt for the man who stood before him.
With a smirk Roche looked down at him. The Witcher was on his knees before him,
hands shackled behind his back. The guards were wary around him, and even more
so when he was on his feet. So they used every chance to have him on his knees
- as it seemed safer for them.
Geralt knew that this was just wishful thinking on their part - and he knew
that Roche knew as well. But as the man seemed to enjoy having the Witcher on
his knees before him, he hadn’t interfered so far.
"The audience wants more than just blood, gore and a good plough afterwards.
They want a story, preferably with a character they can identify with.” Roche
pointed at Geralt “And you will be that character for the male audience. The
brave knight, rescuing the damsel in distress.”
Geralt just shook his head, he couldn’t get his mind around the fact that Roche
seemed to have set his mind on making his prison not only a brothel but a
theatre as well.
He couldn’t help the sarcasm that dripped from every syllable when he muttered
“And who’s gonna be the ‚damsel‘? Do you want to put Iorveth in a frilly dress
and put flowers in his hair?”
Because by now he fully expected the elf to be part of this ‘piece’. Roche
loved to pair them up in his fights and unleash them against each other. Either
in the arena or in the bedroom, or both.
Roche laughed out loud “As much as I would like to see that, for this little
entertainment there will be an actual damsel. A virgin one at that. I am all
for authenticity. And you will be her knight in shining armor, saving her from
the evil dragon.“ He stopped at the incredulous look the Witcher shot him „As
for the dragon, we won’t be able to accommodate a fully grown one, and I’ve
been told that they are hard to come by, anyway. We will use a forktail or
another draconid. That should do nicely and the arena is big enough for that.”
Geralt raised his eyebrow “Shining armor?” He questioned warily, knowing full
well that it was more than unlikely he would be wearing any armor at all.
“Metaphorically speaking. I think I might give you a shield, though.” Roche’s
eyes lit up with something akin to glee. “Interesting - I thought your first
question would be, who the virgin maiden is going to be.”
“Actually, that is my second question. You’re gonna throw a woman into the
arena with a forktail?”
Roche drew a deep breath “Yes - and it will be your responsibility to keep her
alive. And to relieve her of her virginity afterwards. Just like in the
stories. The ladies in the audience will enjoy watching this immensely,
imagining themselves writhing under the bloodied and sweaty body of a groaning
Witcher.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Who will you use for the ‚virgin’? Have you
found a whore who is willing to play along?” Geralt couldn’t believe any woman
would be stupid enough to join in on that charade.
“As I said before, it will be an actual virgin - so whores are out of the
question. Also I strive for realism and therefore the girl will have to display
certain emotions - fear, desperation and the like. I doubt that a wench from a
village brothel will do. But there are other ways - I am not the only one who
is running an independent business. There are others, catering to … different
tastes.” Roche’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was waiting for Geralt to
process that information.
The Witcher ground his teeth and hissed “You want me to first save an innocent
girl from a monster and then rape her?”
“That would be the short version, yes” nodded Roche, still with that cold smile
on his lips.
“If you think I would ever do such a thing, you are severely mistaken.” Geralt
bit out, eyes glowing dangerously and his pupils mere slits.
“The saving or the raping?”
With a snarl the Witcher leapt to his feet, faster than any of the guards had a
chance to react - and threw himself at Roche. He would kill the bastard, right
here, right now.
But Roche had expected him to do something like that. It seemed he had been
waiting for it all along. With one move he let himself drop to the side, out of
the path of the furious Witcher, and while still rolling back onto his feet, he
drew his sword.
When the man he’d lunged at, suddenly wasn’t there anymore, Geralt tried to
change the course of his attack but with his bound arms his balance was off.
The feeling of cold steel on his throat made him stop in his tracks. Roche held
the blade with a deadly stillness - he wasn’t even breathing harder. Geralt
turned his head and could feel the blade cut into his skin.
He growled “You ploughing bastard. Better finish it here and now. Because I
will end you for sure.”
Roche narrowed his eyes - all signs of amusement gone from his features “If you
really think I would simply cut your throat, you are severely mistaken. You
will plough that little wench after you’ve killed the dragon. I will use you in
the arena and you will fight whatever I throw at you down there. And you will
continue to do so…”
He stopped there and just stared into Geralt’s eyes. A cold shiver ran down the
Witcher’s spine at that look. Admitting that Roche was right, and that he would
keep on fighting, had been one of the hardest things to do during his time in
the dungeons. Although he had played with the notion of just waiting a bit too
long bringing up his guard, or slowing down just enough, so that his opponent
had a window of opportunity to strike him, he had never actually done it.
Bleeding out in the arena had sounded tempting at the beginning but he couldn’t
just change what he was. He was bred to fight, and somehow just standing there,
letting himself be killed, was not an option. And unfortunately Roche was
acutely aware of that, and used it mercilessly.
The guards who had somehow managed to overcome their surprise at his attack,
had remembered their job and grabbed him by his arms and shoulders, keeping him
in place in front of Roche’s sword.
Without another word Roche removed the blade from Geralt’s throat and put it
back in his scabbard. He turned around and left, leaving the guards to deal
with the Witcher.
After what seemed like an eternity of fists and boots raining down on his
curled up body, the men stopped. They picked him up and dragged him to his
cell. This time they didn't just throw him in and left him there. They pulled
him to a wall and his wrists were secured in iron rings set into the rock. With
his arms drawn painfully wide he could do nothing but sit there. The chains had
no slack and his shoulders started screaming in pain after a short while. He
tried to assess the damage the beating had dealt him. One eye was swollen shut,
and a cut on his forehead bled profusely. Several ribs were cracked, and he had
a strange whistling sound his his left ear where a boot had hit him. Most
injuries would be healed within a day - the new potions he was given made sure
that only his ability to cast signs was impeded, but his other senses and
abilities were nearly unaffected.
He groaned and wished once again that his training hadn’t been so thorough, and
his fight or flight reflexes hadn’t been changed to a pure fight reflex.
Leaning his head against the cold wall he tried to meditate.
When he came to he was still bound to the wall. Checking his body, he found
that someone must have been in the cell because he had been cleaned, and
bandages around his chest stabilized his cracked ribs.
For someone to do that without him noticing, he must have slipped into
unconsciousness. He grimaced and tried to change his sitting position,
wondering how long he would have to stay like this before Roche would throw him
back into the fights.
He just hoped that Iorveth was alright - and that the elf wouldn't start a
riot, when Geralt wouldn’t show up to their usual training sessions. His lips
curled up slightly - he had started to like the haughty Scoia’tael.
It didn’t take very long until he could hear a key in the lock and the door
opened. A guard came in, carrying a bowl. He was followed by three others, who
immediately pointed their crossbows at the Witcher. Geralt laughed at the sight
but immediately regretted it when his ribs protested by shooting sharp stabs of
pain through his chest. He groaned and rasped “Look at you. Three crossbows for
one man in chains. Why not drag a ballista in here - just to be on the safe
side.”
The guard with the bowl snarled “If you wanna be funny, how about we just leave
you here sitting in your own piss and shite, until you howl like the mangy dog
that you are.”
Geralt only huffed and looked pointedly at the bowl. “Wanna throw that into my
face as well for good measure?”
Squatting down beside the Witcher the man stared at him with disgust
“Unfortunately our orders are to feed you.”
With that he shoved a spoonful of unidentifiable broth between Geralt’s lips.
The stuff was nearly cold and hadn’t seen any seasoning whatsoever. But the
Witcher swallowed eagerly - he needed the energy to heal and after the first
spoon he could hear his stomach growl.
The guard could, too, and smiled nastily. He put the spoon away and held the
bowl in front of Geralt’s face. “Dogs don’t use spoons. Lap it up” he grinned.
Swallowing his pride and the snide remark that lay on his lips, Geralt started
to lap at the contents of the bowl. To reach in he had to dip the tip of his
nose into the liquid, causing a raucous laughter from the assembled guards. He
ignored them and continued to get as much broth into his stomach as possible,
before the guard thought of another way to use it.
He even licked the bowl clean before looking back up at the guard. His eyes
blazed but he kept silent.
After a few seconds the guard got back up, and he and his comrades left the
cell. A relieved sigh escaped Geralt. He hadn’t been sure if they wouldn’t try
to add a few more cracked bones to his already impressive collection.
When they came again they brought a bucket and released him from his chains. He
had never been so antsy relieving himself as when he could feel the three
crossbows trained at his back. He was put back in his shackles and left alone.
Having no means of telling the time he guessed that they kept him chained up
for three or four days. When he was finally released again, they brought him to
the training grounds.
“Time to get back in shape. Boss needs to make some money off you.” With that a
training sword was thrust into his hand, and he was shoved out into the
blinding light of a cold and sunny afternoon. His eyes took some time to adapt
after the long time in his cell. The stone walls around him were partly covered
in ice. It must have started freezing during the night. Slowly he moved towards
a small group of men in the middle of the yard. He could see one of the guards
who acted as trainer, but his eyes searched for a familiar tall figure. A flash
of red to his left drew his eye and he smiled. The elf had seen him and was
striding towards him, sword in hand. Despite the cold Iorveth only wore light
trousers and no shirt. Sweat was covering his torso and his tattoo glistened in
the sun. Steam was rising from his skin and he breathed hard. Before he reached
Geralt he stopped, and the Witcher could feel his eye roaming over his body.
Iorveth took his time, his gaze lingering on the bandages and the still visible
cuts and bruises. He finally dragged his eye up to Geralt’s face. A small smile
curled his lips and the relief in his voice was palpable despite him trying to
sound teasing “Finally - you’re back. Had your fun with the guards, I heard.”
Geralt just shrugged. The warm feeling in his stomach at the sight of Iorveth
had hit him somewhat by surprise. The Scoia’tael was his only ally here, and he
considered him a friend, but to get butterflies at the sight of a friend was
highly unusual. The Witcher decided to put the experience aside for later
inspection. Maybe it was just his body reacting to the proximity of the man -
they had had enough sexual encounters with each other to elicit such an
instinctive response.
“Speaking of fun, I could use some warming up. And I haven’t had much chance to
stretch in the last few days.” Geralt lifted his sword invitingly. And Iorveth
attacked.
The Witcher realized quickly that he might have overestimated his fitness, when
the Scoia’tael rained down the blows on him. Trying to ignore his protesting
ribs he dodged to the side, and attempted to get behind the elf. But Iorveth
was nearly as fast as he was. They alternated attacking and parrying for a
while before the elf managed to break through Geralt’s defense, and the dulled
blade of his sword hit the already damaged ribs. With a yelp the Witcher went
to the ground. He really wasn’t up to a serious fight, yet. Iorveth walked over
and towered over him “Already had enough? You disappoint me, Vatt’ghern.”
Despite his sneer, the look in the elf’s eye was concerned.
“I’ll be alright. And then I’ll thrash your insolent ass until you beg for me
to stop.” Geralt bit out between painful gasps.
“Ploughing elf!”
They both turned their heads to see the trainer run to their position “You were
told to hold back, he is supposed to get back into fighting shape, not end up
dead here.”
Iorveth remained silent, and Geralt slowly got back on his feet. “He was just
lucky.” he said with a dismissive glance towards the elf, which got him a
raised eyebrow in return.
“When am I supposed to be back in shape, anyway. Your guard friends have lost
Roche quite a lot of money already, I guess. How long have I not been to the
arena? Every missed fight is a pouch full of gold less for Temeria’s finest.”
Geralt couldn’t keep his frustration out of his voice. Why beat him up like
that, when he was supposed to be in prime shape for the fighting. Roche would
never send him in as incapacitated as he was now. There was too much gold at
stake.
The soldier looked at him “They were supposed to teach you a lesson but got
carried away, the boss was not happy.” He grinned nastily “Who do you think
took your place in the last few fights? Wasn’t as entertaining as usual but at
least this time the monsters got to win.”
Geralt had listened with growing disbelief. Roche must have been really pissed
to dispatch of his men this easily. He was actually rather loyal to them and
his men returned the favor.
Iorveth chuckled behind him “Those bloede dh’oine couldn’t tell the front end
from the back end of a shaelmaar. It was actually pathetic how quick the beast
finished them off.”
The Scoia’tael rolled his shoulders and raised his sword “How about we
continue. I’ll go slow on you, Vatt’ghern.” Geralt grinned at that. He already
had started feeling more alive since he had been brought out into the sunshine
and fresh air, but the company of the elf somehow managed to subdue the last
dark thoughts. He twirled his blade and went into his fighting stance. “Then
show me how you dance, Aen Seidhe.”
 
That evening Roche came to his cell again. “I see you are on the way back to
your full form. Although today Iorveth gave you a nice ass-kicking. Maybe you’d
like to know that tonight I have him fight against a new guy. He is supposedly
immortal - Olgierd von Everec. Could be interesting. Looking forward who will
win, and gets to have the other.” He grinned. Geralt narrowed his eyes. One of
those fights. Roche usually paired him with Iorveth for those, knowing that
they would not grant the other any leniency. And because with them it was never
sure who would actually win. So the betting was good on those fights.
“And you came here just to tell me that. Had me shackled to the wall for that
as well. Quite the effort.” Geralt said coldly. He wouldn’t give Roche the
pleasure of showing any emotion at all.
“Ah yes - the reason for my coming is actually something we already talked
about once. You remember the special event? I wanted to let you know that I’ve
found both of your partners in that little piece. A royal wyvern is on it’s way
here and the soft maiden has also been acquired. Once they are here you will
see them and get acquainted with the wyvern - not with the girl though. She’s
supposed to stay a virgin until the fight.”
Geralt only raised his eyebrows “Seriously, what makes you think I would take
the girl down there in the arena? You know me better than to believe that.”
Roche crossed his arms “True - but there are a few things you should consider
before you refuse. I could simply use someone else as knight - the new guy
looks promising. Tall, blue eyes - and he wouldn’t have those chivalric virtues
you seem to hold on to. And if you do not agree to do it, there is something
else…” he paused, looking at Geralt with hawklike eyes “You and the elf have
become quite the item. Very friendly when you think nobody is watching. Some
might even say overly friendly.” The Witcher dropped his head, he didn’t want
Roche to see his eyes. His hands balled into fists and he had to take a deep
breath.
When he lifted his head again, he was laughing. The motion had his ribs scream
in protest but he didn’t stop. It took a while until his laughter died down. He
looked at Roche, and saw a hint of confusion in his eyes. Just what he wanted.
“You cannot be serious. Who told you that horse shit. Have you told Iorveth as
well? I'd really like to see his reaction to that.”
He had to stop to draw a deep breath. When he spoke again he was dead serious
“If you want to blackmail me into something, make at least an effort to find
the right leverage.”
He had tried to pull all feelings from his eyes and his voice - showing only
the emotion-less Witcher. Roche was still not fully convinced - he could tell
that. But his resolve to use the elf to blackmail Geralt, seemed to have
lessened. And that was everything the Witcher wanted right now.
Roche had left him hanging there. It was more than just a bit uncomfortable. In
the middle of the night his guards showed up and opened the shackles. A bowl of
broth was put in front of him and they left him alone. He ate slowly, and tried
to find some way to get out of this dragon and virgin story. That Roche would
use just someone else to fill the role as knight was pretty clear. But he also
desperately wanted Geralt to do it. More money in it, most likely. He had no
illusions regarding the fate of the girl. She would end up either as a slave or
in a brothel this way or another. There was nothing he could do for her.
He didn’t think of himself so highly that he believed it was better for her if
he raped her, instead of von Everec or someone else. A rape was a rape. He had
never forced himself on someone unwilling…, unwilling and innocent, he
corrected himself, thinking of his time in the arena.
And he hoped to have dissuaded Roche from using Iorveth against him. He had to
be really careful around the elf.
With a sigh he pushed the empty bowl away and lay back, trying to find some
sleep.
 
The next few days he spent mostly training or meditating in his cell. He found
out that Iorveth had won his first fight against von Everec and that the man
hadn’t been very happy about the final act of their fight. The elf had to beat
him unconscious to finish it. The audience had loved it.
When Geralt finally met von Everec, the man had recovered from both the
physical injuries and his bruised ego. He was nearly as arrogant as Iorveth but
at the same time had a certain chivalrous air about him, despite Roche's
description of him. Geralt really thought that he would make a better knight
than him. When asked if Roche had approached him with a special offer, Olgierd
smiled “You could say that - he wants me to fight a werewolf and ‘free’ it's
captive. The little maiden is then supposed to be really grateful towards her
hero. He was mumbling something about a red cloak he would have to find.” He
looked quizzically at Geralt “Why - has he asked you, too?”
“Yeah - I’m supposed to kill a dragon first. And then do the maiden thing.”
Geralt sighed. “It looks there will be more than one act in that play. I wonder
what he plans for Iorveth.”
“The elf is supposed to kill off a bunch of dwarves, to save his maiden.”
Olgierd looked at Geralt, who stared at him open-mouthed “Use an elf to kill
dwarves in front of a mostly human crowd. That is a whole new level of
depraved.” The Witcher wasn’t sure if the Scoia’tael would go through with
that. “Iorveth will never agree to that. He will let them beat him to death,
before he kills other non-humans as an amusement for humans.” Olgierd only
shrugged “So far it looks like he is gonna do it, anyway. I heard him shout all
kinds of obscenities at Roche but the commander looked quite satisfied when he
left him.”
Geralt wasn’t quite sure how Roche had managed to persuade the elf, but he had
a dark suspicion. And that suspicion was proven right the following night.
Roche had decided that the Witcher was fit to go back in the arena, and had put
him against Iorveth as the highlight at the end of the evening.
The fight didn’t last long - Iorveth lay at Geralt’s feet within minutes. He
had hardly fought back, and sometimes plainly refused to parry or attack. As a
result he had a heavily bleeding gash on his thigh, where Geralt hadn’t managed
to pull back in time. The Witcher stood over the prone elf and hissed “What the
hell are you doing? Do you want me to kill you?”
Iorveth looked back at him, and a small smile played on his lips “Just the
opposite, Gwynbleidd.” Geralt took a step back and stared at the elf. Iorveth
only used his elven name when they were alone. He would whisper it when he came
under Geralt’s hands, in some dark corner where no one else could see them.
So Roche had been successful in blackmailing Iorveth by finding just the right
leverage. And the elf was too proud, stupid or whatever to deny it. He groaned
- and then looked around the arena. The audience had taken up their usual chant
“Plough him. Plough him.” They sounded like a rabid beast in heat. Usually
Geralt would let that sound take him, and push him up into a state of non-
caring sexual craze. The palpable carnal tension in the arena made sure that he
would be hard immediately, and taking his opponent was always a raw, brutal
experience. This night he wished desperately that it would be just like any
other night. But he couldn’t. He turned around and left the arena.
He sat in the backroom staring non-seeing ahead when Roche stormed in “You
ploughing bastard. What was that out there? Do you want me to castrate you
right here and feed you your own cock?” He stood before Geralt, eyes blazing.
The Witcher smiled and looked up at him “You could try. I’ve heard that one can
bleed to death from that. Would be worth a test.”
It was obvious that Roche was seriously considering that as an option “You
idiot - you should have just faked it, if you can’t perform. Now I have to
think of something, because I should have had you killed right were you stood
in the arena.”
“Faked it?” Geralt sputtered “Are you out of your mind? How would that work?
You think the people are all shortsighted?”
The Witcher wondered why the commander was so agitated. Things like that had
happened before, and the men who refused to perform were simply killed. Right
now he wanted the same for himself.
“Take me back out, and have my throat cut in front of everybody.” He stood up,
holding his hands out, waiting for the shackles.
Now it was Roche’s turn to look incredulous “You want what? To be killed off,
like that? I will never allow that. You are my best fighter, and I will not
throw you away like that.”
The Witcher remained standing and looked at Roche. Money - as usual it boiled
down to that. If Roche had him killed off, he would lose his highest earner.
The Temerian snarled - he knew that Geralt now knew exactly how much he was
worth. He knew that he couldn’t be just killed off like the guards. He was
irreplaceable - and that gave him power. Power he was not allowed to possess.
“Take him out and put him on the flogger.” Roche commanded his men. The Witcher
swallowed hard - he knew what would be coming next, but he didn’t resist when
he was led back out into the arena. The audience went wild when they saw him
again. Iorveth was still lying in the sand - one of the medics taking care of
the wound in his thigh. He looked like he wanted to get up or say something,
but when Geralt shook his head, he remained where he was. However his eye would
never leave the Witcher’s, when the guards strung him up at a chain that hung
from the roof. Geralt grunted when the chain was pulled up until he hung
freely, and lightly swung to and fro. Then Roche entered and the arena fell
quiet. He carried a coiled whip, and his expression was like stone. Standing in
front of the Witcher he spoke with a compassion-less voice “The rules of the
arena are clear. You fight - you win - you fuck. If you fail, you die. The
Witcher has not followed the rules tonight. Every other man would have his
throat cut, and you would see his blood paint the sand. But this man does not
deserve a quick slash with a blade. He deserves to bleed, and he deserves
agony. He will be punished, and he might die from it. But if he survives, he
will be back in the arena and will continue to fight, to win and to fuck. And
to entertain you.”
At the last sentence the crowd went wild. Geralt could see their bloodlust -
taste it in the air. His heart sped up, and his eyes were transfixed on the
whip when Roche let it uncoil. The metal shards in the leather reflected the
light. He looked back to Iorveth. The elf stood there and his lips formed one
word “Gwynbleidd”. Then the whip cracked and the first blow landed on Geralt’s
chest. The pain was white and hot - he gasped. When he looked down he saw the
blood already welling up. Another crack and the end of the leather strap curled
around his side. He bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out. He managed
to go through another half dozen lashes, before his first scream broke through.
He soon stopped counting. He was slowly turning on the chain, his body
convulsing with every hit of the barbed leather.
Pain was everywhere, and suddenly he found himself strapped to a table. A young
boy, panting and howling, as the mutations in his body changed him forever.
He never knew how many lashes he received, but they continued to rain down on
him, even when he fell into darkness.
He came back when they took him down. His mind was addled, and pain was
everywhere. He could here a strange high whine, and realized that it was him.
He was put in front of Roche, and held upright on his knees by the guards. In
his hazy vision he could see that his whole torso was red with his blood and a
few lashes had hit his thighs as well. He swayed on his knees, saliva and blood
dripping from his lips. He shrank back when he could see something move in
front of him. Trying to focus he recognized Roche, who had squatted down to
look at him.
“Don’t ever do something like that again, Geralt.” he said quietly and without
any heat in his voice. Roche took his chin in his hand and looked into his
eyes. “You better survive this.” With that he stood up and was gone.
The Witcher couldn’t walk so the guards just dragged him from the arena. He
could hear the roaring crowd for a long time.
When the medics started working on him, he was finally able to escape into
unconsciousness.
For the next six days he cursed his enhanced body which didn't let him die, but
also healed at an incredible rate. When he wasn’t able to lift an arm on the
first day he was back to training on the sixth. He knew that Roche had counted
on that. He could do to the Witcher what no other man would survive, and make a
spectacle of it, without losing too much time or money.
 
The day they brought the royal wyvern in nearly ended in disaster, when the
drugs that were supposed to subdue the beast, wore off faster than anyone had
anticipated, and the wyvern managed to kill three guards and nearly brake free
of it’s chains. Somehow Roche’s men managed to get it back under control, and
it was pulled and dragged into a cage in a separate enclosure. Geralt had just
stood in the shadows, and watched as the animal tried to regain it’s freedom. A
strange compassion had gripped him then. The wyvern would die in this arena -
and so would he. He only had some more time left.
He could feel a body behind him - the elf put a hand on his shoulder. “He will
be free of his chains soon” Iorveth said quietly, his breath ghosting past
Geralt’s face. The Witcher turned, and put his palm over the scar that the elf
had half-hidden under his bandana. He looked into the green depths of his eye
and saw it close slowly, while Iorveth put his own hand over Geralt’s.
They stood like this for a while before heading back to their training.
 
The next morning Roche came to tell Geralt that his maiden had arrived. He led
the Witcher up to the so-called guest rooms and showed him to a door “She’s
asleep, so you won’t have to worry that she sees you.”
Geralt hesitated but then stepped forward, and looked through the small latch
in the door. He saw a mass of blonde hair and a small body in a simple white
shift lying on the pallet. Her legs were thin and dirty, with angry red marks
were she had been shackled. The fabric at her front had shifted in her sleep,
and he could see the curve of a small firm breast and a dark nipple. It made
him swallow. For the last weeks Roche had refused every offer to buy a night
with the Witcher. And he had made sure that he had no other chance for release.
With a dark smile he watched the Witcher as the man looked at the girl - his
thoughts plain on his face.
“The fight will be tomorrow. No need to wait any longer - that wyvern is
costing me way too much to feed. And the girl won’t get any younger.”
Geralt closed his eyes at that. His stomach turned, and when he opened his eyes
again he glared at Roche.
“You will go out there and kill the dragon, then take the girl.” Roche
commanded… and Geralt nodded.
 
He spent the next day preparing for the fight. To kill a wyvern with only a
steel sword would be difficult enough. The fact that the sword in question was
rather old, and he constantly feared it would break at the next parry, didn’t
make the endeavor any easier. So he was surprised when the trainer took him
aside and showed him a sword. His sword - his silver sword. He couldn’t believe
that Roche hadn’t sold it yet. But it wouldn’t surprise Geralt the least if the
commander had had it in his room all the time. Preferably on display with his
steel sword and wolven armor for everybody to see. “You will get it tonight for
this fight - and this fight only.” The trainer seemed unhappy to have to hand
the sword over. It upgraded the Witcher’s fighting power by several levels.
Geralt’s yellow eyes shone with anticipation at being able to wield his own
sword again.
However, his eagerness was damped when he saw the platform in the middle of the
arena. This was where the girl would be. Bound and presented to the crowd as
the maiden in distress. He decided to stop worrying about her, and concentrate
on the wyvern in the first place. If he didn't kill the beast everything else
would not matter.
 
He could hear the screaming of the crowd - the first few regular fights had
just ended. The audience knew that something special would happen today, and
they whipped themselves into a frenzy. They were like a giant beast with a
voice like a thousand demons. Geralt closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He
was holding a shield and wearing tight black leather trousers and hunter’s
boots. At least he didn’t have to face that wyvern in just a loincloth. He had
even been given a potion of Golden Oriole to prevent from getting poisoned by
the wyvern. He felt antsy and had no idea why. Usually he became extremely calm
right before he entered the arena. When he lifted his right hand to wipe across
his face he realized why he was feeling so strange. There was no sword in his
hand yet. With a huff he looked around. Roche was coming towards him - a few
guards trailing behind.
“What a fight this will be. We are packed to the rafters and the bets are
already sky-high.” He grinned and looked rather relaxed “Your sword waits for
you in the arena. When you are finished you will leave it there as well. Do not
try to get out of there with it still in your hand.” He signaled to open the
door.
A roar greeted him as he entered the arena. The area was lit brightly and he
could clearly see the platform in the center with the girl on it. She was still
wearing the white shift and her movements indicated that she was fighting
against the leather straps that bound her down. Geralt looked around, and saw
his sword on the other side of the arena in a weapon stand. He cursed as he
carefully started to make his way across. And just as he had suspected, the
grate to the monster enclosure opened when he was only halfway across the
arena. He could hear the snarl and screech of the wyvern, as it moved through
the short tunnel. He started to run.
But the wyvern was faster - the beast shot through the gate and immediately
attacked him. Only his reflexes and a series of rolls brought him out of the
danger zone. Unfortunately he also ended up at the wrong side of the arena for
his sword.
After the first attack the wyvern had stopped near the entrance. The girl had
seen the monster and started to scream. She tried to get off from the platform
and Geralt could see that her wrists were already chafed and bleeding. He
ground his teeth, and started again towards his sword. The wyvern detected his
movement and went for him. One of it’s wings had been clipped so it couldn’t
fly but it was still extremely fast. Somehow Geralt managed to get to his sword
without being cleaved in half or hit by the tail.
He couldn’t suppress the moan that came over his lips at the feeling of the
familiar hilt in his palm. His callouses fit perfectly into the moldings and
his arm lifted the weapon with ease. He held it in front of him, and started
twirling it around to see how well it still responded to him wielding it.
The circle above him erupted in cheers, as they realized that this was a
Witcher’s blade. That this was his blade, and that he would dance with it
tonight.
With a pirouette to the side Geralt attacked the wyvern. The beast seemed to
know that he was now much more dangerous than before and evaded him. He started
to attack from all sides. Fast flashes of silver striking against the golden
green scales of the draconid. He whirled around nearly too fast to see.
Whenever he hit the beast, a screech filled the arena. Wether it was the wyvern
or the crowd he was never sure. The beast used all it’s power and speed to get
to the Witcher. Geralt managed to evade a few attacks but then the wyvern
suddenly changed its direction and jumped into the air, and even with only one
wing managed to sail over him slashing its tail at him. He let himself fall
back in a nearly impossible angle and the poisonous trident only lightly grazed
him. Had he worn armor he would have hardly noticed it but his skin got ripped
to shreds by the razor-sharp tail.
He grit his teeth as the pain exploded along his shoulder blade, and gripped
his sword harder.
With a roar he turned, and started to attack the wyvern with a series of
battering slashes of the silver blade. He could see that the beast became
weaker with every hit - it was losing quite a lot of blood. A problem that he
had as well. Although his Witcher mutations were constantly ensuring that his
blood coagulated quickly, his movements would tear the wound open again and
again. He could feel the hot liquid flow down his back, and he knew that his
trousers were slick with it as well.
With a last effort he fainted a direct attack, only to divert at the last
possible moment, and slide sideways and under the wyvern. The beast was still
looking where he had disappeared to, when he pushed his blade up and into the
underside of its neck. His movement dragged the blade nearly all the way to the
belly of the wyvern and he heard the death screech of the beast. Before he got
buried under the collapsing body, he managed to roll out from under it. His
sword however stayed behind, still buried to the hilt in the wyvern.
Geralt remained kneeling on one knee on the ground when he came back up.
Breathing hard, he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body. He had
felt so alive when he was dancing with his silver sword, raining down blows
onto the wyvern. Looking down at his now empty hands he clenched them into
fists. A strange sound made him look up. His yellow irises contracted until his
pupils were only narrow slits. The crowd roared, and to him it sounded like
distant thunder. Slowly he got to his feet, and turned around towards the
platform.
The girl had gone quiet, and she was no longer fighting the leather straps. Her
eyes were large, and fear filled them as she watched the Witcher approach.
When he got closer to her, he was suddenly very conscious of how he might look
to her. Not only was he covered in both his own and the wyverns blood, but
after the flogging his body was covered in so many scars, he could hardly look
at himself anymore.
How he might be perceived by a young girl, who was traumatized by the fact that
she had been nearly killed by one monster, only to be saved by another one, he
had no idea.
Holding up his hands in a calming gesture, he took the last steps to the
platform. Her eyes were still fearful and she panted, close to panicking.
He tried to lower his voice as much as possible when he stood beside her “Shhh.
You will be alright. Nobody will hurt you tonight.” ‘At least I won’t’ he added
in his thoughts.
He squatted down, so that he was at eye level with her. “My name is Geralt -
who are you?” He lightly put his hand over hers without touching her bloodied
wrists. She flinched at the contact but answered “Coraline. My name is
Coraline.” Her voice was just a hoarse whisper. Geralt nodded and a small smile
softened his eyes “A lovely name for a lovely young woman.” “Will you free me?”
she asked, clearly not sure what his answer would be. He didn't reply to her
immediately but looked up to the stands of the arena.
How much does she know about her role tonight, he wondered. When he looked back
down, he found the answer in her eyes. They were still full of fear but also a
certain acceptance. “You know what will happen next?” he asked quietly, and he
closed his eyes with a sigh, when he saw her nod.
He stood up again, so that she could see all of him. He moved to her legs, and
without any sign of effort, tore the leather straps that held her down. When he
returned to her he paused. “I will loosen the binds to your hands as well, but
you must promise not to flee. I will not hurt you but I will make sure that you
stay on this platform, if you try to get away.” She blinked in rapid succession
and swallowed hard, before she nodded lightly. Geralt freed her hands. She
immediately crossed them in front of her body and hugged herself. He could see
her shiver. Her nipples were hard pebbles that poked through the thin fabric of
her shift. His eyes started wandering over her shivering form, and he felt his
cock twitch. Had she been an experienced woman he would have taken her there
and then, would have ravished her and would have lost himself in her. But this
girl needed all his patience and deserved all his effort to make this as
pleasurable as possible for her.
His needs were secondary. However, he could not avoid the hungry look in his
cat eyes when he looked back at her. She saw it, too, and her pulse started to
race in her throat. Slowly he lifted her hand and pressed his lips on her palm.
His large hand completely covered her small one. Her breath hitched, and he
lightly mouthed to her wrist were he kissed her pulse and let his tongue flick
out. Gauging her reaction, he decided to up his game, and started nibbling at
her skin. Her other hand slowly loosened it’s grip in her shift and moved down
to her belly were it remained. With slightly parted lips she lay there, and
waited for whatever might happen next.
The Witcher turned his senses towards the arena. The crowd was silent for once.
Whatever had happened, they seemed to be transfixed by the pair on the
platform.
Lifting his other hand to her face, he slowly pushed a blonde strand of hair
behind her ear. “Have you ever been with somebody?” he softly inquired. She bit
her lip and shook her head. “Maybe kissed a boy, or a girl?” he continued,
trying to gauge how much she knew. Again she shook her head. “Have you been
told about your body and that of a man?” He was growing desperate now. The girl
must know at least something. “I’ve seen dogs and horses” she offered and
Geralt sighed quietly. When he looked into her eyes again, he smiled “Usually
it is a bit different with people. But the basic principles are the same.” He
decided that he didn’t want her to think too much about it, so he lowered his
head to her chest and began mouthing at her nipples through the shift. She was
so surprised by his move that she didn’t try to shove him away. He heard her
gasp and at the small moan that escaped her lips he grew bolder, and took the
nub between his lips and let his tongue move around it. She responded
immediately, and her back arched towards him. Then her brain caught up with her
body, and she shoved him away and covered her chest with her arms.
He had expected that and continued to smile at her “Too fast? We can go slower,
just let me know if it is too much for you.” He let his fingers slide up her
soft cheek and back into her hair. Cupping her head he lowered himself. With a
deliberate effort he dilated his pupils until they were nearly round like a
normal humans. He couldn’t do anything about the color though. He could feel
her body tremble, and when he lowered his lips to hers, he stopped before he
made contact. He looked into her eyes, searching for her consent. The tip of
her tongue darted out, and she closed her eyes lifting her head slightly. It
was enough for him, and his lips touched hers. He kept it chaste, just a soft
touch to let her get used to it, but not too light. He wanted her to know that
this was serious, and not just a harmless game. When his tongue started to run
over her lower lip and he lightly sucked at it, her eyes flew open again.
Applying more pressure, Geralt’s tongue demanded entrance into her mouth. He
moaned when she let him in. It was always the first breach of a body, and he
always savored it. Letting his tongue explore her mouth, he held her close to
him. Still sitting on the bed, he could feel her arms slowly wandering around
his shoulders and then encircle his neck. He grinned against her mouth.
Slowly he moved away from her lips and placed light kisses along her jawline
down to her ear. Pushing the blonde waves away he nibbled at her earlobe, and
delighted in the little gasps that escaped her. She was especially sensitive at
the soft skin below her ear. Geralt continued to suckle there for a while. She
relaxed visibly, and he continued his exploration of her body.
There was no resistance when he pushed the shift up her body and over her head.
She lay before him, completely naked and only her hand covering the little
patch of hair between her legs. Deciding to ignore that part of her body for
now, he continued at her shoulders.
This was where his vast experience with women came to fruit. He tried every
erogenous zone he had ever encountered in his life, trying to find out what
made her gasp, and arch her body into his touch. A few times she would just
giggle, when a nibble at a spot he was sure would make her moan just tickled
her. With time she grew bolder and started to touch him as well. He let her
explore his pecs, and his breath hitched when her fingertips played over his
hard nipples.
He moved back to her breasts, and this time there was no fabric to separate his
lips from her skin. Laving her hard nipples with his tongue and lightly biting
the flesh, he moved his hand down her belly. Her hand down there had long
abandoned it’s guard post and was now resting in his hair, lightly trailing
through his silver strands.
When he reached the patch of hair, her breath hitched and a light tremor went
through her. But it was with anticipation and not fear. His hand continued down
her thigh and then up along the inside. Unconsciously her legs opened for him.
The moan that escaped her when he ran his fingers along her folds made him
swallow. His cock in his trousers had been rock hard since his steps had
brought him to the platform. He had no idea how long he would last.
He pushed himself up and kissed her again, she reciprocated, and her tongue
explored his mouth and his lips. With a sly smile he looked at her, before he
started to crawl down her body. His tongue and lips never lost contact with her
skin, and he stopped at all those spots that made her tremble. When he reached
her mound he placed soft kisses on the soft skin on the top of her thighs.
Although she had initially closed her legs when he went down, a light pressure
of his hand opened them again. Geralt looked up and saw her large eyes, already
glazed with arousal, staring into his. Slowly, never letting her out of his
sight, his fingers parted her folds, and he lowered his mouth to let his tongue
take a first slow taste of her. Her head flew back and she gasped loud enough
for the whole arena to hear. A few cheers went up but were quickly shushed.
With all his senses tuned towards her, Geralt continued to lave at her folds,
and again tried to find the spots where she would start panting.
Her little nub was already swollen when he first breathed on it. That was
enough to let a small scream escape her lips. Stroking it lightly with the tip
of his tongue he played her for a while, before he sucked it into his mouth.
She bucked into him, and a series of moans filled the air. Her hands had now
found his head and urged him on, to continue his ministrations. Her arousal
filled his nose, and he felt his mouth water. When he let his tongue explore
deeper he found her to be wet already. He resumed licking and nibbling her
clitoris, while he pushed a finger along her folds before he entered her
carefully. She was tight and hot, and he moaned when he felt his cock twitch in
anticipation. Arching her back she began panting, clearly getting closer to her
release. Geralt added a second finger and began slowly pumping in and out of
her. All the while he continued sucking her clit and biting down lightly on it.
His second hand pressed down on her pubic bone to prevent her from breaking his
nose when she bucked. For the first time since the beginning, she tried to
speak “I,… I cannot,… please, stop, don’t,…” her speech became
incomprehensible. Geralt just grinned, and started sucking her clit in time
with his fingers pushing into her. With a surprisingly loud shout she came and
he could feel her contract around his fingers. This time the whole arena went
up in a cheer.
Slowly he went back up to her. Licking her juices from his fingers, he smiled
down at her sweat covered face. She stared up at him, the aftermath of her
release clearly visible in her eyes. Geralt leant down and kissed her gently.
But she wouldn't have that - grabbing his face in her hands she pulled him
closer, and her tongue pushed into his mouth, tasting herself for the first
time. She swallowed his moan, and pressing her body against his she made it
clear that she was ready for the next step. Without breaking the kiss, Geralt
managed to get rid of his boots and trousers. Before he continued, he sat up
and let her take a good look at him. He knew that he was above average but she
didn't know that. To her every fully engorged cock would look big. When she
looked between his legs he could feel her fear come back again. So he took her
hand and guided it to his cock. He wrapped her small fingers around him, and
let her feel the soft, hot skin. It took all his concentration not to spill
himself just at the sight of her hand on him. When she started to move her hand
along his length, he sucked in a painful breath, and his hand clasped around
hers.
“Please don’t.” he groaned with clenched teeth. She looked positively
horrified, and pulled her hand back “I’m…, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt
you.” she whispered. He managed a short laugh “By the gods, trust me - you are
definitely not hurting me. Just the opposite.” He concentrated hard, and tried
to think of cold water, drowner brains and water hags to distract him enough,
and get some measure of control back.
After a few seconds he was confident that he would not embarrass himself before
her, and with a smile went down on his hands and knees and pushed her body back
onto the platform. Again he let his tongue explore her. From her thighs up, in
between her legs, where he found new wetness and then up her belly, along her
flanks and her breasts and their hard, dark nipples. This time he experimented
with biting down harder and was rewarded with a throaty cry. One hand between
her legs he started fingering her again. Soon enough she bucked up against his
hand.
He positioned himself on top of her, his lips mouthing over her jaw and finally
kissing her. Her arms pulled him in at his shoulders, and he positioned the
head of his cock at her wet entrance.
He sucked her tongue into his mouth when he pushed himself into her. She gasped
and he stopped as soon as he had breached her. The next step was the painful
one. He started to move lightly in and out of her, not really going any deeper.
When she started to relax, he thrust into her with one hard shove. She
screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the roar that erupted in the arena.
He continued to move in her, knowing that not moving would hurt her even more.
His lips kept kissing hers, and he had a hand between them, rubbing her clit.
After a few thrusts her pained sobs changed and became something else. Her body
arched under him and her hips met his with every thrust.
When her hands gripped his shoulders, and her fingernails dug into the claw
wound of the wyvern, he threw his head back, and an animalistic sound tore from
his throat - half pain and half lust.
With ever harder and faster thrusts his cock spread her tight, hot folds and he
knew that she was still with him, urging him on. With a feral fire in his
yellow eyes he lowered his mouth to her shoulder, and his tongue laved over the
soft skin. Then he bit down.
He felt her come and heard her scream, her nails leaving deep groves in the
muscles of his back. Contracting around his cock, her hot depths started
milking him and he finally let himself fall from the cliff. His release hit him
so hard his vision went white, and his hips spasmed erratically.
With a hoarse cry he pushed one last time into her, and collapsed on the
platform.
He didn’t hear the roar at first, thinking it was the blood rushing in his ears
but then he realized that the arena had erupted in applause. The girl -
Coraline, he remembered - lay under him, dazed and breathing hard. He slid his
cock from her wet folds, feeling his seed seeping out after it and lay down on
his side, pulling her close and holding her tight. She trembled with the
aftershocks, and every now and then a quiet moan would escape her lips. His
hand stroked along her sides and down her thighs. He could feel the goosebumps
on her skin.
From the corner of his eye he saw movement, and identified it as a group of
people coming towards them. He groaned and got up. He stood in front of the
platform, arms crossed and eyes glinting. Unsure what to do next, the men
stopped. Geralt saw that they carried shackles and blankets. He raised his
eyebrows, and grabbed one of the blankets before the men could react. Wrapping
it around the girl first, he picked her up in his arms. Then he started for the
exit, not waiting for the others. They followed quickly, however.
The crowd was still cheering when the door closed behind him and the noise was
reduced to a distant roar.
Geralt carried the girl to one of the cots and carefully laid her down. He took
her hand in his, and squeezed lightly. Then he felt a cold hand on his
shoulder, the thumb digging painfully into his wound. He gritted his teeth, and
with a move too fast to see, got up and turned around gripping the hand of the
man in an iron grip, twisting it hard.
Roche yelped and tried to pull his hand away but Geralt wouldn’t let go. He
growled and would have attacked had not one of the guards thrust the butt of
his spear in his stomach. The pain had him gasp, and he stumbled back.
As soon as he felt the grip on his hand loosen, Roche jumped back out of reach.
“Damn you. I told you not to try anything stupid.” he grunted, cradling his
hand. Geralt was pretty sure that he had broken some bones, it was oddly
comforting.
He just stood there, hand pressed to his middle where the shaft had hit him and
glared at Roche.
“I just came to congratulate you on an absolutely riveting show. The crowd
loved it. There were more than a few women who came from just watching you.
Monster killer and considerate lover - you just hit all the right spots
tonight. Just as I thought.” Roche looked him up and down “I say, you are quite
the sight right now, all that sweat and blood.” He licked his lips, as his eyes
traveled down Geralt’s body. The Witcher realized that he was still half hard,
and not all blood that covered him was his or the wyverns. He looked back at
the girl. She clung to her blanket and stared at him. He managed to smile at
her and a warm feeling filled his gut when she smiled back. At least for her it
hadn’t been too bad tonight.
Turning back to Roche he removed all emotion from his voice “So, I did what you
asked. Can I go back to my cell now? With a stop at the baths before,
preferably?”
Roche looked at him with squinted eyes “That is all? No ‘Free the girl’ or
‘Die, Roche, die?’”
With a snort Geralt replied “If you could read my thoughts, you wouldn’t have
asked the second question.”
A small smile played at Roche’s lips at that reply “Take him to the baths - and
then to his cell. And I believe some meat and wine are in order.” He then
locked his gaze into Geralt’s eyes.
“And take her to my quarters.”
End Notes
     There we are. Hopefully not too much OOC.
     Also, I decided to go with the games when it comes to the use of
     swords. Silver works on all monsters, not just vampires, wraiths and
     the like. In the books Geralt would have used the steel sword against
     a draconid, because the silver one is too delicate.
     Looking forward to comments, especially when you found something that
     I could do differently. Just let me know - I'd really like to improve
     my style and storytelling.
     Anyways - thanks for joining me in the cold and dark dungeons. See
     you next time.
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