Watching them, Cirilla has learnt that sometimes “I hate you” means “I hate you”, but sometimes it can also mean “I love you, but I hate that I do”.
Or: After the events of season 2, Geralt decides to stay at Kaer Morhen, where Cirilla tries to connect to Jaskier, and to make sense of the relationships between Geralt, Yennefer and him.
Cirilla starts to learn that emotions are a complicated thing. Surprisingly, it’s the witchers in her life that have the best grip on them, considering she once tried to become one to get away from hers.
Vesemir tells Geralt he should’ve trusted him; that’s how they show each other that they care. Geralt is the first to tell Ciri he loves her, once he got over himself, and Vesemir follows shortly after. She’s come to think of him as her grandfather even, and she thinks that Vesemir has come to grips with having a granddaughter in her too.
Yennefer is a little more difficult. She says things like, “I’d sacrifice everything for you”, so Cirilla thinks she might love her, but Yennefer refuses to say it. Cirilla isn’t sure she’s able to. She doesn’t know how Yen would react if Ciri were the one to say it first, either.
Jaskier is a wholly different egg to crack. Mostly, because she doesn’t really know how to act around him at all. He says, “You’re the child surprise, I heard so much about you,” but she’s got so much else on her mind that she doesn’t really care. It doesn’t even bother her when he says “like father, like daughter,” seeing as she doesn’t mind being compared to Geralt, even if Jaskier obviously means it in a bad way.
But she thinks they both fucked up their first impressions that way, and now, in the halls of Kaer Morhen, they don’t really know how to act around each other. She’s known Geralt for a while now, and he teaches her to fight. She’s known Yennefer for a shorter time, but still longer than Jaskier, and Yen teaches her about magic. But Jaskier and her barely knew each other before, and they don’t have much time to get each other to know each other now, either.
It isn’t aided by Jaskier’s relationships to both Geralt and Yennefer being significantly complicated, either.
Geralt and Yennefer snap at each other all the time too, but she’s seen them kiss at Nenneke’s, so she’s reasonably sure they love each other. Cirilla can understand that magic, politics, and betrayals make things difficult between them, and that they might take some time before they can fully trust each other again and actually love each other openly. She assumes it might take even more time before they do it in front of her.
Watching the two of them, Cirilla has learnt that sometimes “I hate you” means “I hate you”, but sometimes it can also mean “I love you, but I hate that I do”.
It’s with this in mind, that Jaskier’s place in this family, and yes, Cirilla has taken to calling them that, at least in her head, for her own private enjoyment, gets complicated.
Geralt and Jaskier are friends now. Geralt was loath to admit it at first, saying he refused to acknowledge that for a long time, but “he grows on you, like a fungus”.
“You’ll like him too, soon enough, once you get to know him,” Geralt says, fondly, and it seems oddly important to him. Cirilla doesn’t think too much of it at first. She managed with all of Geralt’s brothers too. She’ll manage with a new strange figure in her life, if Geralt wants her to.
But then she’ll hear Jaskier call Yennefer a “bitch” and Yennefer call Jaskier a “bastard”, and Cirilla thinks one of them will leave or make Geralt choose between his love and his friend. She fears Geralt will be miserable, even if he’ll try to hide it, because he is just as happy as her to have them all together here, as a family. And while Ciri might not know Jaskier enough to miss him, should he be the one to go, Geralt does.
Then, the next second, Yen’ll call him a “heart-broken fool”, and he’ll tell her “you’ve gone soft-hearted” in the same tone of voice, with the same amount of venom in their voices, and Cirilla will think “now it’s really all over, they’ll either kill each other or leave”, but they’ll just huff and turn around, a shine to their eyes that might look like respect or understanding if she didn’t know better.
For a while, she thinks it’s just the two of them tolerating each other, because they have seen what Ciri did: that Geralt would miss either of them - and they both love him enough to ignore the other for his sake, until Ciri notices that in their fights Geralt and Yennefer both look at Jaskier the same way they look at each other during their own fights.
Cirilla thinks it must be complicated loving someone you’re so desperate to hate.
Still, hearing Geralt’s “You’ll like him too, once you get to know him”, and seeing Yennefer failing to hate Jaskier as much as she seemingly wishes to, doesn’t make it easier for Cirilla to actually get to know him, or make sense of what Jaskier sees his own role in this family to be.
Asking Geralt doesn’t yield much more than that, though. He plainly acts like Jaskier and Yennefer don’t act like they hate each other, and he seems to believe that Ciri and Jaskier will just get closer without any of their further input. Considering Jaskier’s personality, this might be true, if the two of them would naturally spend enough time in each other’s company. But when they do, it’s usually shared with Geralt and Yennefer, and as loving each other seems to be the worst thing that could’ve happened to the three adults in Cirilla’s life, it doesn’t really lend itself to that. Their dinner tables are slowly calming now, forgiveness settling over the three of them for things they won’t tell Ciri about, but it doesn’t happen fast enough.
She fought for the respect of Geralt’s brothers, she’ll take it in her own hands to get along with Jaskier too.
“Why do you call him a broken-hearted fool?” she asks Yennefer one day while mixing a potion. Potion-making always lends itself to talking, and Cirilla has asked Yen a lot of things over time. She’s been told about Yennefer’s childhood, about how she met Geralt, what else she’ll teach her, but Yennefer seldom talks about Jaskier. Mostly she just calls him “the bard”, which Cirilla thinks is neither a positive nor even neutral term coming out of her mouth, but even that went from “resigned derision” to “resigned fondness” over the weeks they spent in the workshop.
Yennefer snorts, but has the decency to look a little guilty. “Have you ever listened to his songs?”
Cirilla shakes her head. “I’ve never been around when he played.”
“If you did, you’d know.”
And while that is just as mysterious as anything else she knew about Jaskier before, with the exception of the theoretical facts about how he got to meet Geralt and Yen, it gives her an idea on how to make Geralt happy. Maybe even all three of them.
“When will you teach me how to play the lute?” she drops on Jaskier one day, when she catches him alone.
He jumps, as if startled, and despite him hiding it, she can still make out the “just like her parents. Just expects me to drop everything on her whim.” But then again, with Jaskier, you can never be sure he didn’t want you to hear it.
“I didn’t know you wanted me to teach you. Didn’t figure you wanted my presence at all.” He sizes her up. “You’re a princess. Weren’t you taught music too?”
“I can play the cembalo,” she admits, “a little.”
“Then why ask me to teach you the lute?”
She shrugs. “Geralt and Yennefer are already teaching me things. I thought you might feel the need to share some wisdom too.”
Jaskier snorts. “I don’t think your parents think I have any wisdom to impart on you.”
The way he says “parents”, it’s scathing, a little like Yennefer says “bard”, but there’s another note to it. Ciri thinks it’s jealousy, and she’s pretty sure it’s not about the role Geralt and Yennefer have to her.
“I’d still like to learn,” she says, because she is nothing if not stubborn, and she’s sure he knows of that, will take his “like parents, like daughter,” and take it to mean that there’s no fighting her on this.
He sighs, resigned, but starts teaching her.
The first few weeks, she doesn’t hear any of his songs. She actually has to learn to play the lute, and it’s surprisingly hard. She gets new calluses on her hands, in places that even her witcher training and the physical parts of potion making have not yet left their mark on.
And it’s fun, which surprises her most of all. She had begged Geralt for lessons to fight because her life had been taken away, and she’s relieved to have Yennefer to teach her how to control the magic, but Jaskier and her lute make her feel like she actually has a life again. It reminds her of the more frivolous parts of life, the ones that aren’t about survival, and she thinks she understands him a little better. It also makes her understand better why Geralt and Yennefer used to dislike him.
“You’ve given him a purpose around here,” Vesemir says to her one day, “I don’t really know why he stayed before.”
“He stayed for Geralt,” she replies, like it’s obvious, because it is. Vesemir nods. “And for Yennefer.” Vesemir doesn’t nod anymore.
“I don’t think he likes Yennefer very much.”
“No, he does.”
Vesemir scrunches up his forehead in a way that implies he doesn’t agree, but doesn’t know Jaskier well enough to dispute it.
But Vesemir is right: Jaskier didn’t really have a purpose before this, here in Kaer Morhen. Geralt asked for his help, but once that part was over, there was nothing for him to do. If Yennefer’s insults have any truth to them, he probably spent his days writing sad songs. And Cirilla thinks they probably do, since Yennefer has definitely gone soft-hearted, and she’s never seen Jaskier and Yen fight on anything but equal ground.
It’s when she’s good enough to migrate from the easy beginners notes to play some of his songs when things get interesting.
She learns “Toss a coin to your witcher” first, and it makes Geralt laugh when she plays it after dinner, which happens seldom enough. But it’s a happy song, and Cirilla suspects it was written before the mysterious heartbreak.
It’s the next song she learns that makes something click in her. “It’s about Yennefer, isn’t it?”
Jaskier graces her with a look that seems to imply that what she says is outlandish. “I would never write a song about that…”
Cirilla can imagine how that sentence was supposed to end, but Jaskier stops, looks at her and doesn’t continue. She’s heard him use all kinds of different words to describe Yennefer, so the problem isn’t to find the right words. It’s to find words she’s allowed to hear.
“I’m not too young to hear you swear.”
Jaskier laughs. “No. And no, it’s not about Yennefer.”
“It is,” Cirilla insists. She’s seen all three of them interact, she’s so sure it’s true, “I mean it’s supposedly about Geralt, but it’s about her. Because you were jealous of the attention he was giving her.” She pauses. “You still are.”
She starts to lightly strum one of the easy melodies he taught her first, then looks up when he doesn’t say anything. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Jaskier from Geralt and Yennefer, it’s that Jaskier never shuts up.
She lifts an eyebrow.
“What do I have to do, so you don’t tell them about it?”
Ciri grins. “Teach me more songs.” She thinks for a second. “Start with the ones Geralt would disapprove of.”
“Has Geralt heard Jaskier’s songs?” Cirilla asks Yennefer a few weeks and a few songs later. She has by now realised that most of Jaskier’s songs are about Geralt (at least the interesting ones), with only few mentions of Yennefer. As Yennefer seems to have heard enough of Jaskier’s songs to have opinions on them, she has to be aware of how Jaskier feels about Geralt (the heartbreak comments are so very telling to Ciri now). Whatever is between Jaskier and Yennefer has to be a newer development though, seeing as the few mentions of her there are, are mostly along the lines of a vicious demon who’ll corrupt Geralt.
“The older ones, yes,” Yennefer says, “I’m sure. He wrote and played them when they were on the road together. I don’t think Geralt has heard Burn, Butcher, Burn yet, and I don’t think Jaskier is keen to make him listen to it.” She shrugs. “Kind of a shame. It’s a good song, unfortunately.”
“Would you mind?” Ciri asks, because she has to know how fragile the current arrangement is. She hasn’t been all that afraid of anyone leaving for a while, but she’s not exactly interested in reopening that possibility either. She likes their little family. “If he showed him?”
Yennefer narrows her eyes at her. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing, I’m just asking.” A short pause. “Do you know any songs he wrote about you?”
Yennefer snorts. “I don’t think he’s written any songs about me. And if he did, I can’t imagine them to be very flattering.”
“They’re not,” Ciri admits, thinking of the jealousy oozing out of every word that she wasn’t supposed to talk about, “but you could argue neither are the ones about Geralt.”
“What are you getting at?” Yennefer fidgets with the herb in her hand.
“Just thinking about what kind of songs he’s written since arriving at Kaer Morhen,” she shrugs, “when he’s not actively hating both of you.”
“Hmm,” Ciri grunts, and she thinks Geralt would be very proud. She suppresses a satisfied grin.
“Are you planning on keeping Yennefer and Jaskier here with us forever?”
Geralt looks like Cirilla startled him. She probably did.
She supposes he planned on doing just that, but without ever thinking about it. Acting like he doesn’t need or want any of that, he just wants Ciri to have the best possible magical education, and he’s resigned himself that he can’t control Jaskier anyway.
But that’s not enough for her anymore. Not talking about it leads to misunderstandings, leads to fights, leads to leaving, leads to an unhappy Cirilla and an unhappy Geralt. Most importantly, an unhappy Geralt, even if he won’t admit it.
Sure enough: “Do you not like them? I thought your classes with Yen went well, and Jaskier’s been teaching you the lute? Do you want to go somewhere without them?”
She sighs inwardly. “No, I want to keep them with us forever. Do you?”
“You want me to ask them?” he says and makes it about her again.
“They would, if you asked them to,” she replies instead.
“As much as I enjoy both their companies,” Geralt says, and Cirilla is so happy that he at least admits to that much now, “I can’t make them do that. They hate each other.”
“They don’t,” she disagrees, “not anymore.” She attacks the straw.
“Do you know what’s going on with them?” Vesemir sits down next to Cirilla. He motions vaguely in a way she knows means he’s talking about Geralt, Jaskier and Yennefer. “They don’t seem to be looking at each other much lately. There’s no fighting, and I haven’t even heard a single I hate you in the last week.”
“Good,” she replies, “I was getting sick of them acting like they don’t like each other.”
Vesemir watches her with furrowed brows. “Girl, you have a strange optimism. I, for one, am getting suspicious. Every day I expect one of them to kill another.”
“Once upon a time, maybe.”
Vesemir pinches his nose. “Why do I get the feeling you’re to blame for this change?”
“I’m not,” she grins, “but I may have helped them see.” She waves her hand about. “They just need to talk about it, and they’ll be fine.”
“We’re talking about Geralt here. Yennefer isn’t much better. And Jaskier talks a lot, but not the way you expect him to.”
“They will, and they’ll be fine,” Cirilla insists again, “Better even. We’ll be a family, without the death threats. Happy. I just know it.”
Vesemir stays silent, and Ciri isn’t sure if he disagrees or ponders what she just said.
“You were right,” he says to her, a few nights later in the dining hall. “They are looking at each other again, and no one is dead.”
“You must be relieved about that.”
“I am.” He smiles at her. “You must be happy.”
“We will see.” She thinks: One would hope so. But as long as they both stay and make Geralt happy, she doesn’t really care about the details.
“I wrote a song,” Jaskier exclaims after dinner, taking out his lute.
“What a surprise,” Yennefer mumbles, but it’s more fond than scathing, so Cirilla tentatively starts to hope.
“And it’s made for dancing,” Jaskier waves them away, “so shoo.”
Cirilla hasn’t danced since Cintra, so she’s excited at the prospect, especially if it’s Jaskier playing. Geralt seems to be aware of that, because he offers her his hand. For a second, it hits her that she never once got to dance with her father, before she waves that thought away. She doesn’t want the sadness over the past to ruin her happiness of the present. She can dance with Geralt now, that’s what matters. And that Jaskier is shooing Yennefer toward Vesemir to dance with him. The four of them align, and Jaskier starts to play.
The song is a little different from his other songs. It’s all Jaskier, sure, but where his other songs have been all heart-break, this is a mended heart, a full one. There’s a verse about a princess that she’s sure is about her, especially when Jaskier winks. There’s one about a witcher that she once would have deemed unrealistic, and one about a sorceress that makes Yennefer laugh, a sound not often heard, and even less often genuine and towards Jaskier. Geralt smiles too, and Cirilla is taken over by a deep sense of satisfaction.
They change partners in the middle of the song, Ciri goes to Vesemir, while Yennefer takes over Geralt. She’s pleased when she finds them smiling softly at each other through the rest of the song, and her glances at Jaskier don’t yield a single ounce of jealousy. Just happy smiles.
“Is this the family you’ve been picturing?” Vesemir asks her.
yes indeed, there is more! ngl i wrote it while a little stoned, i cant guarantee it isn’t a little rambly, hope yall like it anyway!
CW: ciri/geralt, modern sugar baby au - ciri and geralt are not related nor did he raise her, daddy kink, pet names (princess yes i know dont @ me), blowjobs, semi public blowjob (in a car), rife with sexual tension. hopefully
________________________________
Either time with Geralt was a great motivator, or Ciri just finally got herself to focus, because the homework was done much sooner than she thought it would be. She probably did something wrong, but she didn't really care as she quickly showered and applied mascara and blush. Maybe if they were passing a Sephora she could dart in and grab a mascara refill.
When she saw Geralt roll to the dorm parking lot up in a shiny, all-black classic car she decided that yes, in fact, she would absolutely be dragging him into Sephora, probably a Levi's too. she needed new jeans anyway.
To Ciri's surprise, Geralt got out of the car and greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek before he opened the door for her. She blushed furiously and looked around to see if anyone was watching as she slid into the passenger side.
"What?" Geralt asked as he leaned his elbows on the door with his head just inside the open window, a little teasing smile that made Ciri equal parts angry and flustered, "Don't want your friends to see?"
Jealousy flared up in her thinking of what her teammates had said earlier and she hooked a finger under Geralt's chin to guide him closer and give him a chaste kiss. His lips were a little chapped but pliant and warm and Ciri was sure she could spend hours just kissing him, but she had a point to make.
"Don't want them stealing you away from me. Get that perky ass in the car."
Geralt laughed under his breath as he rounded the car and got in, "I always thought I had more of a bubble butt."
"No, you have a perky ass. Especially in those jeans," Ciri snickered, "*I* have a bubble butt."
"So what's the difference?" Geralt sent her a smirk as he pulled out of the college parking lot.
She scooted just a little closer, bringing her knee up on the bench seat and an elbow over the backrest while she played with her hair, "No idea. Just wanted you to think about my butt."
Geralt snorted and shook his head, "No prompting needed. I couldn't *stop* thinking about you all day at work..." his voice dropped and Ciri noticed his hands grip the steering wheel just a little harder.
Her heart was beating like crazy, but somehow she managed to keep a composed facade, reaching out with her hand propped on the backrest to brush the loose hair off Geralt's shoulder and trail her fingers over the seams of his Henley as she whispered, "What did you think about?"
He swallowed hard, giving Ciri a little satisfaction knowing she wasn't the only one affected, "Those pictures for starters..."
"Mhm," Ciri prompted him to continue, shuffling a little closer and letting the hem of her sundress ride up her thighs. "How eager you are, how soft your skin might feel..."
With a shaky little inhale, Ciri ran her fingers down his arm and traced circles over the muscles of his forearm, "You can touch… if you want."
Geralt breathed out a soft little, "fuck," as he let go of the steering wheel. His hand hovered in indecision for a moment, so Ciri guided him to her inner thigh. Her breath hitched when he ran his fingers over the soft skin on the inside of her knee, up to the hem of her dress and back. She bit her lip to keep an embarrassing moan in, but his touch was like fire. When he hummed in satisfaction she let out a little sigh and tried to focus back on tracing the lines of his shoulder.
Her nails trailed up his neck and she heard the shuddered breath he let out, his hand resting fully on her thigh now, almost squeezing. When she started gently dragging her nails through the back of his hair he moaned, low and drawn out, rubbing his thumb back and forth across her thigh.
"You," He hummed, a tone of teasing accusation on his words, "are way too good at this."
"Hmm," she tugged at his hair lightly, "you expected something different?"
He splayed his fingers out over her thigh, his pinky and ring finger brushing under the hem of her skirt and mere centimeters from the green lace panties she'd worn underneath, "I'm pleasantly surprised is all."
Ciri giggled and leaned forward to press a kiss to the tip of his shoulder, "You missed the turn."
"Fuck." Geralt hissed, taking his hand off her thigh to flip a u-turn at the next light.
The blush that was creeping up his neck was absolutely adorable and Ciri decided she would spend hours figuring out how to get it out of him again. As it were, she scooted a little closer and resituated to lean her head on his shoulder while he drove, making a little more idle flirty small talk so they didn't get lost. Not that that would be all that bad, Ciri thought fucking Geralt in the car in some random deserted parking garage would be fun.
But Geralt seemed rather intent on taking her to the shopping center, and she sure as hell wouldn't complain. She could suffer a little anticipation if he got something out of spoiling her.
When they finally parked, she couldn't help running her hand up his chest to cup just under where his jaw met his neck to tilt his head down to her.
"You're a little minx, aren't you?" Geralt practically growled before snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her into a deep kiss. She had absolutely been right, kissing him was heavenly. By the time they separated Ciri was breathless and flushed and moments away from straddling him and forgetting what they were actually there to do.
"We can't have sex in the parking lot," Geralt murmured, disappointment clear on his face.
Ciri pouted, laying her head on his shoulder and pulling at one of his curls to watch it bounce back into shape, "We can if we don't get caught."
Geralt laughed and kissed the top of her head, "Oh no, the first time I fuck you will be in a real bed. And I will take. my. time."
A shiver ran through Ciri and she scrambled to sit up and fix her hair, "Then let's be quick about this, yeah?"
His hand shot out to grab her wrist when she went to get out of the car with a laugh, "Wait, I can't go out in public like this."
"Like what? You look great."
"Like this," Geralt emphasized his point by gesturing to his lap where his jeans were very noticably tented.
Ciri smirked, pride from having affected him so much and adrenaline making her bolder than she would usually be as she practically crawled closer to Geralt, "Are you as sentimental about blowjobs as you are fucking?"
Geralt's head fell back and he groaned, pulling the lever that raised the steering wheel, "Is that an offer?"
Instead of answering, Ciri simply tied her hair in a knot. It wasn't as strong as a hair tie, but if it worked for a quick run it should work for a quick blowjob. Geralt just watched her, chest heaving as she situated herself and looked up at him with her best innocent puppy eyes.
"Can I suck you off Daddy?"
"Are you sure?" Geralt asked, glancing around the empty parking lot.
"We parked far away from the entrance, we'll be fine." Ciri assured him, rubbing up and down his thighs.
"No," Geralt huffed in what sounded like fondness as he cupped her cheek, "Do you want to? I said I'd be fine with just company."
Ciri raised an eyebrow and reached up to flick open the button of his jeans, "Would I offer before we went shopping if I was only in it for the cash? You're hot, Geralt. I very much want to suck your cock."
He was about to reply, no doubt something snarky, but Ciri didn't let him get a word in. She unzipped him and reached in his breifs, massaging his mostly hard cock as soon as she got her hand around it. A sound not unlike a gasp but more choked and almost squeaky came out of Geralt and Ciri just smirked. Freeing him completely, she licked at the tip. Just a quick little kitten lick as she slowly pumped her hand up and down his shaft, but Geralt swore as he watched her. She started licking in earnest, flicking her tongue under the head of his cock right where every other cock she'd sucked was sensitive. Geralt was no exception, his fingers digging into the upholstery as she continued to tease him to fullness.
"Fuck, Cirilla stop teasing," Geralt gasped, his cock twitching as she licked another of several stripes up his shaft.
"My grandmother calls me Cirilla," She grumbled, pausing to look up at him with a wrinkled nose and sour expression.
Geralt rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, "Princess?"
"Mm, yeah I like that." Ciri decided. And with that she wrapped her lips around his cock and sucked, bobbing her head to take more and more of him as she went. She used her drool to help slick the way for her hand working what wouldn't fit, and after a while she reached in his pants with her other hand to fondle his balls. A good decision, given the way Geralt moaned when she did.
She could have sucked and licked at his cock for far far longer. His dick was perfect, her jaw didn't hurt, she thought she might be able to deep throat him with practice, and he even tasted nice. But she'd also been working him up all afternoon and very much wanted to get fucked sooner than later, so she wasn't surprised or upset when he warned her.
"Shit, Ciri, I'm close," he panted, "Napkins in the glove box."
Ciri pulled off his cock with an exaggerated pop and licked her lips as she continued to pump him with her hand, "Don't need them."
"Oohhh fuck, Princess," Geralt moaned, swearing and jerking his hips a bit when she took him as deep as she could, gagging around his tip.
Geralt growled when he came, his hips rolling up into her mouth and making her gag more than a few times as he shot his load down her throat. She swallowed as much as she could, using the little bit she couldn't get to slowly stroke him as he panted through his high.
When his eyes finally focused he looked down at her, still licking at his tip as her hand moved slowly up and down his shaft, he growled "Fuck. You're absolutely perfect, Princess."
Ciri practically beamed up at him, placing a kiss to the tip of his dick before climbing into his lap to kiss his lips, "Thank you, Daddy."
He hummed into the kiss, nibbling at her bottom lip briefly before pulling back, "Clean up your hand and we'll go get you a reward."
mel darling!! can i humbly request some fluff or hurt/comfort with letho and ciri for my favouritest @endrega23? (or just generally sweet letho, my beloved hunk of a man.) thank you so much, i smooch you 🥰
— @witchersgoldenbard 💛
absolutely you can; this was my pleasure to write! since these two don't really meet in canon (and because jjay has quite a few marvel fics on ao3), i went with a secret agent AU! i hope you both enjoy this so much <33
G, 1600 words, Generic secret agent/spy AU. Content warnings for prior animal neglect, references to animal death, and Witcher training.
When Letho first notices the anomaly, he trips over himself for the first time outside of combat in decades. Despite appearances, he isn’t a clumsy person; his size makes him no less graceful, only more of a threat. Geralt’s trainee snorts as Letho struggles to regain his footing, and her bright eyes flash open wide with curious amusement. “What?”
He hardly wants to admit that this entire time he’s been standing in Ciri’s doorway, he has failed to notice the orange threat lying in her pile of similarly coloured blankets. In his defence, the girl’s room looks far less drab than anyone else’s quarters in this base. But maybe this isn’t even a new addition to the room; there’s no telling how long Ciri has kept this thing around. Letho answers her question with one of his own: “What is that?”
Ciri looks unimpressed. “I know most Witchers keep themselves pretty removed from the real world, but surely you’ve heard of cats.” She reaches for the beast, gripping under its soft, skinny belly and pulling it up into her lap. Aside from a nasty scar just beside its ear, the cat looks harmless enough. Letho bristles and it doesn’t help Ciri’s expression. “What’s the problem? Got an allergy?”
“You shouldn’t have something like that here,” he snarls. Ciri freezes and pulls the cat closer nearly protectively, but the guilt seeping through Letho’s cold heart isn’t nearly enough to stop him. “This is no place for a fucking pet.”
The ensuing beat of silence almost convinces him that he’s won, that she’ll throw this mangy animal back into the pound she no doubt rescued it from. For the first time, Ciri looks like a real girl and not a superhuman danger to international security— and she looks frightened too. Letho doesn’t back down, and even though it looks like she might, Ciri doesn’t either. The cat starts purring gently, and Letho knows he’s fucked. Scowling, Ciri protests, “But Lambert feeds the ducks down by the lake!”
“Can’t think of a worse role model than Lambert.”
“And Eskel keeps a goat out in the courtyard!”
And Geralt kept you, Letho very much does not retort, frowning just as bitterly as Ciri. Instead, he tells her, “Goats provide milk. Eskel’s smart enough to know that in an emergency, the goat would be the first to go. Pets are a distraction— you’re not keeping it. End of story.”
“You’re not my superior,” Ciri snaps. “Technically, I outrank you. So my cat is none of your business. End of story!”
The cat mewls quietly as if in agreement, and Letho turns on his heel and storms away from the girl’s room. He heads straight to the firing range, meaning to work out his frustration with some target practice, but when he tries to fasten the headset over his ears he finds his hands shaking unexpectedly.
He doesn’t even remember his mentor’s face now, after so many decades spent as far away from Gorthur Gvaed as he could get. But Letho remembers the one moment of kindness the cruel instructor had shown him, bookended by terrible memories that plagued his nightmares for years afterwards. In-between testing their poison immunity and forcing them through training courses too difficult to escape unscathed, the Viper instructor led Letho’s class into a small room.
The gasps of the boys who entered before him made him nervous, but when Letho finally rounded the corner there was no horrific sight awaiting him. Instead he was surprised to see a pen with at least a dozen small kittens roaming around. The recruits were told that cats naturally distrusted Witchers so as a challenge, the Vipers would need to gain the trust of the fickle animals— or some story like that, anyway. Letho hadn’t questioned the reasoning too closely, blinded by his excitement at the first gift he’d ever been given.
The cat— his cat— had been a bright point during the following years of darkness. Letho, persuasive and almost too intelligent for his own good, had no problem getting the pet to trust him. The problem was that he grew too attached, so when it came time for the final test he would face, Letho failed to spot his own weakness.
He passed the test. The last piece he needed slid into place easily. Letho walked into that room as a tactical machine and walked out a killer, with a conscience wiped clear without any trouble. Or at least, he hadn’t thought there had been any trouble— not until decades later, when he saw Geralt’s apprentice holding a small orange tabby and was suddenly reminded of a loss he had nearly accepted.
Nobody bothers him until later in the evening, when Letho has abandoned the idea of shooting away his feelings. The kitchens are usually empty at this time of night so he’s surprised when the door swings open; he’s even more surprised when he turns and sees… no one.
Letho frowns. For a beat the room is ominously empty; then approaching tiny footfalls alert him to the identity of his visitor. Staring up at him is Ciri’s cat, because of course it fucking is. Letho stares right back, glaring at the creature with what he refuses to acknowledge as bitter, bitter jealousy.
After a moment of consideration, the cat moves closer and bumps its head against his leg. Letho sharply inhales before finally bending at the waist to give the creature some attention. He’s careful not to scratch near the scar on its head; even though the wound appears healed, Letho doesn’t want to aggravate it at all. The animal keens into his touch instantly, its soft, raspy purr an unexpected balm for his senses.
Letho, to his absolute horror, feels tears pricking up in the corners of his eyes. This only spurs the cat to be even cuddlier, of course, and Letho clears his throat. “You’re a cute one,” he admits. “Wonder if she gave you a name yet. Used to call mine Furball. … Maybe let’s keep that between us.”
The cat turns away to peek back in the direction it came, ears perking as it listens. Sure enough Letho hears the same sound a moment later, as someone races towards the kitchen and practically kicks the doors back open. It’s Ciri, looking a little windswept. Her cat meows loudly and joyously, quickly abandoning Letho to return to its owner’s side. The creature’s loyal. Letho will give it that, at least.
“Sorry, sorry, I think he saw a mouse,” Ciri quickly stammers, picking up the cat. She clearly hasn’t spent much, if any, time around animals before this one; she has no idea how to hold it properly. The animal doesn’t seem to mind, just twisting in her grip until he’s comfortable. “I didn’t mean to bother you! I’ll keep it away, I promise— Vesemir told me cats don’t really like Witchers, and I’m sure you’ve got some deep-seated trauma thingy about this because almost everyone here’s got stuff about everything, but, um… I’m sorry, I’ll keep him in my room!”
Letho thinks about if it would be wise to tell her about his deep-seated trauma thingy. Then at least she wouldn’t be left wondering why he was such an asshole to her earlier, and maybe she’d even get rid of the cat and he wouldn’t have to deal with this newfound flood of emotion ever again. But Ciri looks nervous, cradling the animal close to her chest again like she’s nearly scared that Letho will do something to harm it. He takes a heavy breath in, then out. “It’s a boy?”
“Yeah,” Ciri nods. “I found him when I was doing a recon mission with Coën— someone left him tied up in this awful dark basement. So I had to bring him back, obviously.”
Obviously. Letho silently muses on this, then finally he asks, “Given him a name yet?” Taken aback by the question, Ciri silently shakes her head. Letho smirks at the scrawny cat. “How about Gaetan?”
-
The following week, an unfriendly and impatient civilian places an emergency call to Morhen HQ, demanding that the agency deploys its best men to search for his missing feline. Unluckily for him, Letho is the first responder, and he’s less than sympathetic to the man’s claims.
“I have pictures,” the man tells Letho, brandishing said pictures in his face. Yes, Letho has in fact Seen This Animal; in fact last night he yelled at that very animal when it jumped up onto the dinner table to try to steal his salmon, and then eventually caved and ate his dinner on the floor beside the cat, and then chased a certain Wolf around the building for an hour threatening murder if Lambert didn’t delete that fucking picture right fucking now. He shakes his head, smiling to himself— this enrages the stranger, who misinterprets his amusement as derision. “Don’t you even give a fuck? My property got stolen!”
“Not really,” Letho tells him, just to watch him splutter. “Maybe you treated the cat like shit. Animals don’t just up and leave. And anyway, this is below my paygrade.”
“Your paygrade?!” The man stares, eyes bugging out of his head. “I thought you Witchers were supposed to be heroes!”
“You thought wrong,” says Letho, still smiling faintly as he steps towards the man. Coën and Ciri will be so happy to hear that Letho gained more information about their failed reconnaissance mission; and if in some small way he feels like he’s getting vengeance for Furball… well. Nobody needs to know his motives here.
written for @thewitcherbog The Horror And The Wild week! I used The Rockrose and The Thistle for this one. betaed by the lovely @reveniemus
Pairing/characters: Ciri and Geralt post when Geralt pulls his head out of his ass and finally finds her
CW: canon typical violence, life threatening wounds, panic, coughing up blood, ciri having to patch geralt up, it has a happy ending i promise, well... maybe not happy, but no one dies.
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Ciri gripped her dagger as she crunched as silently as possible through the underbrush in what she hoped was Geralt’s general direction. He’d gone off too long ago, well beyond what a typical ghoul hunt had ever taken him before. Ciri now considered herself an expert after three months of traveling across the continent with the witcher and was sure something had gone wrong. She had slung his saddle pack full of their medical supplies over her shoulder and buckled it around her torso so she had both her hands free in case she needed them, then set off in search of him before it got too dark to do anything about it.
She just had to find Geralt and bring him back to Roach and everything would be fine.
The sound of his ragged breathing reached her before she broke through into the clearing where he laid. For a moment she froze, that same terror she felt back in Cintra gripping her tight and screaming at her to run before the same fate found her. But she took a deep breath and forced herself to remain calm. Looking around the clearing she found two unmoving ghouls and no other movement than the heaving of Geralt’s chest as he lay staring up at the clouded sky.
“Geralt,” she hissed, trying to keep her voice as low as possible, “are they dead?”
His head tilted up and back down only once, but it was enough for her to throw caution to the wind and rush to his side, ripping the saddle pack over her head as she fell to her knees.
“Mellitelle… Geralt… what happened?” Ciri’s voice broke as she looked over his body and saw nothing but tattered armor and blood rising up from the tears and gaps.
Geralt grunted, pressing his lips together in a taut line and turning his head away from her.
Her hands shook as she gently guided his chin back so he was looking at her, “Shit- okay. Can I remove your armor or will that make it worse?”
When his only response was to frown at her and grunt again she felt the panic starting to rise in her chest. His eyes were open and moving on their own, but he didn’t seem to recognize her.
“Damnit Geralt! Can I remove your armor?!” Her shriek startled some nearby birds out of their tree but she barely registered it as she gripped Geralt’s face in her hands.
He seemed to focus on her with no small amount of effort and nodded again, holding in a cough, still pressing his lips together. She got to work immediately, clawing at the buckles and carefully lifting his breastplate off of him with a horrifying squelch. Geralt’s hand gripped her knee as she threw the armor behind her and did her best not to gag, but there was so. much. blood. Instead of rifling through the bag she dumped it on the ground and snatched up the suture kit she’d seen Geralt use on himself before. Threading the needle felt almost soothingly familiar from her days sitting with her grandmother’s handmaidens. If it weren’t for the blood covering her hands or the terrifyingly wet quality to Geralt’s breaths, she would almost feel confident.
As she stared at the three massive gashes in Geralt’s chest she felt her eyes glaze over. It was too bad, too deep. None of the bleeding would stop from stitching the skin above it. What had Geralt said about potions? She knew his body could handle stronger ones but there were… there had to be one that would heal him. He wouldn’t have survived so long on his own without them… right?
A sputtering cough and light spray of warm liquid startled her out of her panic. She decided to ignore the fact that Geralt had sprayed blood over her as she looked through which potions he had stocked in his case.
“Fuck, which one?!”
“Go,” Geralt grunted, barely audible over the hacking that came after, “Yennefer…”
“No. Which. Potion.” Ciri’s blood ran cold as Geralt squeezed his eyes shut and a sob tore from her chest. One of fear and that all too familiar stabbing pain of loss.
She screamed again, this time grabbing his face and jerking it toward her with what was probably too harsh a movement, “You are all I have left Geralt! Don’t you dare leave me alone! Don’t- Don’t…” her voice broke again on a sob that took over her body. The only thing that kept her grounded was the warmth of her last surviving loved one beneath her hand. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she smoothed the hair away from his forehead and held up a vial from the box so he could see.
“This one?” He shook his head.
“This one?” Another no.
“Th-this one!?” His eyebrows drew up in what might have been pity if he wasn’t the one bleeding out on the ground as he shook his head yet again.
“Fucking hell, this one?!”
Finally, a nod, a tiny yes.
Ciri wasted no time pulling Geralt’s mouth open and pouring the potion inside. He only coughed once more, without covering her in blood again, before the bleeding slowed. She could now finally see the edges of the wounds she’d wanted to stitch.
Mopping up the blood with the edge of her shirt, she began stitching him together. It wasn’t pretty, and the knots weren’t exactly uniform like Geralt’s were, but he was no longer bleeding and the smallest wound had even started to scab by the time she was done.
Geralt’s eyes were closed when she checked, but his brow was furrowed and he was actively biting at his lip as he breathed through his nose. It must have been excruciating to have one’s body manipulated like that, but Ciri pushed the thought from her mind as she scooped some salve out of a little glass jar. He’d put it on her scrapes after she’d fallen off a rock wall. She had no idea what it was but if Geralt said it fought infection then she would bathe him in it if need be.
It seemed the bandages were still with Roach, but at least she’d grabbed the most important saddle pack.
Finally, she sat back and rested her hand on his shoulder, “Do any of them help with the pain?” she whispered.
He shook his head, watching her now with a peculiar look.
She only nodded, gently pulling Geralt’s shirt back into place and looking around for his cloak. He’d left with it but she hadn’t seen it as she snuck through the forest. Now she spotted it on the other side of the ghouls.
When she stood to retrieve it, Geralt made a noise of protest, his hand reaching out toward her feebly.
“I’ll be right back, I promise.”
With the adrenaline seeping out of her body, Ciri began to feel just how cold it was. She shivered, wrapping the cloak around herself before laying down next to Geralt and draping the other half of it over him as she laid her head on his shoulder.
“Does this hurt?”
A soft whisper was all she got in return. Almost inaudible over the sound of the wind whistling through the trees.
