Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Winter

          Sitting across from the pair felt… strange. An unlikely match, perhaps? The tense atmosphere that saturated your table was suffocating, a stark contrast from the surrounding tavern’s lively patrons. You took a quiet sip of your hot cider and peered over the top of the cup, trying to stop the anxious bouncing of your leg. 

Yennefer of Vengerberg. A lethal combination of stunning beauty and immense power. The child in you clung to the familiarity that you had been missing and drew you closer. Despite this, a little voice in the back of your head urged you to be cautious, reasoning that you didn’t know her very well. She sat before you, poised and perfect, each word chosen carefully. Her companion, however, said nothing.

Geralt of Rivia. The Witcher wasn’t exactly what you expected. A massive, solid looking man with pale skin marred with scars from a long, hard life. His armor was well-kept, but clearly broken in. He regarded you with a bright and calculating gaze that made your stomach churn in a different way than Yennefer’s did.

You had never met a Witcher before, only heard rumors and horror stories. Supposedly, they can’t feel any emotion at all, making them perfect, remorseless, killing machines. Although, after the last few years of your life, you figured that some of the unsavory things that were said about Witchers were likely myths. Lies from the mouths of those afraid and unable to understand. Unwilling to learn. 

Regardless, you had no doubt in your mind he could end you faster than you could blink.

Geralt’s chair creaked suddenly as it scooted across the floor. “Yen,” he said, heading for an area in the back of the tavern. “A word.” The way he spoke left no room for argument, but you knew Yennefer wasn’t the type of woman to easily submit. She rolled her eyes and gave you a look before following after him. You looked down at your cup and sighed. 

“A vampire, Yen?” His voice was deep and gravelly, exactly how you pictured it to be. He didn’t bother lowering his voice, most likely aware that your keen hearing would pick it up regardless.  “Where did you even find the girl?” 

“Oh, hush. You’ll scare her away,” she said simply, sounding bored. “I won't pass up this opportunity.” 

Geralt huffed. “She obviously has no idea what she is. A fledgeling,” he said. You wondered how he could tell. Was your inexperience that obvious?

The tone of his voice made it seem like he was blindsided by this meeting. Yennefer had all the details worked out to a tee when you met the previous night, there was no way she had all of this prepared without his knowledge, right?

“Geralt, love, she's perfect for this,” Yennefer cooed. “Just be quiet and do what you’re told. We'll talk later.” Hearing her heeled boots clicking back in your direction and you looked up with an unsure smile.

          That evening, you laid in bed, staring at your ceiling and rethinking your reunion with Yennefer days prior. Suddenly appearing in your home, you wondered how she found you. You hadn’t interacted with another person in years. Not since you were turned.

“So this is what has become of you?” Yennefer folded her hands and perched herself on one of your kitchen chairs, legs crossed gracefully. Your mouth felt dry. She looked exactly the same as the first day you saw her. Same smooth skin and lavish clothing. Same curly hair and intense eyes. 

“Lady Yennefer!” Alarmed, you bowed your head out of habit, voice cracking from lack of use. She laughed and said your name.

“No need for the formalities. Neither of us work under Demavend anymore.” You raised your eyes and watched her gesture to the seat across from her. 

“With all due respect,” you began, sitting down, nervously toying with your dress. “Why are you here?” 

“Stright to the point then,” she smirked. “I have a favor to ask of you, but it seems as though maybe we could help each other out.” Her eyes analyzed you slowly. “That’s a nasty curse you’ve got there.” You frowned, feeling incredibly small under her gaze. How could she tell?

“I don’t know what happened…”

“Do you wish to be human again?” Your head snapped up fast enough to give you whiplash. You didn’t know what you expected her to say, but certainly not that. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m a very powerful mage.” She smiled at you and leaned back. “I just need something from you first.”

“Anything!” you all but shouted, gripping the edge of your table. “Anything at all, Lady Yennifer!” Tears began to sting your eyes at the idea; you missed your old life desperately. 

“You will be a surrogate for my child.” Your face fell. A still quietness filled the air. You might have thought she was joking if it was anyone else. “The man I love is a Witcher and Witchers are infertile,” she continued, not breaking eye contact. “I believe I can perform a ritual that will allow him to produce healthy sperm for a short amount of time.”

You frowned and mulled over the idea. You weren’t super keen on the idea of having a child or having sex with a stranger for that matter, Witcher or not. “Could you not use the spell on yourself also?” you asked, uncertain. She shook her head, her hair swaying gently. 

“As a mage, I cannot bear children.” A far away look took over her features as she turned to gaze out your window. “I gave that up a long time ago. Even if I was able to make the ritual work on myself and him, the effects wouldn’t last long enough for me to carry to term. My body would terminate the pregnancy within an hour.” 

The sadness that was expressed in Yennifer’s face made your heart ache for her. You had never thought seriously about having children before, but something about her made you want to agree. What was it about her? You were overcome by a need to submit… Maybe it was the history, but you were no longer a naive handmaiden. You looked down at your feet, pondering her request. 

As if sensing your apprehension, she continued to speak. “Once the baby is born, I will restore your humanity and we will part ways, with compensation." 

Once you were human again, you could travel and live anywhere you pleased; you could move to Oxenfurt or even Vizima! Life could be like how it used to be… Not quite like how it was in Aerdin, but similar. Different. Maybe better. 

Would it really be that simple?

          The Novigrad stables were nicer than you expected, with large covered stalls and what appeared to be fresh cut hay. A stableboy was shoveling snow mixed with manure, but thankfully the northern winds swept the smell away from the center gates. 

Sometimes you found that the smells of the city overwhelmed you to the point of feeling ill, but on the outskirts, the smell of livestock didn’t seem so concentrated. The first time you stepped out of your home after being turned, you were practically assaulted by the foul odor of sewage, but you noticed that many smells seemed to be dulled in the wintertime. It made you wonder how any vampire could stand living in such a populated area their entire life.

You had spotted the Witcher tending to his mare earlier, but he slipped back into the city at the last moment before you could make your presence known. She was a beautiful bay that looked healthy and sturdy, a direct contrast from the pony your dad used to haul equipment back in Aerdin. 

You gingerly approached the animal in question, resting your hand on her back so you wouldn’t scare her. She huffed and turned her head to look at you, the hot air of her breath clouding the cold air. It had been years since you had been on the back of a horse; the thought made you a bit apprehensive, but she seemed gentle.

“Hey,” you whispered softly, offering her a small apple that you had gotten from an overpriced street vendor. She sniffed it for a moment before tenderly taking it from your hand. The Witcher certainly took excellent care of her, you noticed, stroking her neck softly.

You felt Geralt’s presence before you heard him. His horse turned her head and nickered, happy to see the return of her rider.  “Her name is Roach,” he said from behind you, a thick bedroll slung over his shoulder. You had a feeling that he had a knack for sneaking up on people, positive he would have scared the wits out of a younger you. 

“I wanted to get in her good graces before we left,” you explained, running your fingers through Roach’s mane. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind.” You turned to him with an unsure smile, showing him the other produce that you had purchased on your way to the stables. 

He shook his head. “No, she deserves to be spoiled.” He moved to stand in front of her, stroking her face fondly. “She’s probably tired of me by now.” Roach snorted and knocked her head against his chest.

“No, she loves you.” You met his gaze. “I can tell.” A ghost of a smile crossed his features before he looked behind you, watching Yennefer approach from the city entrance. She stood on the pavement and looked distastefully at the stalls. It was clear that she wasn’t going to get any closer. The long, thick coat she was wrapped up in shrouded her body, only the tips of her black boots peeking out at the bottom. 

“Glad to see you’re already getting acquainted,” Yennefer quipped as the two of you approached. Frowning, you wondered if you had offended her by interacting with Geralt alone.

Head bowed in submission, you clarified. “I just wanted to show Roach that I wasn’t a threat before leaving.” Geralt eyed you curiously for a moment before he and Yennefer began discussing the plan going forward. 

It was so strange seeing her here after all those years, but you tried not to stare. She was still striking. Sable hair framed her face like a dark halo, falling into soft waves. Her violet eyes seemed to pierce right through you, filled with both wisdom and an alluring mystery, as if knowing everything the world has to offer her. 

“Do you wish to be human again?” 

The question rang in your mind like the resolute toll of a bell since she asked. You desperately missed your old life, the thought made your chest tighten. You hadn’t even thought that it was possible, but Yennefer was a very powerful mage. Who knew the limits of that power? 

Yennefer handed you a velvet pouch. Inside was a set of phials, full of mysterious liquid that she claimed would “prepare your body” for the ritual, whatever that meant. Either way, you were sure that she knew what she was doing, so you shoved them in your bag. 

You were to accompany Geralt to a safe location while Yennefer tended to some “unfinished business”. Once your body acclimated to the content of the potions, she would return and the three of you would conduct the ritual. Once concluded and ensuring that the ritual was a success, you would remain in their care so Yennefer could monitor the progress. 

“What if the ritual fails?” Would she keep up her end of the deal even if it didn’t work? 

She smiled. “Doubting me already?” She laughed at your expression. “It won’t fail.” 

          Your party had been riding for the better part of three days, only stopping to rest here and there. The destination, Geralt explained, was a vineyard he had received in lieu of payment for a contract he took. That in itself sounded silly to you; did he have his own brand of wine as well? 

Unsure how far Toussiant was from Novigrad, you found yourself hoping you would arrive sooner rather than later. Geralt wasn’t much for small talk, you gathered, and neither were you, but the silence was beginning to get to you as much as you didn’t want to admit it. 

The gentle ambiance of winter, coupled with Roach’s smooth gait and Geralt’s warm body behind you caused the drowsiness to creep in. “How long will we be traveling?” you asked in an attempt to stay alert, eyes beginning to droop. You couldn’t imagine taking this journey alone.

“Few weeks if we’re lucky,” he offered. The strong rumble in his chest made you realize that your body was leaning into him quite heavily. You immediately sobered and sat up straighter, shaking your head. If he was bothered by it, he didn’t say anything.

“And if we aren’t lucky?” You laughed lightly, trying to dispel your nerves and turned to look at him from over your shoulder. His eyes flicked down to yours, but he didn’t move. 

“We don’t make it,” he said plainly before looking back ahead and snapping Roach’s reins to urge her onward.

“Oh.” You sighed miserably and stared off into the distance. At least you weren’t traveling by foot.

          “Geralt?” Calling him by name felt painfully familiar, like his name was a secret that you shouldn’t be privy to. As if it wasn’t bad enough that you were practically sitting in his lap, situated in front of him on Roach’s saddle. “Can I ask you a question?” 

He grunted in response, but said nothing, eyes trained on the snow covered path ahead. It had been over a week since the two of you departed from Novigrad and the days were beginning to seep together. You were growing desperate for interaction, but aside from the disgruntled noises you made when downing Yennefer’s foul tasting concoctions, the journey was completely silent. At least at home you could talk to yourself without shame. 

“How did you know that I was…” You hesitated for a moment, breathing in deeply and blowing out, watching your breath fog and disappear in the air. 

“A vampire,” he supplied for you. The word caused you to flinch away, as if burned. 

“You called me a fledgling…” you started slowly, turning your head to catch his gaze. “I overheard you talking to Lady Yennefer in the tavern.” He quirked an eyebrow and looked down at you. Your cheeks burned and you quickly averted your eyes to stare holes into your gloved hands gripping the saddlehorn. 

Geralt sighed gently. “Higher Vampires can mask their presence at will, becoming impossible to detect. You didn’t even try to hide,” he explained. “You don’t act like any Higher Vampire I’ve ever met, so you’re either a fledgling or didn’t have a teacher.” A teacher…? 

You thought back to the night you were turned… The night when your humanity was ripped from you and the words that man had said. ‘This isn’t personal’. The thought of him teaching you how to be a vampire made your stomach churn with dread; it made you feel like crying.

“What clan are you from?” The question caught you off guard. You turned and looked at Geralt again and he returned your gaze, waiting for your answer. You furrowed your brows and slowly shook your head, unsure what he meant.

“Um… I don’t know. I didn’t even know his name,” you said. Geralt frowned and you felt him pull Roach, urging her to slow down until you two stopped near the side of the road. 

“Whose name?” 

“The man who turned me.”

His brows pinched. “Turned you? You weren’t born a vampire?”

Confused, you wracked your brain for all the information you had read about vampires in your life. “Vampires are born? I thought that anyone who has been bit would just turn eventually.”

Geralt huffed. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said, coaxing Roach to begin moving again. He looked straight ahead with an unreadable expression. He said nothing else, signaling that the conversation had ended.

          Another week had passed in silence, but it looked like you were finally coming upon a village. You prayed to any god that would hear you that they had an inn. The idea of a hot bath after being in this bitter cold excited you; perhaps you could even have a bed!

“How do you know Yen?” The question was sudden, drawing your eyes from the line of smoke wafting from the settlement. You tried to temper your excitement.

“I met her when I was a kid,” you explained, turning to smile at him. “In King Demavend’s court.”

The memory of the first time you saw her seemed to be imprinted in your mind. Just a child, your hand was securely wrapped around your father’s as he led you to his forge. She was absolutely stunning and you couldn’t look away as your father urged you on to follow him. Yennefer of Vengerberg, you later learned was her name. To you, she was ethereal, her ivory skin standing out in such contrast to her inky curls and extravagant clothing. That was the first time you had ever seen a mage. 

“Pretty far from home,” Geralt said, bringing your attention back to him. “How did you end up in Redania?” The beat up wooden sign on the side of the road announced your arrival at the approaching village. 

“When my father died, there wasn’t anything keeping me there,” you said, eyeing the snow covered sign and its faded lettering. The Village of Dregsdon. You wondered if Geralt had ever been here before during his previous travels.  “So I took everything I had and moved to Novigrad. I met a blacksmith and worked under him for a few years.” It would have been longer if it wasn’t for what happened. You sighed, feeling nostalgic, missing the warmth of the burning coals and Éibhear’s laughter. Winter reminded you of sitting around the hearth with him and eating fresh dumplings. If you thought hard enough, you could still taste them. The memories felt so close, yet so distant at the same time.

The two of you passed through the rotted wooden gate and you tried not to be bothered by the disgusted looks that you both were met with. The villagers whispered and pulled their kids away toward their houses. The rumor that Witchers stole children resurfaced in your mind… That has to be a myth, you reasoned in your head. Geralt appeared completely indifferent towards the hostility, most likely used to this sort of treatment.

“Not often you see women comfortable around a forge,” Geralt replied. Your cheeks warmed at the semblance of praise. He seemed awfully chatty today, perhaps he was just as relieved as you were to not have to sleep on the frozen ground, not that you ever saw him sleeping. The few times that you were up before him, he was meditating, a thin layer of snow covering his shoulders.

“My father supplied the weapons for Aerdin’s army during the First Northern War. I used to help him before I became one of the Queen’s handmaidens when I turned 16.” The inn came in view and your heart jumped as Geralt steered Roach in that direction. The windows glowed with the promise of warmth from the fire inside. 

“So you worked pretty closely with Yen at one point.” Smiling, you wondered if maybe the chattiness was just to learn more about a different time in his lover’s past instead. How cute, you thought, imagining Geralt being a very attentive partner. He must be in order for a woman like Yennefer to choose him, right?

“Not exactly,” you said, thinking back. “I do remember the first time I saw her up close though…” 

You had seen Yennefer here and there throughout your adolescence, but you had never been near enough for her to take notice of you. The first time she met your gaze, you were on your knees, washing the Queen’s feet in her chambers before bed. Her eyes were strikingly violet, you had realized. Your heart fluttered and you felt your face grow warm when she returned your gentle smile. Her calculating gaze held yours for a moment before you turned back to your work, feeling flustered.  She had looked at you with interest! A woman like that!

Geralt’s deep chuckle pulled you from your thoughts. “She seems to have that effect on a lot of people.” Your face burnt with embarrassment as Geralt hitched Roach and helped you down to enter the inn.

          You spent more time in Dregsdon than you had anticipated, but it was a welcomed respite. Geralt had rented a room at the inn and to your surprise, immediately left.  He said he wanted to take care of a few contracts before moving on, so for two days you tried to keep yourself busy while you awaited his return. You helped the innkeeper with some chores in exchange for a few meals and even tried your hand at Gwent, which you found rather boring.  When he did come back, he was drenched head to toe in muck and grunted that he was going to take a bath. 

You eyed the filthy pile of armor on the ground once he disappeared behind the bathing screen. You wanted to show him that you were grateful for the room and for him making this journey with you. Alone, you would surely have been killed by now. Would it be an invasion of privacy for you to wash the armor for him?

Steeling yourself, you pulled one of the extra buckets of water that the innkeeper had brought, closer and got onto your knees. When you were a handmaiden, you had to wash the queen’s extravagant gowns, so you knew how to treat high quality materials. You scrubbed quietly as he bathed, taking care of the armor as if it was your own. Sure, the set was incredibly durable, but it still deserved to be treated with care. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Geralt said from behind the screen, startling you slightly. His voice was low and you weren’t sure if it was from exhaustion or relaxation.

Rising to your feet, you hung his chest piece up to dry next to his gauntlets. “Do you want me to stop?” You wondered how he did this while he was traveling and imagined him covered in grime, wading through a river or just standing in the rain. You snorted to yourself at the thought and when he didn’t answer, you shrugged and kept working. 

When Geralt finally emerged from the bath, he stood in a towel and examined his armor that hung by the fire. “Very thorough,” he said, back turned to you. “Thank you.”

You smiled gently. “Thank you for the room.”  

          The sun was beginning to rise, which meant it was almost time for you and the Witcher to leave the inn. Everything was packed up and secured to Roach’s saddle, but Geralt wanted to sharpen his swords before departing.

He sat at the small table in the room, his blade in hand. “Said you met a blacksmith after leaving Aerdin,” he said casually, pulling out his repair kit. “What happened to him?”

“Ah…” You closed the book you were reading, one about the history of Temeria that you found shoved under the mattress. “I haven’t seen him since…” You paused, not finishing the thought. “He probably thinks I’m dead. I had heard that some small-time swordsmith suffocated his business with the help of Cleaver and his gang.”

Geralt looked up at you, brows somewhat raised in surprise. “You worked under Éibhear?” Hearing his name caused your head to snap up. 

“You know Éibhear?” Your voice raised with thinly-veiled emotion as you physically turned on the bed to face him. “How is he? I…I wanted to send him a letter. To let him know I was okay, but…” Your heart pounded. He was alive! He was safe! Thinking about him caused an ache to form in your chest.

Geralt nodded and leaned back in his chair. “He’s doing well, back up and running the forge. He mastercrafted these swords for me,” He said, gesturing to the weapons he was working on. 

“Do you mind if I look at them?” You asked quickly, reaching your hands out before retracting, suddenly self conscious. “I’m sorry, I just… I just miss him.” You sighed. Geralt flipped the blade and held the hilt out for you to take, which you did, hesitantly.

The steel was cold in your hands. Familiar, but foreign all at once. His touchmark was stamped into the metal, just above the rain guard and you ran your fingers over it. Éibhear must have been so ecstatic when Geralt asked him to create these. He always got so animated when making special pieces like this. 

“You two were together?” You snorted a quiet laugh and shook your head.

“He reminded me of my father. He died very suddenly,” you told him, admiring the craftsmanship. “I liked to think that working with him was the closest thing I would get to what my life could have been if my father hadn’t died.”

You returned the sword. “I’m sorry,” Geralt said. You thought about all of the people who claimed that Witchers had no emotions, but you could see the empathy in his eyes. The sadness. He had lost people too.

“It’s okay,” you gave him a watery smile. “Working with Éibhear helped me grieve his death. Thank you for indulging me.” Taking the sword back, Geralt looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

You were happy that the two of you stopped at the inn, feeling closer to him than before. 

          The moon was high, but you were unsure what time it was. It felt like it had been forever since you guys took a break and your ass was beginning to hurt from the ride. You sat alone on Roach’s back as Geralt led you down a quiet path. 

In the past few days, your mind began to fill with fog, causing you to forget where you were and what you were doing. You suspected it had something to do with the potions Yennefer had you drinking. Your head felt light and empty. The tingling in the tips of your fingers and toes persisted no matter how much you rubbed them for warmth. The alertness you grew accustomed to that came with vampirism was fading. 

With heavy eyes, you turned to search for the Witcher walking in step with his horse. You gripped the saddlehorn and took a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea. “How much further?” you asked quietly. 

Geralt and you had barely spoken since leaving Dregsdon, which was fine since you didn’t think you could form a coherent thought at this point. However, in the back of your head, a muddled paranoid thought floated through. Witchers killed monsters and you were a monster, right? Would you die by his hand at the end of this journey? Part of your dazed mind accepted this fate, but you tried to shake it away, only to get dizzier.

“We’re here,” he grunted after a beat of silence. You lifted your head and squinted, seeing a few glowing lights in the distance. Corvo Bianco looked like a small village as you drew closer. It was quiet and dark, the servants retired to their quarters for the night. The clopping of hooves and crunching of snow were the only sounds you could make out. 

Seeing you sway once his horse was hitched, Geralt assisted your dismount and set you on your feet gently. Your legs were numb from the ride and you instinctively grabbed his shoulder for balance, mumbling an apology.

You didn’t remember walking to his house. You didn’t remember him helping you into bed and you didn’t remember falling asleep. 

          She was cooking. It was near midnight and she was still cooking. You sat at the table in the main room staring into the kitchen at the woman inside as the warmth of the hearth spilled out into the house. She rarely spoke, barely ever ate and was always cooking. It felt like she would pop up only to give you food and disappear again. As grateful as you were, you wondered if she ever took a break.

"Lifted a curse on her and she decided to cook for me." Geralt’s voice startled you, nearly causing you to almost drop the cup you were drinking from. He took a seat next to you, also looking in on her.

"Sorry, I didn't hear you,” you said, looking down at the liquid in your glass. You found that all of your heightened senses were becoming duller and while the prospect of being ‘normal’ again excited you, you found yourself missing aspects of it. Particularly being difficult to surprise. You turned and saw he was now watching you intently. Where had he come from? You didn’t even know he was home. 

"I have dainty feet."

The sentence hung in the air for a moment and you coughed to hide a laugh, breaking eye contact by rubbing your eyes. "Uh, a curse, you said?" His stare was so intense, it made you feel bare. You swore you heard him snort as he turned away as well.

"Refused a beggar and he turned her into a Wight,” he explained. You hummed, pretending to know what that meant. “A necrophage,” he supplied. “A rare type of specter." 

"Oh, I don't know much about monsters… even though I am one, I guess." You sighed and picked at your nails idly. 

"How long have you been a vampire?"

You counted back the years by important historical events you could remember. “Six years I think." It didn’t feel like it had been that long. “I was already a vampire when the mages escaped Novigrad. You were the Witcher who helped them, right?” Geralt hummed and nodded before looking away, appearing lost in thought.

The two of you fell into silence. Marlene, the woman cooking, placed a bowl of soup in front of you before retreating again. You ate slowly, still feeling a bit ill from the different mixtures Yennefer was having you consume on a regular basis. You didn’t know what was in them, but you also didn’t know anything about magic, so the knowledge would be lost on you anyway. 

It had been a week since you settled in at the vineyard. Living here was nice… Different. The estate was massive and you were well taken care of, but sometimes you missed the familiarity of Novigrad. You were less isolated, but somehow you still felt lonely. It was better when Geralt was here and he didn’t seem to mind your company, despite your previous thoughts. The two of you wouldn’t talk much, but when it was quiet, it was a comfortable quiet.

"Mind if I ask what happened?" he asked suddenly. You swallowed and stared into your bowl. You tried not to think about that night, but it wormed its way into your mind whether you liked it or not, usually in the form of dreams. You covered your mouth and rubbed your lips absently. You could still remember the taste... The smell... The fear that shot through your body. 

Geralt was watching you again, perhaps sensing your metaphorical hackles rising.

You turned your eyes to him for a brief moment and tried to give him a reassuring smile. "... Another time, maybe." He looked like he wanted to say something, but nodded slowly. He understood. You weren’t ready.

          “Can I ask you something?” The sun was sinking below the horizon and cast an orange glow across the main room, shining almost directly in your eyes. Geralt grunted in response, but did not turn. Moving from your spot on the floor, you rose to take a seat across from him. Various ingredients and notice board listings littered the tabletop. “What exactly is a Witcher?,” you asked, reaching out to fiddle with a bundle of Bison grass. “Like how did you start doing this?”

He hummed and shuffled a stack of papers together, tucking them into a leatherbound book. “Never really had a choice,” he said simply. “Witchers are essentially monster slayers for hire, but there aren’t a lot of us left.” 

You watched him sort through the different items to find their place in his pack before he continued, “Since Witchers can’t reproduce, oftentimes orphans and unwanted children were taken to be trained. Some parents used them in lieu of payment.” That explained the rumor of stolen kids that you had heard. “At a young age we had to undergo a series of trials. Mental and physical conditioning, alchemic mutations, all to make us fit for the role.”

You handed the bundle back to him. “Mutations?” He nodded, placing it with the other dried plants.

“Yeah, haven’t you heard people refer to us as mutants?” You had, but never put too much thought into it. “The eyes are a dead giveaway.”

You leaned forward and looked at him for a moment, really looked and he silently met your gaze. Geralt was a handsome man, albeit intimidating. Tall and sturdy with an intense, commanding air about him. Squared jaw and prominent nose, thick and well kempt hair with a beard to match. At times, you thought you caught a glimpse of sharp canines when he spoke. 

His eyes were the color of citrine, you realized, reflecting in tandem with his white hair. Like gold and silver. There was something soft… something merciful hiding in his daunting gaze. “I like your eyes,” you said quietly, leaning away. “They remind me of chrysanthemums. What color were they before?”

“Chrysanthemums,” he repeated with a snort, moving the miscellaneous items into a separate pocket. “Not a lot of people would agree with you on that.”

He blatantly ignored the question, so you didn’t press, opting to help him gather the remaining items instead. “I’m sure Yennefer would agree with me.” 

Everyone had something that they’d rather not talk about. 

          Winter was due to recede within the next few weeks as spring approached, but the chill didn’t seem ready to loosen its grip yet. Often left to your devices, you began reading anything you could get your hands on as the days turned to weeks. Thankfully, Geralt kept a large collection of books in the loft that had become your room. 

You were in the middle of reading The Cult of Freya, when you heard the front door open. Peeking over the railing, you saw the man in question carrying what looked like a stack of paintings.

"Do you need a hand?" He seemed surprised to see you. Not waiting for an answer, you slipped past him and gently picked up a painting leaning against the wall outside, handing it to him.

"Thanks,” he said after a pause. He took the painting from you and set it inside against the wall. You continued to pass the artworks, appreciating each one. You never expected Geralt to be into visual arts, but it was fitting somehow.

The paintings varied greatly in size and medium and style. You picked up an oil painting of a farm and silo. Harvest Time in White Orchard. There was a beautifully done portrait of a man and a seated woman. Iris and Olgierd. A depiction of a star filled sky above a lake. Starry Night Over the Pontar. 

“Wow, you have so many…” Back inside, you thumbed through the stacks once the two of you finished. Aretuza’s Tower at Sundown. Ship Leaving Harbor, 1220. Knight Returning from His Quest. You moved to pull out a large work that was facing the wall. “Oh.”

It was a painting of Geralt. He was elegantly reclined on a pile of cushions, using what looked like a dead Griffin as a bed. He was naked save for a gold lined linen that was draped over his lap. Did he actually pose for this?

He gently pulled the painting from your hands, his brow creased. "Don't ask.” You covered your mouth to hide a laugh as he leveled you with an unamused look.

Glancing between him and his portrait, you bit your cheek to reign in your grin. "It's beautiful,” you told him. “A spitting image.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his features. "Fuck off.”

          Sitting on the half wall of Roach’s stall, you leisurely swung your legs as she rested her head on your lap. Her body heat seeped through your clothes, protecting you from the clinging frost. She nosed at your hand when you stopped rubbing her ears. Spoiled.

Geralt was hunched over, trimming and inspecting her back right hoof, dressed in casual clothes instead of armor. Your eyes were drawn to the way his back and biceps flexed with each movement. Averting your gaze, you wracked your brain for a topic of conversation that would keep you from staring, lest you make him uncomfortable or give the wrong impression. 

You ran your fingers through Roach’s mane, trying to detangle the strands as gently as possible. “How did you and Yennefer meet?”

Geralt snorted. “Stopped her from making a stupid decision,” he said, grabbing a rasp to file down the hoof’s edge. “She wanted to capture a Djinn.” Again, you cursed your lack of knowledge; surely he was tired of your incessant questions. 

“What's a Djinn?” Roach’s tail twitched, lightly slapping him in the face and he sighed. Unsure if he was annoyed with you or the horse, you waited, watching as he stood back to his full height. Even sitting on the half wall, he still seemed to tower over you. 

Geralt released her leg and stretched to crack his back. “Powerful creatures. Air elemental genies, essentially,” he offered, dusting off his pants and turning to face you. He couldn’t be that annoyed if he kept answering you, right? “They grant any who captures them three wishes.” 

You hummed and swatted a fly away from Roach’s face. “I thought that was a myth,” you said. A lot of things you’d heard about nonhumans seemed to be false, so you supposed it wasn’t a ridiculous notion. Geralt shook his head and moved to Roach’s other side.

“No, they’re very real. And very dangerous,” he warned, bending down to pick up her back left leg. “I found it by accident, so it was bound to me until the last wish.” 

Interesting. You wondered what someone like Geralt would wish for. For a world without monsters? Doubtful. Unlimited coin? Perhaps now he would wish for he and Yennefer to be able to conceive naturally. You idly wondered if you would be contacted at some point in the future to do it again, to give them another child. Or what if you got pregnant with twins? Triplets? The thought made you feel ill.

Pushing it aside, you focused on Geralt’s repeated movements. “What did you wish for?”

“A friend of mine was in trouble and I thought it was the Djinn’s doing. A curse,” he explained, sorting through his tools to find the one he needed. “I used the first two without knowing; nothing interesting.”

“And the last?”

He was silent for a moment, as if lost in thought. “I wished to save Yennefer.” Another pause before continuing to work. “Entwine our fates together. Djinns can’t harm their master, so I knew she would be safe.” 

You smiled at the sentiment. Yennefer was lucky to have a partner like him. “That’s really sweet.”

“It’s a sore subject for Yen,” he breathed through a sigh. “She always felt like our love wasn’t real. Put me through hell a while back to find a new Djinn and undo the wish just to see if she felt the same way without it.” You nodded, unable to imagine Yennefer being uncertain about anything. She always seemed so sure of herself. “Told me she still loved me in the middle of nowhere after the Djinn left.”

“Awwe,” you cooed, rubbing at Roach’s cheeks. “And you?” Geralt stood again and rolled his shoulders before looking at you with a raised brow. 

“What about me?” he asked, shuffling over to begin working on the last hoof. 

Frowning, you clarified, “Felt the same afterwards too? About Yennefer?” Geralt’s movements faltered for a moment, as if taken off guard.

“I- Yeah,” he started. “I…” He hesitated and looked at you briefly and then at Roach, brows furrowed. Nodding, he replied albeit seriously, “Yeah, I told her I felt the same.” 

You took that as a sign to drop it. 

          The sun peeked through the clouds and warmed the vineyard in it’s light. Spring was nearly here. It had been such a long time since you had last experienced the seasons like this. You missed it. 

Since your conversation in the stable, Geralt had made himself scarce around the house and today was no different. From your window, you had caught him at dawn, training on the outskirts of the surrounding forest, moving fluidly through the light fog. You hadn’t seen him take a break once and it was now well past noon. 

“Drink some water,” you said, cup in hand. “You’ve been out here all day.” Geralt lowered his sword as you approached, a deeply pensive expression clear in his eyes.

“Thanks,” he muttered, lifting the cup to his lips. As he drank, he tilted his head back, drawing your eyes to the column of his throat. The way he swallowed. A deep, sudden ache thrummed through your jaw and you looked away, feeling exposed and perverse. 

Geralt passed the cup back to you after a moment and you asked, “Are you doing okay?” He looked exhausted, hollowed out. From what, you were unsure.

“Got a lot on my mind,” he replied after a moment. The curtness of his response made you pause. This was different from the lack of conversation during your journey here; this felt heavy, loaded. 

You were slow to nod and even slower to respond. “Do you want to talk about it?” You didn’t want to pry; he was always so considerate when you had a lot on your mind. You wanted to at least try to return the favor, even if, like you, he wasn’t interested. 

You heard him huff softly as he turned away. “Just a contract coming up that I want to be prepared for.”

“Okay,” you said, heading back towards the house. “I’m here if you change your mind.”

          A loud clattering startled you awake and out of bed. Mind hazy with panic, you immediately thought that witch hunters were here to burn you at the stake and it took you a moment to realize where you were. What year it was. Your shoulders relaxed before you heard a string of curses from downstairs. Halfway down the steps, you caught sight of the Witcher, blood smeared across his armor and dripping from his hands. 

“Geralt!” You rushed down the steps to him, hovering nearby, unsure if you should touch him or not. He swayed slightly and tried to wave you away, kicking the front door closed. His eyes appeared shadowed, but glowing brightly and the veins in his face pulsed black.

“Looks worse than it is,” he said dismissively, voice deep and full of gravel. He took a few steps forward and pushed his bedroom door open. You followed behind him, watching him fumble with the belts and straps of his armor, his range of motion affected.

You pushed his hands out of the way and groped at his sides. “No, let me help you. Tell me where the straps are connected.” He grumbled and rested his arm against the door frame, above your head. Surprisingly, the armor seemed to be pretty easy to remove. You left his chest pieces and gauntlets in a pile to be washed and pulled him to sit on his bed.

“Feel like a child,” he groused, but didn’t resist. 

“Would probably do you good to have someone take care of you for once,” you commented lightly, kneeling to remove his boots. “C’mon. I’ll help you into the bath.”

Once the water was ready and Geralt was stark naked, he sank into the tub with a sigh. You silently grabbed a rag and began to rub the dirt and blood from his skin. 

It was quiet, save for the noise of you scrubbing. You peeked at his face for a moment and saw that his eyes were closed and his head was slightly reclined, the black veins beginning to recede. Relieved that he seemed to be at ease, you continued to wash him.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked suddenly, voice even and direct.

You paused your movements. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he said, opening his eyes and turning. You felt small under his gaze. ”Why are you doing this for Yen?”

“Oh…” You weren’t expecting that question. Part of you was so caught up in the domesticity of your living arrangement, you had almost forgotten. “Uh, well, it isn’t just for her, now is it?” You tried to give him a reassuring smile before shuffling behind him to scrub his shoulders, but really just wanted to move out his line of sight. “Aren’t you excited to be a father?” Perhaps sensing your unease, he closed his eyes and faced forward again. 

Geralt shrugged. “Never really wanted kids,” he said, resting his arms on the edge of the tub’s basin. “There was a point in my life where I thought I did, but I think it was more that I wanted the normalcy that came with being human. I’ve accepted that will never be my life. Not sure I would even like it if it was.”

“I understand,” you said. “When I was younger I wanted kids because I thought that's what I was supposed to do, but as I got older, I realized that I liked my life the way it was. Well, that was before… you know.” You still struggled to bring yourself to say it at times. Like admitting it would make it real.

Geralt just hummed, knowing you still weren’t ready to talk about it. You were grateful he never pushed. Again, a comfortable silence fell between you two as you continued to wash his shoulders. As the blood and dirt fell away, you started to really look at his skin. It was littered with scars. You focused on these deep, jagged lines spanning across his left shoulder blade. Absently, you ran your fingers over it, feeling the difference in skin texture. You wondered if he was scared when he got it. What could have left a mark like that? A bear?

“Cockatrice,” he said. 

A startled noise came from your lips, wondering if you had spoken your musings aloud and you pulled your hands away quicker than you would have liked. 

“That scar,” He clarified. “A Cockatrice grabbed me and lifted me up into the air. I probably wasn’t much older than you at the time.”

It took a moment for your brain to catch up. “Oh,” you said lamely, cheeks warming. “I’ve been reading the books you have upstairs, but there isn’t a lot of information about monsters in them, so I’m afraid I still don’t know much.”

“Never too late to learn,” he said, tapping his fingers absently on the basin’s edge. “You can touch them. They don’t hurt.”

Nodding, you swallowed hard and gently ran the cloth over the scar again before turning your attention to one on his bicep. A cluster of gnashes. Shifting to the side, you got a closer look, giving it a pass with the rag. A stolen glance confirmed that his eyes were still closed. 

“Royal Wyvern,” he supplied casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

The next one was just below his neck. A monstrous bite mark. You set the cloth aside and ran your fingertips over the ridges. He leaned into your touch and hummed.

“Striga,” Geralt said, a fraction quieter. Breathier. Your stomach fluttered and you reasoned that you should stop touching him like this. When you looked up, his eyes were on you again. Shivering, you halted your movement, giving him the opportunity to stop you. 

He didn’t. 

The tension in the room was thick as you held his gaze and smoothed your hand down to rest on his chest, right above his heart. You could feel a twisted, gnarled patch of skin underneath your fingers.

“Leshen,” he whispered, eyes flicking to your lips for a moment. You could hear your heart beating in your ears. You slid your hand lower, trapped in his gaze. You wondered what his pulse would feel like compared to yours. Could he hear it? Did he know the effect he was having on you? Curious fingers passed over his nipple and upper abdomen, dipping below the tepid water. 

The skin you felt curved in dramatically and you looked down, pulling back in alarm.

“What- I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” You looked back at him before searching your hand for blood.

He smiled and laughed, sitting up to reveal what you had felt. Another scar, a deep crater surrounded by discolored, warped flesh. “That one was from Yen.” 

It took a moment for you to process his sentence. You were comforted by the fact that you hadn't accidentally reopened a wound like you initially thought, but… Yennefer? She did this?

 Brows pinching together, you tentatively reached out to pass your fingers over it again and Geralt let out a soft sigh. It looked so much different than the others; those were lighter stretches of his natural skin tone, whereas this one was almost puce in color, appearing to still be healing. “Yennefer did this to you?” You looked at him, concerned. “Why? By accident?” His expression was suddenly difficult to read as he reclined back into the water. 

The tension between the two of you from earlier had morphed into a different kind of tension. “Did something to piss her off and she blasted me with her magic.”

“I see,” you said slowly, shuffling back behind him to begin washing and detangling his hair as a distraction. It was very soft, you noticed, just as you thought when you first met. “Do you fight like that often?” He hummed in affirmation. 

What could he have possibly done to provoke that sort of reaction? Witchers had an advanced healing factor, that much you knew, and seeing how that wound appeared to be struggling, it made you wonder what kind of magic she used. It was clear even before this that she is incredibly strong. 

“She has scars that you’ve given her too?”

He made an irritated noise and turned to give you a hard look. “Never laid a hand on her like that. Never.” You frowned, put off by his sudden hostility towards you.

“But it's okay for her to do that to you?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Don’t act like you know anything about Yen or our relationship.” You felt a defensiveness flare up in your gut.

“I know that she didn’t talk to you before asking me to be her surrogate,” you replied shortly, getting to your feet and drying your hands on your clothes. “You just said you didn’t even want kids. That sounds like an important thing to discuss beforehand, in my opinion.” His expression soured even further as he gripped the edge of the basin, pushing himself up to tower over you, water and soap bubbles sliding down his body.

“Good thing I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he said in an eerily calm voice. Anger coiled within you like a snake.

“Geralt, you and I both know,” you began harshly before pausing and taking a breath. “Are you going to feel fulfilled in fatherhood? Do you think she will feel fulfilled in motherhood? Do you think she will be content to stay with the baby while you’re out taking contracts? Or are you planning on turning your back on your life as a Witcher?” He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t reply. It was easy for anyone to see that Yennefer cherished her freedom, held onto it securely. “What do you want?”

After a beat of silence, he said your name. “I think you should go to bed.” You clenched your jaw and took a step back before looking away towards the floor.

“Right…” 

          You sighed miserably and pulled the blanket over your head. You definitely fucked up. It had been a few days since your fight with Geralt and you hadn’t seen or heard from him once. Could you even call it a fight? Perhaps an intense implication. About his long term lover treating him poorly. Yikes. He was right about you not knowing them or their relationship, but…

Your memories of Yennefer were all you had. Maybe she was different now compared to when you were younger. Everything about her seemed to be the same, her clothing, the way she spoke, her attitude. Hearing that from Geralt caused something to unlock in your mind and you began to remember things that you hated about working in Yennefer’s proximity. Things you had experienced and stories you had heard from other staff. Rumors of treason and shady practices.

While you had never been on the receiving end of her fury, you had heard her talk down to the servants and openly badmouth other members of the court. People that she pretended to be friends with. One of the kitchen staff had even quit after an altercation with her. 

Had time really caused you to forget? People do say that distance causes the heart to grow fonder.

The creaking of stairs drew your attention, but you remained hidden, hoping Marlene wouldn’t linger. You didn’t feel hungry. When the steps didn’t subside, you realized with dread that it was most likely Geralt seeking you out. He made an effort not to hide his steps from you and while normally, you greatly appreciated that, right now all it did was fill you with unease.

“Stop sulking, I’m not mad at you,” he said, voice holding a hint of amusement. You tore the blanket off your head, embarrassed about being caught.

“I’m not sulking!” Geralt stood there with his arms crossed, fixing you with an unimpressed look. He rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed, handing a stack of worn leather bound books to you. You faltered as you reached for them, “What is it?”

“If you’re still interested in learning about monsters,” he said. “These are my field notes.” You thumbed through the top one, seeing in depth information and diagrams of different monsters. Geralt made all of these? 

“Wow… Thank you so much.” You looked up and met his soft gaze. “You don’t need them?”

He shook his head. “I don’t use them much anymore. They’re from when I was much younger.” You sighed through your nose and set the books aside before adjusting to face him fully. 

“Listen, Geralt,” you began, ignoring the pit in your stomach. “I’m sorry about the other night.” A ghost of a smile made its way to his face. 

“No need to apologize,” he reassured, looking more amused than upset. “Yen is… complicated. Secretive. But I trust her.” He paused for a moment. “You must trust her too, to an extent, otherwise I don’t see you agreeing to something like this.”

“I know, I just…” You slid your hand closer to where his sat on the bed and hesitantly interlocked your pinkies together, unsure of what to say, hoping he understood what the gesture meant to you.

“I appreciate your concern; I really do,” he said, giving your pinky a little squeeze with his own. “It isn’t often that someone takes interest in my well-being, but I know how to handle Yen.”

You frowned and looked down to your interlocked fingers. “I know, but just because you can handle it or take care of everything alone doesn’t mean you have to.” 

“It’s better this way,” he said before rising from his seat and heading back downstairs. 

Stubbornly, you wanted to argue with him. To show him that it wasn’t better this way. To prove it to him out of some sense of self righteousness. But… It wasn’t your place to care for him. 

Who were you in the grand scheme of his life? A vampire who didn’t even know what that meant or entailed? One who would return to normal human life in less than a year's time? Someone who would go back to having a normal human lifespan, becoming just a small blip in the long and prosperous life of a Witcher. 

You stared at the journals in your hands.  You could never even dream of matching Geralt on any level, so why would he want to remain friends after everything was said and done?