Chapter Text
Regis sat in the doorway of the mausoleum watching the summer rain pour down over the crumbling gravestones. The smell of petrichor hung in the humid air, enveloping him in a comforting blanket of damp earth and wet grass. Rainwater dripped down the worn stone doorframe and pooled at his feet, it’s quiet pitter-patter echoed through the corridors. Mice scurried around in some hidden corner, squeaking softly.
Regis sighed, watching the boughs of the distant trees sway in the blustery wind, shedding soaked leaves across the cemetery. A particularly harsh gust blew through the door, bringing with it sandy earth and leaf litter. A raven croaked somewhere among the tombstones, taking flight and heading for the swaying branches above.
Dawn had broken only a few hours ago and the sun had just begun to cast its rays above the dense treeline. Geralt wouldn't return for quite some time, not until at least after dusk, Regis thought to himself. Geralt had left some time after midnight in search of the Spotted Wight that Regis’ birds had found. Knowing Geralt, the Witcher would get caught up in something that wasn't any of his business while he was gone, so Regis was in no particular rush to complete his potion.
He had decided to get some fresh air while his barely started brew simmered. It was something he only knew of theoretically, called Sangurium, and it would need to be closely monitored due to the fact that this was his first time making it. It would supposedly sharpen his sense of smell, or at least, it would do that to a human, and most other mammals, so he hoped it would do the same to him. He supposed that at some point he should persuade one of the local ravens to accompany him back inside so he could use it’s blood, though that could wait.
He wasn't at all looking forward to what was to come. If he was honest with himself, he would really rather have found a different way, but there was none he knew of, no safer way at least. Besides, he owed his life to Detlaff, more than his life really, since without him he would not only be functionally dead, but also living his every moment still in that awful twisted purgatory filled with pain and fear and darkness. This was but a small way to begin to pay back that debt, in his opinion. Regis worried that Geralt might not see it his way. The Witcher would definitely try to stop him, to find another way, regardless of what Regis told him. He planned to be beyond the point of no return by the time Geralt got back that evening.
He could hear the telltale sound of the cauldron beginning to boil over somewhere in the depths of the mausoleum. With a final glance out over the cemetery, he rose from his seat on the cracked stone lid of an old tomb and returned to his worktable.
He could still tell it was raining even while he was deep underground. Water dripped through the cracked stone above and ran down the walls in shallow rivulets, pooling on the flagstones below. He moved his cauldron further away from the fire and busied himself with a strainer, also adding fuel to a small burner beneath an extraction still. He was hoping that he could make this potion as potent as possible in the time that he had; the stronger it was the more effective it would be, and hopefully make his ordeal a bit shorter.
No sooner had he poured his concoction from the cauldron, through the strainer, and into the still, the mausoleum door opened with a distant thud in the tunnels above him.
“Regis?” Geralt’s voice echoed down to him. “Regis? You home?”
Regis watched as a clear blue liquid dripped through the condenser and into a vial positioned beneath it. It would have to undergo this process at least another four or five times to be as potent as he needed. As it was now, it would have virtually no effect on him.
He sighed, turning away as Geralt rounded the corner into his home. The Witchers soaked hair clung to his face, and rain water dripped from his armour.
“Good morning.” Regis smiled toothily, stepping away from the workbench as if he wasn’t using it just a moment ago. “You’ve returned sooner than I had expected. Everything went well, I trust?” He led Geralt over to a table with two chairs. The tabletop was littered with alchemy reagents and equipment parts, which Regis quickly tidied away, motioning for Geralt to make himself comfortable.
“More or less, yeah.” Geralt replied, taking a seat. “Spent most of it hidden in a wardrobe.”
“This sounds like an interesting story.” Regis said, joining Geralt at the table.
Geralt recounted his story, explaining how he had lifted the curse on the Wight, only to be attacked by Barghests as soon as he left the manor. He was sporting a deep gash on his arm from the experience. He finished up by admitting that he’d taken the poor woman to his home at Corvo Bianco, to recover in the care of his majordomo.
“It’s perhaps better that you found her, rather than some other knights errant.” Regis mused once Geralt had finished. “I’ve never known you to be the type of person to attempt to solve your problems with your swords first, and only try a different means after.”
“I wonder how our friendship would’ve turned out if I was.” Geralt smiled.
“Yes, I believe silver was your… third approach.” Regis chuckled. “After politely ignoring the issue, and then asking nicely.”
“Then came the resigned acceptance.” Geralt replied. They fell into a comfortable silence, which was only broken when Geralt winced as he reached for his pocket, producing a dark amber glass vial.
“Let me take a look at that.” Regis said, properly taking in the torn, bloodsoaked sleeve between the cuff of Geralt’s glove and edge of his armour. There were vicious looking scratches in the hardened leather of his armour at either side. Judging by their depth it was perhaps a miracle that he got away with such a relatively minor injury.
“It’s nothing.” Geralt waved him away, pressing the vial into Regis' hand instead. “Had much worse. Besides, it's already starting to heal over.”
Regis raised an eyebrow, looking between Geralt’s stalwart expression to the still-damp bloodstain covering his sleeve, unimpressed and thoroughly unconvinced.
“Okay.” Geralt sighed, removing his glove and gingerly rolling up his sleeve. “Sometimes I forget you were a barber-surgeon.” He peeled the shredded cloth from the wound with a wince.
“I still am.” Regis retorted, pulling Geralt’s left arm across the table with a nonchalant aire. “In the last few years it just appears that my clientele has become somewhat reduced, mainly to you and those who associate with you.”
Geralt smiled to himself, remembering all the times that Regis had patched up the Hansa on their travels. He was drawn sharply from his thoughts when something smelling strongly of alcohol and yarrow was poured over his arm. To say that it stung would’ve been an understatement. Geralt tried to put on a brave face, instead focusing on Regis as he frowned and poked at the cut.
“Oho, healing by itself is it?” he shot Geralt a wry smile, tugging at something lodged in Geralt’s arm that had previously gone unnoticed.
After an excruciating moment he pulled out what looked like a broken animal claw.
“Your stubbornness will be the death of you.” Regis sighed, digging around in a leather satchel that rested out of the way on a shelf above the table. He retrieved some clean linen and pressed it firmly against Geralt’s arm, which had begun to bleed again sluggishly.
“Not if I can help it.” Geralt smiled as Regis just rolled his eyes.
“I won’t bother stitching this.” Regis said, winding gauze and then a linen bandage around Geralt’s forearm. “Knowing you, you’d just tear them open straight away.”
Geralt smiled, fully taking in the fact that Regis was back, and here ; right in front of him after so long of believing he was dead. He was filled with a myriad of feelings, none of which he could particularly pick apart from the mass enough to put a name to. Regis glanced over his shoulder at the workbench, checking on his still.
“So, what have you been up to since I left?” Geralt asked with a yawn. “Did you get anywhere with the other ingredient for the resonance?”
Regis sighed, looking down at his hands contemplatively as he scrubbed the remnants of Geralt’s blood from his fingers. He wondered how best to approach the topic, ultimately deciding that honesty was always the best policy.
“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, a concerned frown furrowed his brow. “Whatever it is, I’m sure we can find a solution.”
“It’s rather the solution that concerns me.” Regis looked up from his hands, surprising Geralt with the intensity of his gaze.
“Okay. Start from the beginning?” Geralt suggested, leaning his elbows on the table.
“To use the resonance to summon the memories of one, it must contain the blood of another of the same species.” Regis explained.
“That shouldn't be a problem. I happen to know a higher vampire that should be willing to help. Right, Regis?” Geralt smiled knowingly.
“It's not that simple, I’m afraid.” Regis replied. “While you were away I tried my damndest to find a replacement, but none such exists.”
“I’m... not sure I'm following here.” Geralt interrupted. “Can't we just draw some of your blood?” Regis shook his head as he began his explanation.
“The blood must be in an agitated state. As I'm sure you well know, we higher vampires can change our corporeal forms. As our form changes so does the chemical composition of our blood.” He paused for a moment. “To make a long story short, we will need to induce in me an overwhelming state of psychokinetic arousal. One which stands to be very dangerous.”
Geralt hummed in agreement.
“I remember stygga castle.” He mused. “Is there really no other way to contact Detlaff?”
“None safer than this.” Regis replied resolutely.
“Safer for who?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. “This doesn't seem very safe for either of us.”
“It is far, far safer than any alternative. So much safer in fact that I’ll not consider the others as viable options.” Regis replied firmly.
“You’ve done your research, and you clearly know what youre talking about.” Geralt said. “I trust you, Regis. All I’m saying is the last time you were in that state of mind you got yourself melted.” Geralt sighed. “I’d rather not have to live through that again.”
“Neither would I, my friend.” Regis smiled warmly. “But as far as I am aware, there will be no unhinged sorcerers or princesses in need of rescue. Only you and me.”
“Yeah.” Geralt sighed. “As stupid as this plan seems, it’s the best we’ve got. I'm with you so far, what's next?”
“We shall visit Tesham Mutna, an ancient vampire estate. It was built to contain one of my kind, Khagmar. Shortly after the conjunction, he had developed such a lust for human blood that he could drain an entire village in a night. This brought trouble on the entire species. People weared of living in constant fear, so began to hunt vampires with abandon, sending witchers and mages to track us.” Regis explained.
“So what? Not like they stood a chance.” Geralt interjected.
“But they were bothersome. The other vampires decided that enough was enough, and something had to be done about Khagmar. A torture chamber was outfitted in the dungeons of Tesham Mutna. Inside it they made a cage of silver, dalvinite, and meteorite steel. He was captured and locked inside for over two centuries.”
“Is this a vampire fairy tale?'' Geralt asked curiously, recognising the structure from many of the traditional fairy tales he had encountered.
“It does bear some resemblance to one.” Regis mused. “It's commonly told to children as a cautionary tale, however the key elements and events are very real. Tesham Mutna exists, as does the torture chamber within it.” Geralt nodded and slowly lowered his head into his hands.
“Regis, what the fuck.” Geralt grumbled, muffled by his palms.
“That is my plan, as it stands.” Regis said simply, rising from the table and returning to his workbench. He removed the vial from the condenser and began cleaning the filter in the still so it could be redistilled.
“Don't tell me this is something to do with your plan too?” Geralt asked, gesturing to the apparatus that Regis was fiddling with.
“Yes, I'm afraid so.” Regis replied. “It is Sangurium. It will supposedly sharpen my sense of smell, meaning that a single drop of blood will smell like a gallon.”
“Supposedly?” Geralt asked.
“It's not something I've ever had need of in the past, so I've had no reason to make it or use it.” Regis explained.
“What’s next, Regis?” Geralt sighed, raising his head from his hands. “Perhaps I could go into the nearest village and find you a young virgin to drain?” he shook his head. “Wouldn't that be a task worthy of a Witcher…”
“Animal blood will probably do the job.” Regis replied quietly, not looking up from the still that he was rapidly putting back together.
“My guess was closer than I would’ve liked.” Geralt said. “What do you mean ‘do the job’?”
“Well,” Regis began “if you were to put blood in front of me as I am now, it would take you an awfully long time to get a reaction, if at all.” he smiled, replacing the now empty vial back underneath the condenser. “Time that we neither have to spare, nor that I am willing to suffer through. If however, I was already intoxicated, well, let’s just say that moderation is not something I have ever been overly familiar with.”
“Never has you down as an all-or-nothing kind of guy.” Geralt laughed, giving Regis an appraising look.
“Yes, well, you've never seen me at my all, thankfully.” Regis mused. They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment. Regis retook his seat at the table.
The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting out just enough of its warm amber glow to make the crypt feel almost homey. They had spent many evenings together in Beauclair when the Hansa had wintered there, sitting much like they were now. Geralt could almost see the years fall away from Regis' face as he thought back on those times.
They would sit up together until the early hours of the morning talking about whatever came to mind; philosophy, the past, the future, their friends, their lovers. Perhaps the only person in existence that Geralt had found easier to talk to than Regis was Dandelion, but the bard had spent his every waking moment with the dutchess, so he and Regis had grown close.
“When do you expect we’ll be leaving?” Geralt asked, drawing himself back to the present.
“This will need at least another six hours to brew properly.” Regis said, indicating to the still. “As I said, you returned rather a lot sooner than I had anticipated. I'm afraid you’ll have to wait around a while.”
“Fine by me. Think I'll meditate for a few hours, not had any sleep in far too long.” Geralt said, stifling another yawn.