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witcheress-of-toussaint · 9 months

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Pride

Winter was finally arriving at Kaer Morhen. The nights were getting colder and it wouldn’t be long until the path was fully covered.

The fire crackled in the hearth in the center of their chamber, setting the room in a light glow. Wind whistled through the cracks of the old witcher fortress.

Geralt held Yennefer close, their legs intertwined and the sheets disarrayed. He nuzzled her neck, taking in her intoxicating scent. He rested a hand on her flat stomach and kissed her shoulder.

“I love you, Yen,” he whispered to her.

Whimpers broke the peaceful silence and quickly became a piercing wail.

Yennefer stirred next to him, a light smile on her lips. “She’s awake.”

“I got her,” Geralt said, “You go back to sleep.” He untangled his legs from hers as he could and leapt to his feet.

The cradle was on Yennefer’s side of the bed, further from the windows. The baby had managed to get her pudgy arms out of the swaddle. Her cheeks were red and her eyes filled with tears. As Geralt leaned over her, her arms flailed up towards him, begging to be held.

Geralt placed one hand under her head and the other under her back just as the midwife had shown him and lifted her to his chest. Her flailing ceased and her cries quieted to whimpers.

Beside him, Yennefer pulled the blanket back around her, her black hair spilling across the white sheets. He smiled at the sight of her.

“Shh, little wolf,” he consoled, “Let your mother rest. Come on, let’s get some air.” The baby didn’t offer any disagreement.

Geralt made his way out of their room as quietly as he could. The sky was clear and the full moonlight lit up the inner courtyard. Geralt pulled the blanket tighter and held her close.

Geralt paced along on the inner wall of the keep. The babe’s discontent cries dwindled and soon her breaths were even and calm with sleep.

“I thought I might find you out here.”

Geralt looked behind him to find Vesemir, arms crossed and eyes gentle as he leaned against a stone doorway.

Geralt grinned at the sight of him and nodded in greeting. “What are you doing up? I thought you planned to have an early start on the armory walls in the morning.”

Vesemir stood next to him and gave him a wistful look. “The armory can wait. I heard you walking around and thought I might come meet the newest pup.”

Geralt turned and angled his arms so that Vesemir could clearly see the sleeping babe’s face. She turned her face towards her father’s chest for warmth. A few wisps of her fine, snow white hair peaked out from the blanket.

Vesemir pulled down the swaddling around her mouth to get a better look. “She’s a beautiful girl, Wolf. What did you name her?”

“Laurentia,” Geralt answered with pride. “Laurentia of Corvo Bianco.”

Vesemir nodded in approval. “Toussaintois meaning laurel plant, or, more figuratively, ‘place of victory and honor’. It’s a good name, a strong one. She’ll wear it well.”

Laurentia stirred and opened her eyes. She stared wide-eyed up at Vesemir. Her irises were a lovely violet color and her pupils were slit and cat-like.

“Hmm, eyes of a witcher,” said Vesemir thoughtfully. “She’ll need to be trained if she has the abilities of one.”

Geralt tensed at that. He looked over the courtyard where he spent thousands of hours training. He and his brothers were trained relentlessly and cruelly from the moment they arrived at Kaer Morhen to the moment they proved they can survive well enough to go out on The Path. Then even after all that, some still didn’t make it back for the next winter.

That was the courtyard that held pyres for the boys that didn’t survive to see the Path. The courtyard where bones were broken for the slightest mistake, whippings and beating dealt out for failure, and even death when a spar or punishment went too far.

Past the walls were the lake where some of the youngest drowned getting tossed in too deep of water too far from shore too soon, the caves where old Spearmint was the death of others so close to the end of their training, and the bastion that held bones of boys killed in the pogroms.

Geralt let out an uneasy breath. “It’s early to consider. First she needs to work on sitting up and crawling.”

Vesemir looked at Geralt with sad eyes and stood beside him, overlooking the sight where many trained but few ever left alive. “Looking back, Wolf, I wished it were different, all of it. If I knew what I know now, I like to think I would have done different.”

Geralt hummed and looked down at Laurentia. She had already closed her eyes and was starting to drift back to sleep.

“I regret the things you and your brothers were put through. For me and the other trainers, how we taught was the same as we had learned. It never occurred to me until it was vastly too late that I didn’t have to do as my elders did.” Vesemir clasped Geralt's shoulder. He looked up and met his mentor’s eyes. “Geralt, I trust you to be better than I ever was.”

Geralt’s throat tightened. “And if I don’t know how?”

Vesemir’s eyes softened. “You’ll learn. Besides, you already know more than you give yourself credit for. From what I’ve heard, our she-devil has made quite the name for herself on the Path.”

Geralt hummed, “She was almost a teenager when she came to me.”

“You may not have had a hand in her early years, but it was you who taught how to wield a sword and how to know which fights cannot be left alone.”

“I might have taught her how to slay a monster, but her grandmother taught her morals and justice better than I ever could.”

Vesemir sighed, “I know you, Wolf. You often think yourself not much more than the monsters we hunt, but a monster wouldn’t comfort crying children, show mercy when he can, and risk his own skin to see to it that others are safe. Laurentia will be a different challenge than Ciri, but I know it’s a challenge you are capable of handling. I trust you to raise her to be strong but not burdened in the way you boys were.”

Laurentia cooed softly in her sleep. Geralt ran his thumb along her hair. A small grin graced his lips. “I can only hope so.”

Vesemir held Geralt’s head in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. “You’ve made me proud, son.”

Geralt leaned into the embrace. “Thank you, Vesemir, for everything.” He closed his eyes, taking in the warmth of his father and daughter.

—-

Geralt woke up in his soft bed, his lover’s warm body beside him. He could hear his baby daughter sleeping soundly in her cradle beside them. Ciri’s heartbeat was fainter in the distance, upstairs in her own room.

He was in his own home in Toussaint. Kaer Morhen had been abandoned and Vesemir was dead.

He sat up and ran his hand over his face.

Yennefer stirred beside him. “Geralt?” she whispered, not opening her eyes.

Geralt laid back down and put his arm around her. “Nothing, just had a dream is all. Go back to sleep, Yen.”

Yennefer hummed and rolled over to face him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Geralt stared past her at the wall, thoughts racing. Yennefer took his hand and ran her thumb comfortingly over his knuckles.

He rested his head in the crook of her neck. He shook his head.

The two laid entangled together, Yennefer combing her fingers through his air as he held her close. Eventually, Yennefer drifted back to sleep.

Geralt stared at the ceiling, memorizing the grains of the wood. He could feel time slipping past and sleep only getting farther away.

Geralt sighed and got out of bed. He creeped over to Laurentia’s cradle. The babe was sound asleep. He smiled and ran his finger down her cheek. She was so small. She looked tiny in his hands.

Dawn was not far off when Geralt finally laid back down. Geralt stared at the ceiling, listening to his family sleep safely nearby. “Good night, Vesemir,” he whispered.

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