winters-mistress

[winters-mistress]

be still my aching heart

"Are you ever going to move?" Geralt grumbles as he looks down at the blonde head on his chest. The blonde head shakes as it burrows in tighter, pushing into the plush muscle and listening closely to the slow beat of his heart.

"Hmm, no." She drawls. "It's comfy here." She says, licking her lips from the dryness she finds there. "You're warm, its cozy." She finishes, cozing up to him even more.

It's true, they have built a nice little den made out of a small alcove where a boulder used to rest, covered in plush moss and almost igloo like in its effort to keep out the cold from a sudden storm that had caught even the witcher off guard, and they had to take cover during their foraging trip, lest they end up hurled into the beginnings of the pontar river.

That had been yesterday afternoon, Geralt had fed the girl mushrooms and berries for dinner, before they used their cloaks and furs to keep the harsh cold out as they settled down for the night. There's not enough room for both of them, with the witcher being as muscular, tall and large as he is so that's why they ended up nestled on top of one another like the nesting pups Vesemir always compared his boys to be.

He's bound to be concerned, him and Eskel and even Lambert would probably be worrying. It was bad enough when Eskel had made it back to the Keep late that year, both brothers had nearly ran out into the snow themselves to look for their brother, and Vesemir had tanned their hides for risking their own safety when one, Geralt had his own pup to look after now, and two, Lambert would be no use to anybody when he was as pissed as a drunkard on Yule.

Eskel has stumbled through with an infected wound on his foot, and the three had settled their anxieties by fretting over the scarred wolf for weeks until the infection cleared up. Ciri hadn't thought witchers capable of anxiety or fear of protectiveness, but now meeting three of them, Ciri wanted to burn all of those people who speak ill of their kind. Witchers were kind and gentle and protective and loving and sweet and generous and sweet. Even Lambert had his moments, and this was another, huddling from the storm with the big bad witcher who cuddled her close and whispered stories of the stars while she ate wild raspberries and looked at him with wonder.

They're good men, kind men, and she's sure she'll see them again this day. Just once she feels like removing herself from the lovely warmth that Geralt provides.

#the witcher netflix #geralt and ciri #fanfiction #cirilla of cintra #geralt of rivia #witcherfanfiction #dadralt #geralt is the best dad #ciri is his baby #dad geralt would give the best dad cuddles ever and nobody can convince me otherwise

[winters-mistress]

Regrets and Redemption

"She looks like you." Yennefer murmurs as they stand on either side of Cirilla's sickbed. Even she, with her puney human ears, can hear the rattle in Cirilla's chest as she works to take breath after breath.

Geralt's hair glows in the darkness of the night, suck a stark contrast between darkness and light. He keeps his attention so completely focused on the girl between them that Yennefer wonders if he's actually heard her or not, and she stays silent as he watches the back of his hand skate across Cirilla's forehead and over the sweat soaked hair that lays across the pillow. It'll need to be changed soon.

"Lambert said so, too." He murmurs, both of them trying to keep as quiet as they can so they do not wake the sleeping girl. She needs her rest.

The voice is so quiet that it makes Yennefer jump.

"He said that bound up in trainee garp, she could pass for my own daughter, if he didn't know better of my abilities to sire." Geralt is quiet, still not looking at Yennefer.

"It makes sense." She agrees. "Bright hair, glowing eyes. Pale skin, and deadly." She rambles, not knowing what else to say in this moment of despair. She hasn't really known ever since Ciri had slipped off her horse, practically glowing red with fever. It's been five days, and she still hasn't awoken from her twitching stupor. Gods, the times that she had no magic, she had felt powerless, but never has she felt this more right now. Unable to heal the child that she cares for so deeply, despite all the power at ger fingertips and the fierce protector at her side, they can do nothing and it's excruciating.

"Is it any better?" She asks.

"No change. If anything, she's warmer." Geralt grunts, still staring down at Ciri.

Gods, with all the love and care and concern Geralt shows to the girl, it makes her hate herself even more for how she treated her, how she betrayed her. Seeing her, small and feverish, reminds her of the fact that Ciri is but a child, despite how strong and brave and smart she is, Ciri is just a girl. And Yennefer would have quite happily lead her by the hand to her death, all for something she now realises she never really needed.

"I'll go fetch her some water." Yennefer decides, unable to bare another minute of seeing Geralt stare at Ciri like that, to know the amount of pain she has put them both through. "For her to drink, and for broth." She says, but she's already half way out of the door.

Geralt nods, wrapping his large hand around Ciri's small, damp hand.

Yennefer's heart aches, and she closes the door just in time before her tears fall.

#the witcher netflix #geralt and ciri #yennefer and ciri #yennefer and geralt #princess cirilla #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri of cintra #cirilla of cintra #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer x ciri #yennefer x geralt #fanfiction #witcherfanfiction #dadralt #geralt is the best dad #ciri is his baby

[winters-mistress]

Of seas green and brown

Geralt is staring at her, she knows. She can feel it like a weight in between the trees, those bright yellow eyes gleaming in the distance, between a sea of brown and green. Even after all those months, he has not figured out that he is not as subtle as he thinks. Or maybe he has and he's simply humouring her, but it seems unlikely he has not came around and fretted over his darling mare just yet.

Roach snorts at her, pushing her snout into the girl's forehead. Ciri laughs at the mare, but the prick of her ears tells her that's its not malicious, in the way the mare treats the bard. It's playful, like the times that Roach nibbles at Cirilla's fingers when she feeds her a carrot or an apple or a handful of oats. The mare enjoys the attention as the girl runs the comb through her dark locks. It's a very domestic scene, one almost from a fairytale as the pretty girl in white looks after her doting horse, dewy and petrichor in the damp summer forest.

Ciri smiles at the horse as she runs her snout through her wavy hair, combed and unbound after a long day of training and hunting. Her hands run through the horses mane as it becomes unknotted and soft as the girl works her comb through the hair. The horse likes her, it's a good job too, because it would have been a haggard journey up the Morhen valley if the horse treated her as she does the bard. Or the sorceress, who skulks in the forest almost as much as the witcher does. She's been victim to many bites or headbutts from the prickly mare.

"You've done well." Geralt makes himself known, his boots squelching in the late summer, post rainfall dew of the muddy ground. His boots squelch and cling to the mud as he goes, and she can hear the creak of leather as he walks. "She looks like a prize horse." He finishes, coming over to look over his prized mare.

Ciri smiles at him, the horse stands over him, as so little people or things do. Geralt is her symbol if untenable strength, a pillar of knowledge and wisdom and protection. She loves him like the father she never had, and for all of his prickling and grochiness, he's so gentle and protective that it makes her heart ache to see him treated as Yennefer treats him. But she cannot stand in the way of his decisions, he is the adult in their stead.

"Vesemir will take one look at her and you'll usurp me upon horse duties." He looks down at her. "You and I will have to duel for them." He gives her a croocked smirk. Ciri chuckles at him.

"Onoy a fool would get between you and a foal, father dear." she grins, walking over towards him. "So long as Lambert is assigned the pigs and the cows whenever he and Eskel return, it's nothing less than he deserves."

#the witcher netflix #geralt and ciri #fanfiction #cirilla of cintra #geralt of rivia #witcherfanfiction #dadralt #geralt is the best dad #ciri is his baby #i love him

[winters-mistress]

Thunder and Fury

"Geralt?" Ciri asks, looking over the witcher's strong arm to the direction he looks in. She shivers, pushing back into his heat, cringing at the wind pushes against them. It's horrible, the wind is strong and cold, and she cab feel the rain start to sprinkle over their heads and the forest around them.

The witcher doesn't answer, as he so often does. He doesn't even hum, and when she looks over, his eyes are big and wide and bright as he takes in whatever has startled him.

She feels like she annoys him whenever she speaks and he does not respond, and in this circumstance, Ciri chooses to stay silent and just sink back into his braud chest.

There are times to stand still and times to keep moving.

Ciri inhales as the rain begins to come down harder. She cringes, closing her eyes as the rain pelts them both. The petrichor is obvious in the air, beginning to get stuck in the back of her throat as she continues to wait for Geralt to respond.

When he does, she feels it more than she hears it.

"We need to get away from here." He gruffs, edging Roach to the left.

"What's there?" She whispers, pulling her arms closer to her chest to preserve any precious warmth from the rapidly cooling and dampening forest around them both.

"A storm." He grumbles, tightening his hold on her as he urges his stubborn mare into a gallop downhill. Thankfully, Roach does not slip on the snow, but Ciri pushes back against him and tightens her thighs against the horse's sides. She holds onto the horse's mane, and licks her lips in nervousness as the witcher looks around again. "It's rolling, we need to get away from here." He repeats lowly, rolling his hips to urge Roach faster.

Ciri holds tighter to Roach as she gallops, but the faster the horse runs, the harder the rain falls. Now, Cirilla is blinded by the ice cold rain that falls into her eyes, and she has little choice but to squeeze them shut as Geralt curses loudly. She's jolted almost violently as the two of them continue to bounce with the horses leaps and bounds.

"What's wrong?" She whispers, unable to turn around and look with the violence that her hair whips around her face and burns at her freezing skin with the impact. The rain patters loudly, she can hear it falling onto the leaves and into the streams, the wind screams and she's so cold she can hardly stand it.

Geralt holds her even tighter that it makes it hard to breathe as he looks around. The ground trembles with a force she cannot see and she shivers and tightens against the witcher and his mare and she begins to fear the extreme weather and what it could do to them both.

"Can't outrun it, we need to hide." Geralt growls as he finally spots whatever he needs to see.

Ciri feels nauseous as they turn to swiftly, Roach doesn't like it too, because she screams at her master and barely holds onto her grip with her hind legs. Ciri is sure they're going to fall off, but somehow Geralt manages to stay upright and urges his mare foreward.

With a force that makes her even more nauseous, Roach stops somewhere hollow, because her hooves echo. The inertia of such a sudden stop makes her stomach churn, but she doesn't have a moment to think about it because suddenly Geralt has dismounted and she's being picked up like a child would a ragdoll and is being pushed against the wall back first.

"What are you doing?" Ciri pants for air, but doesn't move.

"Stay there." Geralt growls. Ciri obeys with a start as a loud rumble nearly knocks her over, the loud sound echoing and humming around them both.

"Fuck!" Geralt hisses, Ciri looks over as he leads Roach to the end of the cave she now realises they're in, and the darkness only makes his hair shine brighter and eyes glow more incandescent as he marches over to her and pulls her deeper in the cave as the sounds get louder and the ground moves with the vibration. Ciri feels sick with the vibration, but she's very surprised when he pushes her to the floor and lays his body over hers.

"What the fuck?!" Ciri cries out, but she's drowned out by the utterly deafening noise as the loud, deep sound rumbles and gets closer and the cave vibrates and she can see the forest shake and she clings to Geralt, having never seen anything like this before.

"Rolling storm, got to lay down, it'll keep you safer." He growls as much as he can, and she clings to him as best she could, wrapping her arms around him.

Thr rumbling lasts so long that she thinks she's going to go deaf with the sound, Roach shrieks and Ciri feels tears burn her eyes and she feels sick and she clings to Geralt as if he's a lifeline as the cave rocks from side to side and everything is wrong and scary and cold and nothing is right and;

Just like that, everything ceases. The vibration, the rocking, the roaring and the shuddering, everything stops.

Ciri pants for air, her body shaking with adrenaline and fear as Geralt pulls up and settles on his knees, glancing at Roach to make sure she's still whole and alright, before looking back at her.

"Are-are you alright?" He seems to be swallowing back his own nausea. Seeing him like that, portraying a small sense of vulnerability, begins to slowly ebb away the sense of untenable strength he holds, and she leans up onto her elbows to sit up.

"Yes," she sniffles, pushing up so she can sit back against the wall. It's cold and damp. "Are you?"

"I'll survive." He says. "We'll spend the night here, Cirilla. We both need to rest, after that."

Ciri nods silently. "Thank you." She whispers, and he looks at her with a frown and a raised eyebrow. "For protecting me. Thank you."

"I'm your protector. I'll defend you for as long as I'm here, Cirilla."

"Ciri." She corrects. 'And I know."

#the witcher netflix #geralt and ciri #fanfiction #cirilla of cintra #geralt of rivia #witcherfanfiction #dadralt #geralt is the best dad #ciri is his baby

[winters-mistress]

Ciri slips up and accidentally calls Vesemir "grandpa/grandfather" while bidding him a goodnight [because Geralt told her Vesemir was his father] and Vesemir, who is very very old and definitely has some kind of empty nest syndrome going on, feels himself getting extremely emotional about it and politely excuses himself from the room so he can weep in private as if his sons can't literally hear him sniffling down the hall

#papa vesemir

[winters-mistress]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 500 likes!

❤️❤️

#500 likes #tumblr milestone #thank you

[winters-mistress]

In a world of fire

Ciri's scream rips through the night and through Geralt's body. His eyes open and he sits up, just in time to hear the great oak shielding them from the winds croak and groan with the enormous effort to stand against the girl's wild, untamable power. He shields his eyes from the wind and pushes himself over towards her, the quiet little thing whimpering on the floor that's the center of the world's political schemes.

"Ciri, Ciri." He mutters, pressing his hands down on her shoulder, trying not to wake her up so quickly in case she may lash out or allert somebody to their whereabouts. "Ciri." He grunts, feeling another riptide of energy release from the girl, tensing him and straining his muscles.

"Ciri!" He snaps, pushing down on her shoulder, and the girl shoots up, a strangled cry leaving her lips.

Getalt leans back as the girl gasps in a breath and promptly bursts into tears. Her shoulders shake and she trembled violently, pushing her face into her hands as she sobs her heartbreak and losses. She cries in a way that puts an ache in his chest, and his hands slowly return to her shoulders.

He's gentle this time, trying to comfort her instead of wake. She turns to him, her cheeks wet and eyes red, and flings herself clumsily at him, crying into his chest once he gets over the shock at such brisk contact.

He aches at her pain. By the gods, he understands. The sacking is something he will never recover from, so many of his brothers slaughtered needlessly. She's like him, that way. Bright eyed, pale hair and fresh out of tragedy.

This connection he has with this child is unlike anything he's ever felt before, and that includes his relationship with Yennefer. He wants to help her feel better, overcome this pain, begin to rebuild her heart, but he doesn't know where in the seven hells to start.

Eventually, she cries herself out and just lays limply against his body, his hands large and rubbing slow circles into her small back. Gods, she's small, but she's also so thin that he needs to get some meat on her bones. He knows the crown princess of cintra wouldn't have been denied meals, so he aches with the knowledge that she'd gone hungry for so long as he tried to find her.

"Breathe, Cirilla." He mutters into her hair. "I am here, and I will protect you now. You're safe."

A small hand sneaks up and fists his shirt, and she lays more weight onto his chest. He rumbles a purr for her, trying to soothe still, and is glad when she finally becomes limp as sleep overtakes her once more.

The witcher lays her down on the forest floor and stays close, pulling up the fur on her body, brushing hair from her face.

"I will never again abandon you, Cirilla. I will not become your Visenna."

By the gods, he swears.

#the witcher netflix #fanfiction #geralt and ciri #cirilla of cintra #geralt of rivia #witcherfanfiction #dadralt #geralt is the best dad #ciri is his baby #i love him

[winters-mistress]

Gentle wolves and bloody boars

"Come here." Geralt rumbles to the girl as she and Coën stumble through the doorway. She looks up at him from her place by the window, setting down the large basket of winter cod and carp that she and Coën had spent the day catching. The Griffin lays the boar that had attacked on the floor, its limp body bloody from the witchers blade. But the kerfuffle had left them both wet and haggered from their ordeal.

The witcher stares at her with large, golden eyes, unblinking as he watches her from the high backed chair he's settled in in front of the fire. She blinks at him, but all he does is raise his chin. She sets down the fishing equipment and her blades on the table, having already removed her cloak, and walks over towards him.

She stops in front of her father of surprise, but he just huffs and picks her up straight out of the air. She makes a sound of surprise as she levitates, and is turned to the side as he settles her on his lap, wrapping her up in the fur that lays across his shoulders and drapes down his back.

"Oh, okay." Ciri whispers, happily pressing her face into the warmth of Geralt's neck, wrapping her arms around the witcher as she's suddenly surrounded by his warmth and scent as he holds her as one holds a baby.

"You're cold." He rumbles. "Destiny, and Vesemir, will tan my arse if I let you freeze." He mutters, running his nose along her hairline to inhale the scent of her lingering adrenaline, the sweat and the discomfort from the cold. She's not hurt, there's no blood or fear, and she is whole, safe in his arms once more.

"Is it a witcher thing, being warm?" She questions, curiously. He nods.

"Something 'bout the mutagens, probably. It's to help us with the cold nights and monster fights."

She nods.

"You're very comfy. Like a big teddy bear." she uselessly informs, curling her legs underneath the blanket and resting deeply in his arms.

"You're ruining my reputation, calling me stuff like that."

"You're the one holding her like a baby, wolf." Coën grins as he walks past them, holding the fish basket in his arms as Marek and Jósef walk with thr bloody boar in their hands. Geralt growls at him, a harmless thing. His brother laughs at him, looking at the kid poking her red cheeks out to observe. "You did well today, squirt."

Geraly hums, clearly a sound of praise. Ciri smiles shyly, sinking back into the witcher's warmth.

#geralt and ciri #the witcher netflix #fanfiction #cirilla of cintra #geralt of rivia #witcherfanfiction #dadralt #geralt is the best dad #ciri is his baby #uncle coen

[winters-mistress]

i know i talk a lot of sh*t about it and i do think that people need to acknowledge that geralt tried to leave ciri several times, believing that he would be the death of her should she remain with him but still, but it’s also important to acknowledge that this is a sign  :  that geralt loves ciri in a way he has never loved anyone, even yen. it’s dumb to think about now but it reminds me of the joke ryan reynolds made in which he said something along the lines of ‘i love my wife more than anything but when i held our daughter in my arms i knew without a doubt that i’d use my wife as a human shield to keep that child safe’ which is obviously a joke but the core of it touches an essence of what geralt and yen both feel for ciri. either of them would sacrifice the other for her safety, and they would both expect the other to do the same. what geralt and ciri share is one of the cores of the novel, it’s the heart of the story in many ways, but it’s silent, and that’s very telling. we rarely are party to their expressions of love but we know that they exist, we see other characters witnessing these moments but sapkowksi usually chooses not to let the reader hear the actual dialogue, because the feeling is that there is a bigness, an ‘otherness’, to the depth of their connection that isn’t translatable, that can be understood by those outside of it. the thought of ciri suffering, of her death, is enough to cause geralt to dissociate  —  which happens to him numerous times during the novels  —  and, at many of her lowest points, it is the thought of geralt or geralt’s closeness that motivates ciri to survive. 

#he's such a good dad #dad geralt is the best geralt

[winters-mistress]

a wolf's care in the wolves' lair

The witcher winces at the painful tugging sounds emanating from Ciri's direction. He looks towards her, and finds her running a metal comb through her hair with a fury he would have thought that she would only save for the Nilfguaardian army. She's standing across the room, her arms held high above her head and bent at the elbows as she tries and fails to move the brush down her hair.

"By the gods, you trying to make yourself incognito by going bald?" He asks, getting up from the uncomfortable wooden bench and walking over towards his child of surpris,e, who is indeed struggling mightily.

"Shut up." She hisses, still unable to relieve her hair from its metal occupant.

"Come here, girl." Geralt touches her ribs and turns her around. "Let me have a go."

"Do your worst." Ciri sighs as ahe lowers her arms. "Not even nannies Emerson and Nivella could get it free when it got bad like this. Had to soak my hair in coconut oil for days. Grandmother wasn't impressed that the Duke of Sovingen couldn't meet the heir, he wanted to marry me, did you know that?"

"Hmm?" He humms, but he's not happy at those words. His voice is lower than usual, which is really saying something.

"Yeah. But he was older than grandmother. And she really wasn't happy about that. Tanned his hide and threw his bare arse out when they were both drunk on ale."

Geralt rumbles a laugh as he gets to work, slowly removing the comb, before making a fist towards the end of her hair, leaving only the ends free.

The comb slides through smoothly, and the higher up the golden hair he goes, the tighter his fist gets, and the gentler he is with the comb. His strokes are slow, humming every time Ciri stops speaking of Calanthe or Mouseack or Eist.

Geralt continues to brush her hair, taking his time when a large boulder of knotted hair requires him to bite down on the comb and undo the knot with his fingers. He tries his best to be gentle, knowing full well the pain of the scalp whenever Vesemir would roughly comb it and rip half of it out to get it into a band for training whenever he dodnt have full mobility.

He continues to brush her hair, feeling oddly comforted by the soft sounds that get quieter and quieter with every knot that gives way, until nothing remains but a head of long, slightly fluffy golden hair.

"Gods, how did you do that?" Ciri spins around to face him. "It barely hurt!"

"Patience. Patience and cunning." He rumbles, a smirk on his face as he hands the comb back. "Now, want me to braid it before we train?"

#the witcher netflix #geralt and ciri #cirilla of cintra #fanfiction #geralt of rivia #witcherfanfiction #dadralt #geralt is the best dad #ciri is his baby #i love him #geralt is the daddest of them all #dad geralt is the best geralt

[winters-mistress]

uncle makes mistakes

"Here you go, squirt." Lambert says, passing the cone behind his shoulder. Before he completes the rotation, the youngest adopted son of Vesemir eyes the green and chocolate speckled wafer cone, and his impulse gets the better of him as Eskel drives off from the drive through window.

He opens his mouth and takes a lovely bite of the sweet, minty, chocolatey goodness. The ice cream melts on his tounge, and his lips slide across the dessert, before he pulls it away and leans it back over his shoulder.

"Ew. What the hell?" His niece's voice is full of disgust. "You told me you were gonna get me an ice cream for passing my test, then eat it in front of me?" Her voice is low, and he can hear the rustle of denim and chiffon as she sits back in her seat, obviously having no intention of taking the treat from his hand.

"Uncle tax." Lambert shrugs. "I paid for it, I get a bit. But you can have the rest, it's yours." He extends the cone a little more, but thr kid doesn't move.

"I'm not gonna eat a half eaten ice cream cone that's got your spit all over it, uncle." Ciri doesn't move to take the cone. "Eat it, it's yours."

Lambert finally lowers the cone back to his lap, and he and Eskel give each other a look, silent and knowing.

"Would you like us to go back around and get you another?" Eskel asks, glancing in the mirror to look at his nice, who stares out of the window, her head leaning back against the headrest, big green eyes large and unseeing as she stares out at the streets.

"No, thank you." her voice is soft, her fingers twiddling together as she continues to stare out the window. "I'd like to go home."

"Come on, girl." Lambert turns around in his seat to look at her. "You were so chuffed to pass that test, so glad and happy. All this because I took a bit of ice cream?"

"It's not the ice cream, uncle. The spit, the germs. It grosses me out, makes me feel sick. And you can't just take a bit of something you bought something for someone without asking, or without a spoon. I don't want it, I don't want any ice cream or anything else. I just want to go home now." Ciri explains, her voice is soft, her hands laying on her lap as she looks at her red haired uncle.

Lambert sighs as he looks at her again. "Sorry, kid. Do you want to grab a cake or something from a bakery, something you can eat tomorrow?"

"No, thank you. I just want to go home now."

Lambert sighs again and he looks forward once more. Eskel glances at him, the way he clenches his hand around the cone, as it shatters and spills cold ice cream all over his hand. He curses and throws the mess out of the window, before they finally pull onto the motorway that leads them to their mountain home.

"You alright, kid?" Eskel asks after they've arrived at Kaer Morhen, drive full of Geralt, Vesemir, Jaskier, Coen and all their foster brothers' cars.

"Yeah." Ciri's voice is small as she gathers her bags and folders from the back, pulling the backpack over one shoulder, holding everything else on her hip.

"Tell you what," Eskel whispers. "After Lamb goes to bed tonight, what do you say we get a little revenge on his nasty ass? Put a bucket of water on top of his door, ice water next to his slippers, put dye in his shampoo?"

Ciri chuckles at Eskel's smirk. "Why not?"

#the witcher netflix #witcherfanfiction #fanfiction #witcher #witcher lambert #witcher fanfiction #witcher ciri #the witcher #witcher eskel #uncle lambert #uncle eskel #witcher uncles #this is a middle finger for all the parent tax parents #ciri has ocd

[winters-mistress]

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Tissaia de Vries & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Characters: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, Nenneke (The Witcher), Triss Merigold, Istredd (The Witcher) Additional Tags: Spoilers for The Witcher (TV) Season 3, Post-Thanedd Coup (The Witcher), Thanedd Coup (The Witcher), Hurt Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Hurt Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is a Mess, Blind Character, Paralysis Summary:

After the fighting at Thanedd goes awry, Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri are encountered not by Rience, but by his master. And they all encounter his rage.

[winters-mistress]

From not caring to all this in one episode is pretty great 🥰

#dad geralt owns my heart

[winters-mistress]

the injured pup

"Mother of fuck." Lambert grunts as he helps Ciri lift off her shirt to reveal her wound. "How are you not dead, brat? That's one he'll of a cut for just being on the grounds." He frets, leaning over with his cloth soaked with water and iodine.

"Lambert." Eskel hisses as he unwraps Ciri's torn hand wraps. "For fucks sake."

"What? That's an impressive slice even for the pendulum." He raises his eyebrows. "Hardly my fuckin' fault if the thing broke and sliced her up."

"It is when you're the one who goaded her onto the thing in the first place, knobhead." Coën interjects, coming over with a basin of hot water, setting it on the table. "You alright, girl?"

"Stings." Ciri hisses when Lambert continues to clean her large wound. "And my hands, they hurt."

"They're not broken, pup." Eskel tries to soothe, although the deep cuts she had gotten from the scattered wood when the machine had broken do surprise him. It seems the leather wrappings did fuck all to protect her small hands from the jagged wood, he can count almost two dozen small slices ranging in size. "You're just cut up, we'll wash them up and get some bandages on." He says, leaning her arms over to place them in the bucket of hot water. Ciri hisses at the contact, but does little more.

"You're alright, girl." Coën comes over to the other side, looking at her wound from the back. "It'll need to be stitched up, but that's it. You haven't injured your insides or anything, no bruised blood." He tries to comfort her as best he can as Lambert pours pure iodine to disinfect the wound. Ciri tenses, crying out.

"Shh." Eskel pets her hair, still holding her hands in the water by her wrists. "You're okay, pup."

"Hurts." she choked. "Where's Geralt?"

"Fucker is still traipsing around the woods with Vesemir, there's a coupl'a griffins that're probably gonna nest. Best get them out of the way before the keep gets covered in snow." Lambert explains. "Should be back after supper. And he can bust all of our balls when he sees the state of you." He adds bitterly. "Wolf gets predatorial of his pup, you know?"

"More protective of her than you with the last of the gull." Coën smirks at his brother in arms. Lambert flips him off, before getting back to work.

"He might leave us with a ball each after he sees no infection. Hopefully." Lambert cringes.

Ciri chuckles at his face. "He'll be too busy frettering like a mother hen for the first hour or two. Brew him some drink to soften the blows, you witchers can drink yourself into a stupor with it, he'llbe too drunk to remember, and the cycle'll continue."

Coën laughs. "The pup is wise, lambchop."

"When your papa wolf gives us the okay, you'll be on the list to ply with drink whenever we piss you off by way of apology, you know that, witcher girl?"

"Good luck getting that past him, you'll kill him with alcohol poisoning, if that's possible with you witchers, before he lets that happen."

"We'll see, little wolf. We'll see."

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[winters-mistress]

I'll never get over Geralt spending all of S1 not wanting anything to do with his Child Surprise, but then doing everything in his power to keep her safe when he finds out she's in danger. And then his look of pure terror when he thinks she's dead 😭

Geralt and Ciri will forever be my favorite father/daughter duo 🥰

#hes her dad #i love them

[winters-mistress]

Attempts of Absolution

"Uh, do you need anything else?" Geralt scratches the back of his neck as he looks down at the girl. Ciri looks up at him.

She looks contented, laying in a freshly cleaned bed with the fire lit and a pot of steaming tea at her bedside. Vesemir had insisted she have a plate of bread, butter, ham and raw carrots and cold potatoes from the night before, as well as a small plate of honey biscuits. Lambert had wrapped up two bedsheets to make enough cloth for Nazir, while Eskel had brewed up a couple painkilling vials to keep the girl comfortable. She seems to have everything she needs, especially with one of her favourite hunting dogs laying across her lap and a hot waterskin on her back, and one of Coën's new books in her hand, but Geralt isn't the best at predicting what the young girl could need apart from the essentials.

"No, no, I'm okay." Ciri assures him, and her heartbeat tells him that she's telling the truth, but he still fears that she's not said everything. What did women need when this happens? He's never been in a position to know what women need when they bleed. Whores didn't go to bed when they got their blood, Yennefer and Triss had had all of that scraped out of them before they graduated Aretuza. But even the sorceresses would be better at this than him.

"Are you sure?" Geralt is nervous. He would never forget how she had sounded when she had woken up in the middle of the night.

Screaming. Screaming so loud that the dogs downstairs and wolves outside howled with her. The walls had shaken and cracked, the medallion tree groaned and each witcher had ran into her room, swords at the ready, bursting down the girl's door. They were beaten only by Triss, who had teleported from her rooms in the west wing.

The blood had nearly choked him, the smell so intense and the sheer vast quantities of it as it practically sprayed from the girl and onto her bed. Metallic and strong, salty and bitter, Marek and Nikolai had nearly gagged at the sudden scent that was so prevalent.

Ciri was laying on her bed, sobbing and screaming and clinging to Triss as the blood continued to gush out. The sorceress had calmed her with magic, putting her to sleep, casting a precarious spell to keep the poor girls blood still inside. She had yelled at them all to give Ciri some privacy as she began pulling off the girl's clothes, whispering spells as she got her hands onto her lower abdomen.

He's not quite sure what had happened to the girl, but Triss said something about male and female hormones and the strict balance they needed. Then about something to do with people only being able to tolerate so much of the opposite, then slapped them all silly for putting Cirilla's hormones out of wack with the herbs and mushrooms and potions they had her on. Apparently her insides had started growing cysts where they should not be, and one of them had burst, leading to the blood and pain and panic.

She was okay, Geralt reasoned with himself, pulling himself out of his reverie. She knew that hadn't meant to hurt her, and after she was settled and what was left of the cyst had been eased out and the wound closed by magic, she was laying in bed with strict instructions only to get up to bathe or use the privy. That meant no training, no chores, no nothing. Just rest.

He figures out that she's not bleeding like women and girls do, Triss specified that greatly, but she should be treated the same like when it happens. Painkilling vials and hot tea. She's just injured, he tries to comfort himself, but the bite of his role in her cysts and injury still sting.

He should have known that a girl couldn't take the herbs and potions that the trainee humans had. Should have figured it would have an adverse effect, should have figured something like this would happen. But he and his brothers genuinely had not. They hadn't meant to hurt her, they never would hurt her willingly. She knew that, and she had forgiven them, and it seemed like she had been comforting them instead of the other way around.

"It's not as if you did something fucked up and slipped it to me without telling me." she had said, a few minutes after she had woken from her magical nap and Triss had explained what had happened.

Triss was now in the laboratory, trying to figure out how to rid Ciri of her cysts and make sure they didn't rupture again. And the witchers were all lingering near Ciri's rooms just in case it happened again.

"I'm okay." Ciri whispers, reaching up for his hand to pull him down to rest with her. Taeko, a firey red, long-haired dog, who they used for herding Eskel's sheep and hunting in the woods, snuffles as he's slightly adjusted, and the large witcher lays down next to the girl.

"Stay here a while." she whispers, pressing herself against his shoulder.

"I will." He rumbles. "You'll tell me if you need something, need Triss?"

"I will." she yawns, closing her eyes. "But for now, I want to sleep."

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[winters-mistress]

goodnight moon

"Here." Geralt says, passing Ciri a cup of water. The girl with red cheeks takes it greatfully, gulping down the cool drink, feeling it drip down the corners of her mouth and slide down her chin. Geralt grins at her, ruffling the messy hair that's fallen out of her braid, that honestly isn't a braid anymore. There's maybe a quarter of what once was when she and Yennefer had started that morning, and she looks all the more comfortable to be wild in the rugged turrain.

"You, Princess, are a sight to behold." Jaskier says, lolloping over with his lute in hand, the strings still echoing after his jump down a tree he had been dozing in that afternoon. "A true witcher Princess if I've ever seen one. Your story will he sung for decades."

"Don't sing, bard." Yennefer says as she glides over the twigs towards their little camp. "You'll allert a beast with your warbling."

Jaskier splutters. "Ah! How rude, my dear, if anything I will sedate a striga before it rips the witcher's chest to shreds. My dear Amelie always said I had the most soothing voice." He finishes with a flair, strumming his strings to make his point.

Yennefer scoffs, reaching close to the fire to pour herself a brisk cup of tea with the last of the hot water. Geralt keeps his eye on her as her hand goes near Cirilla, although in truth he knows he has nothing to fear. If Yennefer had her magic, then perhaps, but that part of her is just as empty and hollow as it was that afternoon in Nenneke's temple. The mage is a mage no more, simply a tutor to the child and under his brisk observation. Very, very brisk observation.

As the afternoon draws to a close, he and Ciri practice forms before they go skulking off into the frozen forest to see what they can scrounge for supper. They probably won't have more than a couple slim boars or winter berries, but anything is better than the snakes they had made a thin soup out of a couple days ago. Jaskier had vomited, and Ciri still cringes at the memory of the sour, bitter taste.

Their dinner is thin, only a couple of birds is all either of them had the energy to slay. Geralt is exhausted from the whole debacle of keeping his girl safe from Yennefer at all times, let alone thinking if ways to keep them all safe from Cirilla's threats and missionaries. And Ciri knows better than to push him when he's set on something, so she follows his lead and swallows her pride and does what he says.

Their dinner is meager, their sleep is disturbed by an east wind, and they wake the next morning cold and slightly covered in a dusting of snow. The foursome quietly pack up their belongings, an uneasy silence between them, as Gerand and Jaskier finish tending the horses and Yennefer and Cirilla finish rolling the bedrolls and packing the bags.

"What's it like?" Ciri's voice is quiet, she's cold and exhausted and just wants to rest, just wants some peace. But she needs answers to, ones that Geralt had always been too close to her to ask.

"What's what like?" Yennefer's voice is just as frigid as the cold air around them.

"Being a mage with no power." Ciri's voice cuts the air like a blade. Yennefer freezes. "I didn't let you kill me, so your demon deal didn't work. You slitting your wrists in Kaer Morhen didn't work. You just bled out until Vesemir stitched you up. You mutter elder speech but nothing happens, so you're still hollow of power. What's it like?"

Yennefer doesn't respond, she hopes that Ciri will let it go, but those piercing emerald eyes barely even blink as she waits for her answer. She shifts uncomfortably, the only person other than her to have archived that was Tissaia.

"Hard." She begins. "I envy you. So much it hurts, to feel the magic pulsing around you, it's an aura. I wish so badly for magic, to regain what I deserve. But trying that only made me a villain, and lost me you and Geralt. An old friend once told me that what is lost, is lost. And that we must forge a way forward without it. So that's what I must do. Teaching you, it's the only way I can think to move ahead in this life. But other than that, I don't know how."

Ciri is quiet for a moment. "I hated you when I found out what you were going to do to me. Hated how you betrayed and manipulated me. I don't think I'll ever forgive you for that, I don't think I can forgive anybody that betrays me. It's exhausting having it happen again, and again, and again. Everybody either wants to use me or wants me dead. So it's always going to be between us, what you did. To me and him." she nods at the witcher, who is staring at them with big golden eyes. "But although I will never forgive, or forget, it's useless you trying to teach me if I'm resentful and closed off. So, I'll try to move forward, but I cannot forget, Yennefer. No matter what you do or how you do it, even if you kill every army who wants me blood, take the head of everybody coming for me, even if you take down the wraiths, it'll always be there."

"I understand." Yennefer's voice is dry. "And I'm sorry."

"I know you are." Ciri stands with her things in her arms and walks towards her steed. Yennefer watches her go.

"Come on, Yennefer. We must make haste if we're ever going to have warmth in our bones again." Jaskier huffs, walking towards the woman as she stands there staring at the girl.

"I'm coming, bard."

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