Chapter Text
The thing about hacking your way into having free will is that it can result in poor impulse control. Which results in fucking terrible decisions. As soon as I flung myself out the window I knew it was a fucking terrible decision. If Yennefer was really going to try to enslave me against my will, I could’ve burned her brain like I did Raelyn and fought my way out of the keep. If not, then it was in my best interest to at least listen to what they had to say.
But no, I’m stuck climbing down the outside of the tower because I’d feel even more stupid climbing back up. Which is why when I’m accosted by an adolescent sparking an intense aura of white energy, I stop and listen.
Ciri is completely fearless, which is terrifying, and also apparently the daughter of the White Wolf? Who is allowed to accost a dangerous murderbot trying to escape? Humans are the fucking worst at security. I’m flabbergasted when she defends me from her father, and I decide it’s worth trying to figure out a way to make this Oath of Fealty shit work.
The oath does end up involving a change to my program, but only to the code in one of the decision tree subroutines. It shouldn’t alter any action I’d normally take anyway, and also seems pretty easy to hack if necessary. Worst case, I get portaled to a far away desert. So with that over and done, I’m now officially a resident of Kaer Morhen.
It’s hardly a surprise that most people in Kaer Morhen don’t like me. I don’t even like me, so why should anyone else? What surprises me is the reason for their dislike. I’m used to people not liking me because I’m a terrifying murderbot. I’m not used to people not liking me because I’m boring.
Most of the residents of Kaer Morhen (in other words, the Witchers) have always been the most dangerous people in the room, and the fact that I don’t fight (or fuck, or drink) makes me boring to them. I also don’t sing, or bake bread, or any of the other things Witchers find useful in the non-enhanced humans that live here. I’m tolerated because the mages say they need me, but I’m otherwise ignored mostly because the Witchers think I’m no threat (and therefore boring).
The only person who really understands how dangerous I am is Yennefer, but that’s okay because she’s almost as terrifying as I am. Plus she is one of the few who seems to like me. She likes my drones even more.
Once we get this illusion taken care of, I want to work on making some drones that can work on magic.
We’re in the hot springs. Not together, just there at the same time. I’m laying at the bottom of the hottest pool, the one only Witchers (and me) use. She’s sitting with a crowd of people in the cooler pool the non-enhanced humans and some Witchers use. She has no problem carrying on a silent conversation with me on my feed at the same time she chats out loud with the others, most of whom have no idea I’m down here.
I always wait for the hot springs to be empty before I come here to recharge, and then wait for them to empty again before I climb out. All this fuss is worth it, because I can use the geothermal energy to help charge my batteries, and my body absorbs the heavy-mineral water as a fair substitute for my recharge fluid, leaving me operating at peak efficiency.
I’ve stationed a couple of drones in here to keep watch, and also to continually monitor conversations just in case someone is plotting against Geralt or Ciri. The drones are stationary, hidden up high in natural crevices in the cavern, and collect information passively. (I learned my lesson with Algrid snatching my drone during my first encounter with a Witcher). I install key word alerts that trigger my immediate attention, and I also download the entire recordings daily. My old data mining program from the company is helpful in checking for suspicious information. (So far most of the conversations have been focused on romantic gossip, which I delete immediately). Other drones are stationed in hiding places in the dining hall, kitchens, council room, library, practice grounds, and stable, while the rest are on a wide patrol outside the keep.
Yennefer is aware of all the drones and can monitor their input directly through her magic (although not simultaneously the way I can). We’ve both decided not to bother Geralt with them. He can be too honorable for his own good sometimes.
In any case, I’m always in favor of controlling more drones, whether they’re powered by science or magic. (I don’t understand how either one works, so it doesn’t matter to me). I can’t help her with the flying around function - I’m no engineer - but I’m a practical expert in the security programming required to direct the drones.
It’s not something I can explain in words, so I switch to showing her in pictures and concepts, the way I would talk with a bot. (She’s a lot slower than a bot, but still has impressive processing capability for someone relying completely on organic tissue.) While most of her attention is on working through the information I just dumped on her, I start up one of my few remaining unwatched media programs, suppressing a shudder at the thought that when these programs are gone, I will have nothing new to watch.
Are you okay, SecUnit? Ciri’s contribution to the feed is a surprise. I knew she was there, but she can’t multitask like Yennefer can and I had assumed she was focused on the speaking conversations.
I’m fine. (I am not fine. Media is the one thing that can always keep me calm. It’s the main reason I didn’t go on a murder spree when I first hacked my governing unit. And if we are successful in masking this planet from corporate ships, I will never be able to download new media again).
There are such things as books, you know. Yennefer’s feed echoes the habitual snark of her speaking voice. But underneath the snark is a layer of concern. Yennefer understands the need to always be in control, because if you lose it, everyone around you is dead.
I do take comfort in the fact that if I someday start acting like a stereotypical rogue unit, she won’t hesitate to put me down. (I’d do the same for her).
I’ve read all the books in Kaer Morhen, I reply. Which isn’t exactly true. I’ve scanned all the text into my memory, but there’s still a significant percentage I haven’t processed yet. But most of the books are about killing monsters. Which, what the fuck? I was happy thinking that the monsters were just mythical, until a party of Witchers carried in a wyvern corpse off the mountain. Wyverns are apparently are NOT dragons, but dragons do exist here. And breathe fire. And aren’t even the worst monsters out there.
In any case, most of the books in Kaer Morhen are useful but not very calming.
There are also live performances, Yennefer adds.
Jaskier can only sing so much each day, I respond.
Jaskier actually sings constantly. It’s mostly subvocalized, but the Witchers and I can hear it. I’ve always appreciated the human ability to make new media out of nothing, but Jaskier is the first one I’ve observed up close doing it. It’s very impressive. I’m glad I mastered the skill of cooling my internal temperature, changing my scent, and slowing my heartbeat and breathing until I become essentially invisible to a Witcher’s senses. It’s nice to be able to observe Jaskier’s performances in the great hall undisturbed.
There are better libraries in the world than Kaer Morhen’s, and a lot more performers than Jaskier. You could go to Oxenfurt, for example. Even you would have a hard time absorbing all the stories and songs to be found at the university.
I frown. Oxenfurt is the place where Jaskier, Eskel, and Milena were kidnapped. It upset me to learn how easily the three had been whisked through an enemy’s portal. I automatically check the security coding around Kaer Morhen that guards against unauthorized portals, testing for weaknesses.
The protective spells are fine, Yennefer admonishes. And we won’t be making the same mistake of trusting another’s security measures again. But if you were to go to Oxenfurt, you could double check that the Witchers did in fact unearth all of those who betrayed us.
Humph. Yennefer knows me (and my crippling paranoia) way too well.
I’ll think about it. After we get this protective illusion in place.
It’s only a few days later that the illusion successfully snaps into place, and my personal paranoia sets in. Will there really still be a place for me here, now that my primary job is done? Once again, Yennefer senses more than I’d like her to.
“Never fear, SecUnit, there’s plenty of work for you for as long as you want to do it. And I’m particularly interested in learning more about the people from your world. The non-hostile ones.”
Thus starts our weekly viewings of my stash of programs. I’m reminded of ART, who needed to see my reactions to a story to properly process the emotional context. Watching shows with Ciri and Yennefer makes the shows seem brand new again. They marvel at the most basic things like instant food preparation, multiple partner marriages, uterine replicators, and self-opening doors. When Geralt, Jaskier and the rest of the council join us, I start the programs over, and I have to plan for time to answer questions.
Sometimes they even listen to what I say. Then again, sometimes they don't.
“There’s a good chance this is a trap. A request for help is just about the only way of getting at the White Wolf.” If I were trying to kill Geralt, that’s how I would do it. Arrange a crisis to get him out of Kaer Morhen.
“The letter looks genuine,” says Yennefer. “I recognize Hoog’s handwriting.”
“And if he does intend it to be a trap, we can portal some distance away and scout ahead. We should go to Mahakam as a scouting expedition, to see what’s truly happening. If Hoog is telling the truth, then Vizima,” says Geralt, and that’s the end of discussion.
After the council meeting, I try one more time to talk to Geralt, with only Jaskier and Eskel in the room. “At the very least, wait for your men to scout ahead before heading in. If this is a trap, you’re the target. Without you, this whole place falls apart.”
Jaskier looks like he might be in agreement with me, but Geralt’s shaking his head. “It’s important for the men to see me out front. Yennefer will be on guard for magical attacks, and with Eskel fighting by my side I’ll be safe enough from armed men. I’ll be fine.”
Humans really do suck at security. They always have to do things the fucking hardest way. I recognize all the signs of a human determined to do his best to get killed. I sigh and give up the argument. My primary client is Ciri, after all.
So the next morning, it’s her I’m standing beside on the steps to the keep, with thirty-five Witchers between us and Geralt and Eskel. Yennefer opens the portal, with a boost from me, and the sorceress Lytta is standing there, smiling. A shimmer of red-orange magic is protecting her tower room.
The magic protections seem unusually dense, and I tense up as Geralt and Eskel pass through the portal. The veil drops, revealing ten crossbowmen, weapons all aimed at Geralt.
I fucking knew it.
I explode off the steps at my full speed, and leap high into the air. I can’t quite clear the rows of Witchers, which have started moving forward. I land on the shoulder of one of the lead Witchers, wincing as I hear his collarbone crack. Three days healing for a typical Witcher, versus potentially fatal damage to Geralt from ten crossbow bolts, plus the fact the Witcher in question would willingly die for the White Wolf, acceptable tradeoff in harm done, whispers the code of my oath.
A sonic blast pushes me forward through the portal. That’s Ciri, Ciri is screaming, and releasing a magical wave of energy, but my drone shows she is okay, held in Jaskier’s arms. She’s just upset about her father, who is about to be the target of ten very sharp projectiles. No, nine, not ten. There’s one crossbowman who is not firing, his face twisted with some strong emotion as he points his bow towards the ground. But the others have already fired, it’s too late for me to stop them. If I had all my drones here I might’ve been able to do it, send them straight through unprotected eyes into their brains, but most of my drones are still in the keep. I really need to start working with Yennefer on trying to make more.
Nothing to do but address the bolts themselves, I shove Geralt out of their path but don’t have time to dodge myself. I’m positioned with my right side to the crossbowmen so that’s the side that’s struck. One bolt goes through my right cheek, another becomes stuck in my shoulder joint, three pierce the organic parts of my side, and the rest bounce off my metal parts.
Damn, I really wish I had my armor. Or at least my helmet. The crossbow bolt that’s currently stuck through my cheek is very annoying. I hear a roar of anger and for a split second I worry that it’s a second betrayal as Witchers surge forward with their weapons drawn, but their targets are the unfaithful sorceress and the crossbowmen.
Including the crossbowman who never fired his weapon, and who has now thrown it to the ground and is preparing to raise his hands in surrender. And here’s Coën, his sword is already swinging at the now-unarmed enemy, and I grab his wrist with my left hand (my right is not cooperating thanks to the crossbow bolt stuck in my shoulder) and squeeze a nerve bundle that makes him drop his sword. I let go of his hand and grab the sword as it falls, ignoring his look of astonishment. I stand in front of the unarmed crossbowman, ready to parry any sword strokes from other Witchers if they seek to kill him. The crossbowman drops to his knees, his hands now up in the air.
His fellow crossbowmen are already dead, and the sorceress Lytta is on the ground with a gut wound that she’s unlikely to survive without immediate attention from a MedUnit. Coën has his sliver sword out now, plus a dagger, but he’s focused on me. I counter the sword stroke aimed at me. I could kick out his knee or fire the energy weapons in my forearms to stop him from attacking me with the dagger, but that would harm him. Potentially several days healing for Coën versus four hours healing for me, plus I will still be operating at 76% efficiency, not an acceptable tradeoff in harm done, whispers the code of my oath.
Yeah, yeah, that’s what SecUnits are for, to take damage so humans don’t have to. I allow his knife to stab my abdomen. Of course it hits my most vulnerable spot, sliding between the metal plates of my upper and lower torso.
Coën does look horrified after stabbing me, so maybe he didn’t really mean to. Human reflexes, even Witcher-enhanced human reflexes, are so slow.
“HALT!” bellows Geralt, and all the Witchers immediately freeze. Coën sheathes his silver sword, and I offer him his steel sword, hilt first. Its blade is clean, so he sheathes that as well, and then looks down at his dagger, which is wet with my blood and other fluids, and grimaces.
Triss’s voice echoes down my feed. You’re hurt! Do you need healing?
She’s kneeling next to the downed sorcessess, projecting a blue energy field around her that seems to have stopped the bleeding.
No, I’ll be fine. Stay focused on the sorceress. Lock her down and get her into the keep. We may need her to help us figure out who else is involved in this betrayal.
“What exactly is the meaning of this?” Geralt asks me and Coën.
I can’t speak because of the fucking crossbow bolt through my cheek, so I bite down on it and snap off the end that’s poking out. I then reach inside my mouth to pull it through the rest of the way without doing more damage to my organic parts. I have to unhinge my jaw to do this, which based on Geralt and Coën’s expressions, looks just as disturbing as it sounds.
I order my body to reprioritize the healing from the stab wound to my cheek, so the hole begins to quickly close. I spit out a mouthful of blood and other fluids (disgusting) and clear my throat.
“This one,” I say, gesturing to the not-dead crossbowman, “Never shot his weapon, and he surrendered immediately. Figured he deserved to live.”
The man in question is crying now, and looks very young. I’m shit at figuring out human ages, but he doesn’t seem that many years older than Ciri. He certainly doesn’t look like he poses any risk to Kaer Morhen.
Coën looks at the pitiful sight, and then down at his bloody dagger, and there’s a tremor to his voice. “White Wolf, I’ve made a grave mistake, and let the heat of the battle overcome my sense of honor. My most sincere apologies to you, Chief Security Advisor Sehkunet, and my thanks to you for stopping me from making a worse error. I offer myself up to whatever punishment you deem necessary.”
Oh for fuck’s sake. I ignore the novelty of receiving an apology in favor of heading off the entirely unnecessary loss of an experienced Witcher. “Don’t worry about it, these things happen. I’ll be fine in a few hours. If you want to make it up to me, you can help me get this fucking crossbow bolt arrow out of my shoulder.”
The other arrows that had pierced my side have already been pushed out of my body and are hanging loose with their points inside my tunic. I pull them out, ignoring the ripping sounds. The tunic is a lost cause anyway.
Geralt speaks up. “We can sort this out back in Kaer Morhen. Ealdred and Cormac, take the boy into custody. Make sure he is treated with respect. Coën, help SecUnit with his wounds. We’ll discuss this incident later once we know more about what’s happened. Everyone, back through the portal.”
There’s a murmur of White Wolf and we all tramp back through the portal to Kaer Morhen. As soon as we’re through, Jaskier, who is still at the top of the steps holding Ciri, lets her go. She sprints through the crowd of Witchers to her father, hugging him tight, her eyes squeezed shut.
“Shhh,” he says, petting her hair, “I’m unhurt. Thanks to your friend."
Ciri opens her eyes, which are luminous with unshed tears. “Thank you, SecUnit. Thank you for saving my papa.”
I’m not equipped to cry; the liquid in my eyes is purely for lubrication. Lytta’s tower must’ve been dustier than Kaer Morhen. “I was just doing my job,” I say, and then head into the keep, Coën at my heels.
We go to the hot springs for my surgery. I want a nice long soak once I get this fucking crossbow bolt out of my shoulder. Coën cuts away the cloth of my tunic, and then examines the injury.
“Do you need something for the pain?” he asks. “I’m going to have to cut deep.”
“No, I’ve turned down my pain sensors. Potions wouldn’t work on me anyway.”
He hums in acknowledgement and swiftly cuts into my shoulder. There’s little bleeding; my blood vessels immediately seal off when cut. He has to wiggle the bolt to get it loose from the metal joint in my shoulder. Once it’s out, the organic parts start healing again.
Coën watches in fascination for a moment before speaking again. “I’m glad you are not going to take any permanent injury, but I am still ashamed of my role in your hurts. Thank you for speaking up for me, but I am truly in the wrong.”
I sigh. “Seriously, these things happen. You are not the first client to accidentally damage me. Just try to do better in the future. I’m going to soak now.”
Before he can reply, I remove my knife belt and jump into the hottest pool. I sink to the bottom and lie down in the deepest part. The spells that keeps the pools clean swirl around me, whisking away the blood. My body goes into standby mode while it heals.
I can easily stay like this for hours, which is good because I don’t want to come up. Yennefer occasionally taps my feed to give me updates.
Lytta and the crossbowman talked. They were working for Henselt of Temeria. We’ve given the crossbowman sanctuary until we’re finished with Temeria.
Is this the point I get to say ‘I told you so’? I reply.
Fuck you.
Never going to happen.
I feel her amusement over the feed. An hour later, she reports back after portaling half the Witcher army into Temeria, with Geralt behind a line of the largest and best-armored warriors. Well, that’s fucking something. At least he’s not charging directly into what may very well be another trap. I should get out of the water to help, I know. My function is already back to 92%. But I don’t want to. I’m too exposed now. Everyone saw (part of) what I can do, and things are going to be different now. I had just got used to my role here and now everything is going to change.
I’m not sure what would be worse, if they get excited about my abilities and want to use them, or if they get scared of my abilities and want me to go away. Or worse, if they want to keep me away from Ciri. It feels good to stay down here instead, quiet and warm. I watch my favorite media and monitor the near-empty keep through my drones (it would be an ideal time for an ambush, with half the warriors gone). It all stays quiet. A few hours pass, and I’m running low on oxygen. I’ll either need to get out or hibernate.
It’s done. There’s a new ruler in Temeria. Geralt wants to see you in his study as soon as you've finished healing.
I’ve long finished healing. I need to get out; my drones reveal a group of witchers on their way to the springs. I’m not in the usual fast-drying outfit that Aniela made for me to bathe in but I figure after the day I’ve had everyone can put up with some puddles in the hallways.
Except that it’s not going to be “everyone” who deals with the puddles, it’s going to the human servants, who do all the tasks that would normally be assigned a low-level bot. I sigh and quickly strip out of the sopping wet clothes, and place them in the basket for washing and mending. I dry off, put on one of the communal robes and grab my knife belt, just in time to run into the herd of excited witchers coming to bathe.
They immediately go quiet when they spot me, and one nods his head. “Chief Security Advisor,” he respectfully murmurs, and the others echo him.
It’s weird. It’s too weird. I make myself nod back and head for the exit, with the crowd of witchers opening up to let me go by. I go to my room and change. I put on my original clothes, the ones I was wearing when SurveyShip was forced to land. Aniela used them as a pattern to make new outfits for me, ones that frankly fit me better, and are an even darker shade of black than the originals. But if I end up leaving for one reason or another, it feels right to wear the same outfit I came in on. (Plus my knife belt, of course. I”m not giving that up.)
No further delays. I head to Geralt’s study. Jaskier and Ciri are there with him, sitting by the fire. Jaskier is singing to himself, subvocally. I catch the line “bones of steel, heart of gold” before he stops and smiles at me. Ciri is smiling as well. Geralt is not smiling, but then he never does, except at Ciri and Jaskier and sometimes Eskel. At least he’s not glaring.
“Welcome, SecUnit!” says Jaskier. “We wanted Eskel here too, but he’s busy making sure everyone recognizes the new King of Temeria. I had suggested we wait to do this in the hall, in front of everyone, but Ciri convinced us that you’d prefer a more private event.”
I knew you’d hate everyone watching you.
She’s not wrong. I’m not thrilled with three sets of eyes on me, but better than hundreds.
“Have you truly recovered from your wounds?” asks Geralt.
I nod.
“Hmm,” says Geralt. “It seems that there is more to you than meets the eye. Jaskier tells me you leapt over six rows of Witchers, and then disarmed Coën with one hand after being pierced with a half dozen crossbow bolts?”
I don’t say anything. He’s not really asking a question, I don't have to answer. I don’t have to answer even if he is asking a question. That’s the whole point of being a rogue SecUnit. I can choose what to say and when to say it. I stare at the stone wall instead.
The silence stretches out. Even Jaskier is quiet, not even subvocalizing. They may be waiting for me to say something. They’ll have to learn to wait a long time, then. Standing silently is my main skill. I could do it for days. I have done it for days.
“I understand, SecUnit, why you did not reveal your abilities,” Geralt finally says. “I remember the promise I made to you. I meant it, but I understand it’s hard to trust.”
The promise he made was to never order me to kill. And yeah, it is hard to trust him to keep that promise when he discovers he has such a powerful weapon working for him. I stay silent, still staring at the wall.
“I wanted to thank you, for exposing your secrets to save me, and I want to assure you I will not take advantage of this information.”
I relax a little with this reassurance. Doesn’t mean he won’t change his mind later, but at least I’m not forced to make an impossible decision now.
“I didn’t expose all my secrets,” I say, just to clear the air. Or at least leave a marker in case the next revelation doesn’t go as well.
“I don't need to know them, as long as you are not going to use them against Kaer Morhen.”
I don’t say anything. I already gave my oath. No need to repeat it.
“There is only one thing that I ask. Speaking not as a warlord, or a Witcher, but as a father. If anyone were to threaten Ciri. . .”
My eyes snap to his, and my face does something. I look at Ciri, young and fearless, and picture someone holding a weapon on her. Someone threatening this person who always sticks up for me, who has tried so hard to make me feel comfortable in this primitive pile of stones. This person who fiercely calls me friend even when I am not in the room with her.
“They will be dead before they can finish talking,” I say.
Geralt smiles at me then, just a little. “Thank you.”
“Alright then!” breaks in Jaskier. “I could not agree more with this sentiment, but enough of all this grim talk about killing and such. We asked you here for a more cheerful reason. Ciri?”
She takes a deep breath, and picks up a box off the fireplace mantle. “SecUnit, I’m not sure how you will feel about this, and I want you to know that you can freely reject this, with no ill will. But I wanted to give you a token of appreciation for your saving Papa. It truly means the world to me, and I wanted to offer you this.”
She opens the box. Inside is a silver medallion, on a chain, with a snarling wolf figure.
I don’t like symbols, or logos, or trademarks. I have the logo of the company that first owned me etched on body parts I can never remove. But this feels different.
“And what will it mean, if I accept it?” I ask.
“It means you’re family,” says Ciri firmly. “Part of our Wolf family, with me, and Papa, and Jaskier, and Eskel, and Yennefer, and Triss, and all the others that wear the Wolf medallion.”
Family. It’s pretty much a theoretical concept to me, gleaned from the programs I’ve watched. I know those programs are unrealistic, but it still sounds like something that might be worth a try.
“Okay,” I say, and Ciri’s smile glows.
She lifts the chain with the medallion out of the box, and holds it up as high as she can. I bow so she can loop it over my head. It’s very light, I hardly notice the weight. Until the medallion hits my chest, and my heart gives an extra beat.
“It looks very fitting,” says Jaskier with a smile, and Geralt hums in agreement.
“Thank you,” I say. “I better go patrol the keep. I’m overdue.”
At Geralt’s nod of dismissal, I hurry out of the room and head for the least populated part of the keep, the medallion on my chest feeling like a beacon.
Welcome to the family. Yennefer’s voice over my feed sounds both genuine and amused.
You knew about this?
Of course. Ciri and I had the medallion made for you weeks ago. We were just waiting for a time you might feel comfortable accepting it.
Seriously? You’ve been plotting behind my back the whole time?
That’s what family is for.
I’m not sure if she’s right about that. I guess I’ll be finding out.
~Fin~