Chapter 55: THE TRUTH BETWEEN BROTHERS
Geralt knew before we said a word.
His eyes tracked our entrance into the great hall—Yennefer and me, travel-worn and tired, standing closer than we'd stood before we left. The golden irises flickered between us, reading body language the way only a Witcher could.
"Mission report," Vesemir said, oblivious to the undercurrent. "How effective was the misinformation?"
Yennefer took the lead, describing our campaign in clinical detail. Four towns, contradictory stories planted, documents forged, the confusion we'd seeded in Nilfgaard's intelligence network. She mentioned the detection, the escape, the cave—
Her voice didn't change on that last word. But Geralt's jaw tightened.
"We were pursued by a mage," I added. "Nearly caught. The mission was partially successful, but they know someone is actively spreading false information now."
"Still. Confused intelligence is better than accurate intelligence." Vesemir nodded slowly. "We'll discuss follow-up strategies tomorrow. For now, rest. Eat. You've earned it."
The hall began to clear. Ciri rushed forward to hug me, her arms squeezing tight before she pulled back, grinning.
"You came back!"
"I always come back." I ruffled her hair. "How's training?"
"Better. Yennefer's lessons are hard, but I'm getting stronger." She glanced between the three adults, sensing tension she couldn't name. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's fine. Go eat—we'll talk later."
She went, reluctantly. Yennefer excused herself to unpack. I turned to find Geralt watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
"What else happened out there?" His voice was flat.
"I need to talk to you. Alone."
The courtyard was empty in the evening light.
Stars emerged overhead, indifferent to the drama unfolding below. Geralt stood with his back to the fortress wall, arms crossed, waiting.
I'd rehearsed this moment in my head a hundred times during the ride north. None of my preparations felt adequate now.
"Yennefer and I are together now."
The words fell between us like stones.
"It happened on the road. I didn't plan it—neither of us did. But I won't lie about it, and I won't hide it." I met his eyes. "You're my brother, Geralt. You deserved to hear this from me."
Silence.
His face was stone—the same expression he wore when facing monsters. Unreadable. Unreachable.
"The wish," he said finally. "The djinn. It bound us."
"I know."
"Our fates are tied together. That's not something either of us chose."
"No. But she can choose who else enters her life. She chose me." I stepped closer. "Geralt, I know this is complicated. I know you and Yennefer have history that predates me by years. But destiny isn't the same as love. The wish connected you—it didn't dictate what that connection means."
"You're lecturing me about my own relationship."
"I'm trying to explain that I didn't steal her. She's not property to be stolen." My voice hardened slightly. "She made a choice. An adult choice, with full knowledge of the consequences. I respect her enough to believe she knew what she was doing."
Geralt's hands clenched at his sides. Not into fists—not quite—but the tension was visible.
"Nine years," he said. "I've known her for nine years. Loved her for most of them. And you—"
"I've traveled with you for ten. Fought beside you. Bled for you. I'm not some stranger who wandered in and took what was yours." Frustration crept into my voice. "Yennefer isn't a trophy, Geralt. She's a person who wanted something different than what destiny offered her."
He stepped toward me. One step, two. His presence was overwhelming—the barely-contained violence that made Witchers what they were.
"Don't."
The word came from somewhere deep inside me—not just spoken but projected, carrying weight beyond its syllables. Power I hadn't known I possessed flooded my voice.
"Geralt, listen to me."
He froze.
The command hit him like a physical force. I saw his muscles lock, his expression shift from anger to confusion. He was listening—not by choice, but by compulsion.
We stared at each other in mutual shock.
"What—" His voice came rough, struggling against bonds neither of us understood. "What the hell was that?"
I didn't have an answer. The power had come from nowhere, born in the moment of need, and now it pulsed through me like a second heartbeat.
Voice of Command, some part of my mind whispered. You can compel people to hear you.
"I don't know." My voice shook as I continued. "I didn't know I could do that. Geralt, I swear—I would never hurt you. Either of you. You're my brother."
The compulsion faded. I felt it release him, whatever had held him in place dissolving back into nothing.
Geralt stumbled slightly, steadied himself against the wall. His eyes when they found mine held something new—not just anger, but wariness. The wariness of a monster hunter facing something unknown.
"What the hell are you?"
The question hung between us as Yennefer emerged from the fortress.
She'd sensed the magic—of course she had. Her violet eyes swept from Geralt to me, cataloguing data, forming hypotheses.
"Something happened."
"Yeah." Geralt's voice was rough. "Your new lover just compelled me with his voice."
"He what?"
I held up my hands. "I didn't mean to. It just—happened. When he was coming toward me, I told him to listen, and—"
"Voice of Command," Yennefer said slowly. "I've read about it. Old magic, the kind that predates chaos. Elven courts used it, once."
"Elven magic." Geralt's laugh was bitter. "He's not an elf."
"No. But his powers don't follow any pattern I've studied." She moved closer, examining me with that predatory curiosity I'd first encountered in Rinde. "This is new. You didn't have this before."
"I didn't know I had it at all until thirty seconds ago."
Vesemir appeared in the courtyard entrance. The old Witcher took in the scene—Geralt's tension, Yennefer's intensity, my obvious distress—and approached carefully.
"What happened?"
"Jackier manifested a new ability," Yennefer said. "Voice of Command. He accidentally used it on Geralt."
Vesemir's expression darkened. "Show me."
"I don't know how to control it yet. It just—came out."
"Then we need to learn what it can do." The old Witcher's voice was practical. "Before it causes more problems."
I looked at Geralt. He hadn't moved from the wall, arms crossed, expression closed.
"I'm sorry." The words felt inadequate. "For all of it. The power, the relationship, springing everything on you at once. I should have—"
"Stop." Not a command—just Geralt's voice, tired. "Just... stop for now. I need to think."
He walked away. Into the fortress, out of sight.
Yennefer's hand found mine. Squeezed once.
"He'll come around," she said quietly. "He always does."
"Will he? I just compelled him to listen to me. Against his will. After confessing that I'm with you now." I pulled free of her grip. "That's a lot to process."
"It is." She didn't argue. "But Geralt understands complicated better than most. Give him time."
I looked up at the stars—indifferent, beautiful, utterly unhelpful.
"What the hell am I becoming, Yennefer?"
She didn't answer. Neither of us had an answer.
But somewhere inside me, the new power pulsed, waiting to be understood.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0