Chapter Text
Peace at last. Thought the Witcher, as the fingers of his left hand scraped against his lover’s scalp, sinking in the silky softness of her luscious black locks. She hummed against his chest at the action, urging him to continue. Her soft breath tickled and soothed him. He scratched her head for a time, happy to feel her limbs loosen against his side, to feel the vibrations of her satisfaction above his heart. It was an honorable thing, getting Yennefer of Vengerberg to make these sounds. He is never so proud of himself as when she melts into a warm puddle in his arms, but not exclusively there. He only stopped when her moans threatened to become louder.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” She asked, her smile pressed to his ribs, eyes glinting behind half closed lids as she propped herself up on both arms to look at him.
“Mainly the temple of Meliteli.” Geralt confessed, his smile was evident in his voice. He made an effort not to think of the novice with whom he had discovered the perfect use for his calloused hands. It would be a shame to spoil a lovely moment with jealousy over a dead woman. Especially when there was a shortage of lovely moments in the days following Yarpen’s visit, and his twice cursed suggestion.
“I heard that.” She told him, her eyes were properly open now, something flashed through them, but whatever it was, it vanished too quickly for him to discern. Her elbows, which had held her weight, relaxed without warning, and she fell back against his chest, knocking the breath out of his lungs, and pulling an agonized groan out of the Witcher, who wanted to see if she would feel any remorse or at least pity for him.
“You cruel wench.” He gasped in pain, wrapping his arms around her and rolling to the side, pretending to be injured, but dragging her with him. Through it all, Yennefer giggled, forgetting her caution and the babe she spent half an hour rocking to get to sleep.
“And here I thought you knew by now, not to think of other women while in my bed.” Her reproach was playful, the pinch to his nose was too light to hurt, but he got the idea. Wanting to take things further, and hopefully, skip the subject with minimum consequences, Geralt dipped to kiss her. Yennefer responded, of course, but only once. After the first kiss she pushed him away, and onto his back, and he knew that, whatever she wanted him focused for, would be a tenfold duller business than the least of what he wished to do with her in that particular moment.
“I’m all ears.” He knew she would frown at his annoyance. Especially after how she gracefully dismissed my slip.
“Listen and understand, then.” That tone of hers couldn’t be good news. Dragging him to sit up opposite her also could not be good news. “We will attend the festival.” Her voice said there was no room for argument. Geralt sighed, feeling his patience, which was worn thin by arguing with Ciri, threaten to snap. She of all people should want to stay hidden. The thought was an exasperated scream under his thick skull.“I thought we were on the same page for once.” Geralt was smarter than giving in to anger, at least when his opponent was Yennefer, since he knew hers was capable of burning his to a crisp. The Witcher no longer wished to fight. He was exhausted. His heart wouldn’t bear another conflict with her, not when he still felt like he only just got her back. Were it up to me- well, a lot would have been different, wouldn’t it. But then nothing good comes from wishing while sitting on one’s arse. He moved, then. His hand came up to cup her face, pull her back to him, and hopefully resume what was unjustly cut short, but Yennefer took his hand gently, and held it in both of hers, above her folded knees. “We are on the same page, despite what appearances may suggest. I will remind you, dearest, that we both care deeply about the welfare of our children.” Her talent with words was a dangerous thing. Geralt found himself equally annoyed and aroused. Her plan was working. “Ciri gave up, today.” She informed him, not lightly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, she surrendered, promised to stop pestering you about Belleteyn, and apologized for being an ungrateful brat.”
“She said all of that to you? When?”
“We have our brushing sessions,” she said dismissively, “that is not remotely related to the point. She’s starting to feel like a burden, Geralt.”
Geralt was no longer annoyed, or aroused. The frown on his face was a sufficient expression of his feelings, Yennefer didn’t have to dig deep.
“She thinks I grew tired of her.”
“Precisely. She’s smart beyond her years, yes, but you forget that deep inside she’s still a frightened orphan.”
His brave girl, scared of being abandoned. The devil take me.
“It can take you after you fix this. I don’t want to smell a whiff of despair on her when I wake up tomorrow.”
Now the spark was lit again. Her protectiveness never failed to get that reaction from him, but when she crawled to her side of the bed, and lay with her back to him after searing him with a glare, Geralt knew there will be nothing for him until after Belleteyn. A pox on it.
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Yennefer woke up from a beautiful dream, only to realize then that it was heavily influenced by reality. Her children were indeed laughing, and cackling somewhere beyond the door of her bedroom, and she had a feeling her witcher was elbows deep in something utterly idiotic to get responses that intense.
She didn’t rush through her morning routine, taking her time to watsh the crusts out of her lashes, and carefully picking something to wear. She left the room only when she was ready, and saw for herself what was so amusing.
Fen was wielding a sword. A neat thing, carved and polished from one piece of wood, light enough for the boy to lift, and with a round tip that posed no threat. Yennefer couldn’t help the smile at the mindfulness behind that toy. At the similarities between it and the real thing it was modeled after. Her heart swelled she thought it might burst, but then the whole scene unfolded, and it took a great deal of control for her to stay composed.
Her baby was sitting in his washbasin, the one Geralt often used to keep him stationary. Ciri was standing behind him, occasionally straightening the soup bowl on his head, when she wasn’t shaking with laughter, and in front of him, with his back to her, knelt the witcher. He occasionally growled and snarled, lifting his hands above his head and bending his fingers to mock claws. Every time he made a sound he was whacked with the sword, and every time he was whacked Ciri laughed, which in turn made Fen laugh, with his head leaning back, and only the bucket keeping him from falling.
There wasn’t something she wished to hear more of than his laughter, but every whack made her heart clench, and she wouldn’t want him getting used to hitting others for fun. Geralt didn’t turn to acknowledge her, but she knew he was aware of her presence. They’d have to discuss this game later, but for now, she was content to just swipe up her squealing boy and shower him with kisses while she pried the sword from his vise-like grip without him noticing. She passed the stick to Geralt who sighed with relief and rose to his feet, going to hide it between the many folded blankets in the nearest cupboard.
“Killjoy.” Grumbled Ciri, folding her arms and puffing on a loose strand which dangled over her eye.
“Good morning to you too Ciri.” Said Yennefer.
“It was good actually!” The girl’s tone changed dramatically. “We’re going to go to the festival! Did Geralt tell you!”
“I don’t know, dearest, did you?” The mage glanced at her witcher only to find on his face a smirk mirroring her own.
“Oh, of course you knew.” Scoffed Ciri. “Wouldn’t be a surprise if you were the one who made him change his mind.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. But I do know where you could get a dress for tonight.”
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Should’ve never agreed to any of this. Thought Geralt, shaving off a twig with a short blade he spent all afternoon sharpening. He was ready within a moment, has been ready since the morning. On him hung the black shirt which he’d washed the night prior, and his usual black britches. Nothing more was needed, not for him. Belleteyn was a celebration of many things of which he was bereft. And so was Yennefer, for that matter. Once, she had told him it was the biggest of all mockeries for them to join the cheerful folks around the bonfire, but that didn’t stop them from celebrating the occasion somewhere discreet, on a far hilltop, under the cover of darkness and behind the shelter of a juniper.
It was after the mountain. After they parted with only bitterness in their hearts. Yennefer had assured him that it meant nothing, but she wept beneath him that night. Come morning she was dressed and ready to take off, but not before giving him a sincere warning. ‘Fell times are ahead of us, witcher. Very fell. Ride to Cintra before it’s too late.’ With that she vanished into the maws of a shimmering portal, leaving him to collect himself up from the ground and make a decision.
He couldn’t understand her eagerness to attend a similar festival this time, but it was evident. She had turned a few black yards of glimmering fabric blue, ripped the translucent layer of one of her skirts, turned it the same color and enchanted a needle to sow something for Ciri to wear. She beamed the whole time, glanced at the process impatiently, enchanted a second needle, then went on to fit something for Fen. It wasn’t until Geralt began hindering her, as she’d put it, that she moved her operation into Ciri’s room.
He worried. For the first time in his life, the witcher knew true fear, now that he had something to lose. Ciri was a girl, not a pet, as Yennefer had angrily told him. She came from a lively palace, from a life of banquets and balls, and now the farthest she went were the recess where she exercised and the lake where she trained. The only faces she saw were theirs. It was slow suicide. She told him. And he understood how a life like this could suffocate someone like Ciri, but he also knew they could easily be sniffed out if they set foot outside it. No matter. What was done was done. There were a few things he had to make clear before they left, then it would be up to him to bring them all back in one piece, and he’ll have the entirety of tomorrow for himself. That was the deal. He would have no responsibilities the next day, and Yennefer promised to make it worth it later.
“It’s getting late.” Said Geralt, looking out of the window. His hands stilled, he tossed the remains of the twig into the pile of wood shaving and formed a gesture with his hand, turning the mess to ash.
No answer came from behind the door, but soon emerged Ciri, bouncing on her feet, clearly pleased with her dress.
“What do you think?” She asked, almost nervously.
“It’s lovely, but before we go, there are a few things we have to establish…” Stated the witcher. What he wanted to say was lost when Yennefer walked through the door, clad in the black dress she wore in Rinde when they first met. She filled it better than before, the fabric hugging her every curve like a second skin. The winter months have been harsh, yes, but they had a wonderful effect on her. In all of the years he’d known her, she never looked this healthy. On her hip she balanced Fen, dressed in a red cotte over a linen shirt. His chubby feet were warm inside a pair of woolen socks, and the sword that was confiscated earlier hung from a woven belt about his waist.
Geralt wanted to call off the evening and spend the rest of the night kneeling at the feet of whichever god thought him worthy of such grace. He was ready to burn a dozen candles for Meliteli, slaughter a buck and hand out every last ounce of its meat to the unfortunate. But Yennefer had other thoughts.
“You were saying, dearest?” Her melodious voice brought him back.
Geralt shook his head, reviving his brain, and squinted to remember what he was saying. He cleared his throat. “Huh, what was I saying… ah, yes,” he cleared his throat again. “ there will be no shagging tonight .” He announced. Ciri groaned. “Spare yourself the trouble, old man. Yennefer has already given me the talk.”
Old man.
Yennefer giggled and walked over to his seat to kiss his temple.
_____________
Ciri was to be closely watched the entire night. Geralt had expected an argument to ensue, but was surprised pleasantly when she nodded, and walked ahead of him toward the light of the bonfires. Yennefer remained close, walking in comfortable silence beside him while Fen slumbered on her shoulder. The boy twitched, turned his head to the other side, and continued to sleep. The approaching music and cheer didn’t seem to bother him much.
“You look beautiful tonight.” He confessed, leaning to kiss her shoulder.
“You’ve already made that clear, and quite more.” She smirked. He scowled.
“You know I hate it when you read my mind.” The frustration in his tone made her laugh, and bump into his side gently. “Sometimes the look on your face is too tempting.”
“Wicked witch.” The insult was fond, followed by a kiss to her head. Geralt wrapped an arm around her waist. They were almost there.
“Rancid man.” She hummed, getting a rare laugh out of him as he pulled her closer.
Ciri slowed down. They were almost there. She walked by Yennefer’s side, her steps wary and calculated, her eyes inspecting the colorful celebration and searching for anything that stood out, much like Geralt did. They found nothing.
The clearing where the festival was held was warm, heated both by the fires and the many dancing bodies around them, over them, occasionally. Ciri watched from behind her mask for a while, Fen did as well, with knitted eyebrows and a puckered mouth. His face was pressed against Yennefer’s chest, and he didn’t seem happy to be surrounded by that many strangers. His mother rocked him, but He steadfastly refused to surrender to sleep.
“Should we… uh, find the ale tent?” She asked, glancing down at the babe only to be met with an angry pair of grey eyes. It almost made her laugh.
“Read my mind.” Answered the witcher. She wouldn’t be drinking, he knew, but standing in the center of the crowd was a very stupid idea. Beside them, Ciri skipped like a child, her face glowed with her broad smile which she had no intention of concealing.
“Cods I’ve missed this!” She beamed, emphasizing her sentence with a hop. “I’m going dancing.”
“Be safe.” Said Yennefer.
Ciri was Three paces away when she stopped, turned around, and ran back to wrap her arms around the sorceress in a tight embrace, burying her face next to Fen’s, who was not so pleased with the disturbance, and pulled at Ciri’s hair to get her away from them both. She laughed pinching his rosy cheek then looked up into Yennefer’s violet eyes. “Thank you.” It was uttered with the most sincerity and gratitude.
“Don’t mention it, dear girl.” Yennefer replied, smiling, she managed to free one hand to caress her cheek, then gave her forehead a rare kiss. “Now go. Make the most of this night.”
“And don’t wander off with anyone. Wouldn’t want to have to break any grubby hands this fine evening .” Said Geralt, his voice raspy and serious. Ciri stuck out her tongue at him, then ran off before he could catch her.
They watched her in silence for a time, dancing with multiple partners before she settled on one. The witcher made an angry noise which drew his lover’s attention, but nothing was said. They watched her jump the bonfire, prompted by her brunette companion, watched the crowd whoop and clap for her, much as they did for every other brave dancer. Their hearts clenched, overcome by a mixture of feelings. “Even if for one night, I’m glad she gets to do this.” Yennefer stated, finally, filling the snug space between them with words. “Mhm” Geralt’s arm returned to encircle her waist. “Should you wish to join her, I will happily take my boy.”
She looked down at the fluttering eyes which were no longer angry, but still refused to give up, then back at the witcher. “Don’t think I’ll be participating this time.” She whispered leaning into his shoulder, and suppressing a yawn.
Of course, you dolt. Thought the witcher. She’d spent the day wasting her energy on transforming fabrics and operating needles and scissors. She must be exhausted by now. “I’m quite alright, dearest. Only, I’d rather not take to the floor without my partner.”
Geralt smiled, touched her hair with his lips, breathed in its lilac and gooseberry scent, then some words left his mouth. Words that should have tasted foreign on his tongue, but didn’t.
“I love you.” Was poured directly into her ear. Yennefer froze momentarily. She turned to look into his golden eyes, and the wonder in her violet ones concerned him.
“This is the first time you’ve ever said that.” She informed him.
“Can’t be.” What a cad.
“You used to only think it.” She adjusted the fussing boy in her arms. “I could never respond to a thought. It was improper…”
“Yen…”
“But tonight… I love you too.”
They kissed, for a moment, but it was a moment too long. From the corner of her eye, Yennefer caught a familiar glint, a hooded figure walked into her field of sight. Ice blue eyes. A rotting smirk. Her heart raced. A million scenarios ran through her head in the capacity of a fraction of a second. Her body worked on its own accord. She conjured up a flower. Took a bite. Geralt’s medallion vibrated intensely, he turned his head just in time to see her fleeing into a portal behind him. Before he could call her name, beg her to stay, tell her that whatever it was they’ll face it together. His baffled state didn’t seem to affect his senses. His medallion rattled, he slapped a hand against it. There was another portal somewhere. There was no time for his heartache to set in. No time for him to give Yennefer the benefit of the doubt. He had to get to Ciri.
Geralt surged forward, plucking the remainder of his family and carrying her away, much like a knight did the day she lost everything, and every night since, in her nightmares. She tried to scream but he covered her mouth with a hand. His wide strides took them far away, quickly, but the witcher couldn’t stop for a long time.
