#ciri is a caring daughter

[hanzajesthanza]

people (the rest of the hanza. not including geralt) often forget that cahir was 1. the guy that kidnapped ciri 2. an officer in the military

he’s literally so polite in geralt’s company you wouldn’t even guess he was the black knight. and yet. and yet.

i’m never certain exactly how to reconcile this tactful and strategic mind with the terrified young man

[donaweasley]

Promises to Keep

Pairing: Geralt x Fem!Reader

Plot:

Geralt is tasked with protecting a princess but his feelings keep poking at him, urging him to shed his tough armour and give in to his heart. But the witcher is a righteous man. He won’t succumb to his feelings so easily. Will he?

Some pining, some fluff that will lead to a “part 2” of this story.

Warnings: A bit of m.at.ure stuff. K.i.d.s better stay away!

Read time: ~15 mins

Note: This story has been based in a timeline before the fall of Cintra, and so, Geralt has not yet started his quest for Ciri. Oh, and he doesn’t fall in love with Yennefer. 😉

Prologue:

Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with many a difficult missions but the hardest of them all was probably not killing but protecting a person. That person was a princess whose parents had specifically called for Geralt to take their daughter under his wing as Nilfgaard marched towards their doorstep.

The princess could fight; she had been in battles but Nilfgaard had morphed into something entirely different from what the Continent had previously seen. It was as though Hell itself had poured into their army, leaving a trail of ash and blood wherever it went.

And so, turning all cries and protests from the said princess to deaf ears, her parents sent her away, in return of an assurance from her that, should their kingdom fall, she would come back and restore it to its glory, flying their banners from every nook and corner.

They knew she could, they had said.

The journey with Geralt had not been easy, moving from camp to camp, from inn to inn, not to mention the complications of his profession. But time gradually made things easier for them both, eventually bringing them to a point where they could comfortably pose as husband and wife so as to protect her identity, and avail a temporary shelter in a village.

And even though they were living a lie of being a married pair, their hearts often wished to forget reality, and enjoy the bliss of domestic life with one another. To be with each other unconditionally, forgetting all rules and boundaries.

But Geralt was a man of ethics, and she did not want him to bear the burden of guilt just because her stupid heart could not stop fluttering for this kind, brave gentleman with a heart of gold!

And thus, neither, for fear of straining what they already had, could ever utter their feelings to each other. After all, they had promises to keep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few months ago:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She hurt herself on the thick leather armour as she flung her arms around his neck. But she did not care. That was a pain she would happily endure if it meant seeing Geralt at her doorstep safe and sound.

He smelled of sweat and blood and the swamp. He probably tasted like it, too. Alright, so what? The man returned after three weeks from the edge of the Continent. And perhaps from the edge of life. She couldn't care less about what he smelled or tasted like. But did he really…? She was very close to confirming her assumption - almost there - when Geralt suddenly remembered his place: the protector of the princess, a mere witcher.

“Princess,” the rich baritone vibrating in her ear woke her up from her purple dream. She could not help but lean back when she found her “husband” doing the same.

Geralt spread his arms slightly, and smiled with that usual softness in his eyes that came to the forefront only when she was around. “Safe and sound. Just like I had promised.”

“I am honoured!” She jested, and stepped inside, making room for Geralt to do the same.

“Give me a minute. I'll draw a bath for you. And once you have cleaned that mess off you, you'll have a warm dinner waiting,” she smiled and turned to make her way to the bath when Geralt gently but firmly held her wrist.

Neither could deny the spark that coursed through their veins at the contact. But neither would confess. Involuntarily, the witcher’s thumb made faint circles over her veins. Once he realised what he was doing, he slowly released her but their fingers lingered over the other’s before finally making some room between them.

Geralt pleaded with her to stop fussing over it all but the woman was ecstatic! Who could stop her from doing everything she could for the man she was falling in love with! Not even the strongest witcher.

And so, she hopped away to prepare a warm bath for him while he busied himself with the relieving task of removing his armour and weapons.

Geralt lay in the bath, pondering over the unsaid things that have been passing between the princess and him. Especially the ones that happened that evening. They had never been this close before, and it only made his breath shallower every time he thought about it. His mind wandered away unleashed every time his drunken heart slipped into fantasies of what could have happened had he not pulled away from her embrace…or what might happen if he allowed himself a bit more liberty with his feelings…

A gentle knock on the door startled him, bringing him back to the reality of the small room lit by two candles, back to the fact that the woman living under the same roof with him was his mission, not his real wife, as the villagers knew her to be. There was no way a witcher could dream of having a wife and a family, let alone with a princess!

“Need anything?” The voice was gentle, happy…it was caring. It made Geralt smile to think that someone cared so deeply for him, that he was actually having a domestic life, even though a fake one.

“Your company would be nice,” he quipped.

Geralt grinned wickedly. He did not need to see her to know the blush creeping up her ears and cheek.

Over the months their relationship - real or fake, whatever that was - had built into a strong bond, one that was made of cares, banters, challenges, huffs (and not just from the witcher), puns of all kinds and fluttering heartbeats. And though neither backed down during the banters or the puns, either one of them definitely ended up with blood rushing up their cheeks.

(Y/N) bit her lip and rolled her eyes. Two could play this game. Taking a deep breath, she cracked the door open. It startled Geralt, and she could tell it without seeing his wide eyes and parted lips.

“I believe you have a lot to talk about from your adventure?” She slowly walked in, eyes straining to look anywhere but at him.

She did not receive an immediate response. How could she! Geralt was spellbound by the boldness of this woman! It was inspired by his own recent boldness, perhaps, he wondered.

He cleared his throat, “Indeed.”

She picked up a small wooden stool, and sat with her back to him. “You were saying?”

“I would detail everything but are you sure you can stomach all that? And before dinner?”

Glimpses from his previous tales crept back, and she gulped at the gory imaginations that his words had painted in her head. Perhaps she could not. But would she confess? No!

“I’m tougher than you think, witcher.”

This was their usual way of addressing each other: “Witcher”, with a sarcastic stress in the middle of the word, and “Princess”, with a vanity enveloping the word.

When they had set out for their journey, she had requested him not to call her “princess”. “I have a name, and I would like to be addressed by it,” she had insisted. But Geralt had decided on maintaining his propriety.

When asked whether he would like to be addressed as Geralt or Witcher, he had simply mumbled, “Whatever you like, Princess.”

“Witcher it is then.”

And that has ever been going on, until recently when some rare moments witnessed them addressing each other by their names, and not what they were to the world.

In the small bathroom now, she heard a slosh behind her, signalling the rise of the large man from his bath. She tried her best to stop her shameless mind from picturing his wet body, dripping with water as he stood and stepped out of the tub, as he reached for the towel nearby and dried himself with it before wrapping it low around his waist. But the quiet of the night made sure that every little sound and movement reached her ears, leaving her a slave to her unabashed imagination.

Geralt grunted, the sound coming from right above her head.

“I know you can’t take it…Princess,” the last word was practically breathed on the shell of her ear.

Leaving her a total mess, Geralt sauntered out of the bathroom with a promise to indulge her in his stories after dinner.

That night, in the faint light of the moon, nimble fingers traced the contours of the witcher’s face as he slept - brows slightly arched, lips parted, face as serene as a dawn in Spring. She watched him breathe peacefully, devoid of the cares of the world, until a small smile cracked at a corner of his mouth. With eyes still closed, he placed a hand on hers and brought it to his lips. A chaste kiss was all it was, and yet it had her heart thundering. He had never - ever - shown any affection other than soft looks and gentle smiles.

“Sleep princess,” he rasped in a sleepy voice.

He opened his eyes once, to watch her smile at him, before holding her hand snuggly and drifting back to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present day:

The sound of the door cracking open brought her back to the present. Quickly slipping a little more below the soapy water, she gripped the hilt of her sword.

It was Geralt. The moment he set one foot inside, his eyes went wide. It took him hardly a second to swing on his heels, to look away, but the sinful image had planted itself in his head. Probably for eternity.

“Pardon me. I…I did not know… I thought you were done. I just returned from outside; I did not notice that you were not anywhere else. I…”

“Geralt!” His name. She spoke his name! That, along with her soothing tone put an abrupt end to his string of stammering apologies. “It’s alright. I know you had no ill intentions.”

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet for a couple of seconds, he asked, “Do you need anything?”

Her lips stretched into a smirk as she recalled an old conversation that had occurred under very similar circumstances.

“Your company would be nice,” she quipped, just like Geralt had a few months ago.

The witcher recognised the joke immediately. A small smile escaped his usual serious features.

“I believe you have a lot to talk about your first kill,” he jested just like she had back then.

The sigh that filled the room made Geralt wonder if he had said something uncalled for. She was shaken by the incident but if she was making jokes now, she must be recovering. Right?

“(Y/N),” Geralt called without looking at her, “are you alright?”

“No, if truth be told,” came the confession.

He understood. Keeping his gaze focused on the floor, he took a few large steps until he was standing near the foot of the tub. In one smooth move, he was sitting on the floor with his back to her.

There was something about Geralt that made her feel protected all the time. Even in her most exposed and vulnerable state, she felt safe and comfortable with him around. And it was not just the love she felt for him. It was something else. It was something…very “Geralt”.

“The monsters we kill haunt our minds till long after. You never get used to it no matter how many kills you have made,” he sighed.

(Y/N) listened quietly. He was a man of few words, and at most times it seemed as though he was not even listening. But he always understood every single unexpressed emotion, every single unsaid word that she carried within her.

“Every time I close my eyes or every time I hear something, fear grips me,” she shivered at the thought. “You are right. I'm haunted by its memory, and … I cannot seem to shake the thoughts off. No matter how hard I try! I cannot even be courageous enough to convince myself that it is all in my head!” She slapped the water in frustration.

Unlike the witcher, killing monsters was not her profession nor did she volunteer for it. But what she did volunteer for was accompanying Geralt to a trip to the river caves for some herbs. Despite the witcher’s efforts to shield her inside the safety of their home, she managed to argue her way out of the proverbial safety net. Which is what led to the unforeseen event of her first close encounter with one of the many monsters that had become part of Geralt’s life. It also led her to, for the first time, being at the receiving end of Geralt’s fury for risking her life .

‘You were very courageous back there,” Geralt smiled at the memory of her driving her sword through the neck of the drowner, thus saving his own neck in the process.

“I had to be! Couldn’t just stand there and watch my favourite grumpy fellow die!” She jested about it but a shiver ran up her spine as she spoke. “It was disgusting, you know? I can still feel all the blood and slime on my skin.”

“It was also very brave. You saved my life!”

He had thought that his statement would make her proud but he was met with silence.

She spoke after a while. “You do know that I shall not be able to live anymore if something happens to you, don’t you? I shall only survive.”

Geralt’s heart suddenly felt very heavy in his chest. What she said was known information to him. Somewhere in his soul, he knew that she loved him. But to hear it aloud was totally unexpected.

“I shall be fine, princess,” he used his most assuring voice. “Do not worry about me.”

Unseen by him, a smile formed on her countenance. “I know, witcher.”

“Maybe we could talk about something else?” He suggested. “Take your mind off the monster?”

“Hmm… How is Jaskier?” She suddenly asked.

Geralt almost turned his head towards her in surprise. Almost. She was naked, having a bath, and the first “something else” that came to her mind was the bard??

“Jaskier?” He asked. “You wish to talk about Jaskier now?”

“Well, you wanted to talk about something else!”

Was that jealousy that she was sensing in his huffs? She hoped it was.

“He must be fine. I do not know.” He ended the topic as quickly as it had begun.

“Hmm.”

The princess laid her head back on the tub and closed her eyes. There was a comfortable silence. So comfortable that she did want to leave, did not want to do anything that might disturb the moment. Even though it was getting late. Even though Geralt still had to wash himself.

Geralt still has to wash himself! Shit! He must be hungry!

Her eyes shot open. “I’m sorry, I forgot you have to wash up, too! I shall be quick.”

The sudden splash of water pulled Geralt out of his own reverie, inadvertently causing him to turn around so as to ask her not to hurry. But the sight before him left him speechless. It was fortunate that she was too busy to see him else he would never have been able to face her in shame. Geralt turned back and shut his eyes as soon as he snapped out of his trance. But that did nothing to erase the image imprinted in his mind. Not that he wanted to.

She had pulled herself up slightly, as she tried to reach for the towel on the nearby stool. In the light of the candles, her body glowed golden as water cascaded off every curve of her body… down the side of her neck, her shoulders, two perfect globes that highlighted particularly well in the candlelight, perky nipples that had hardened in the water, the beginning of a lustful waist…

He did not hear her step out of the tub, did not hear the rustle of clothes as she got dressed, no. His mind was replaying the same thing over and over again. There was an evident twitch somewhere down his body. He faintly heard something about dinner and changing the water. The creak of the door pulled him back.

“I shall…” His voice was hoarse. “I shall change the water. You may leave.”

The change in his mannerism surprised her but then both his voice and attitude were gravelly most of the time. With a small “alright”, she exited, leaving him to his thoughts.

Dinner was quiet as Geralt tried to suppress the feelings bubbling inside him. He wanted to look at her and lose himself in her eyes. He wanted to tell her how he felt. Wanted to show her what it meant to unleash months of bridled love that he had been carrying within his entire being. He wanted to…

Gods! There were so many things that he wanted to do. But every time he talked himself into taking one step forward, his reality made him take two steps back.

And so, once again, he retired to bed without telling her anything at all about the whirlwind in his heart.

Geralt woke up sometime in the middle of the night, sensing some movements near him. Once sleep stopped fogging his senses, he realised that it was (Y/N) tossing and turning beside him in her sleep. Not only was she being restless, she was mumbling something incoherent that only got louder with her movements. It hardly took him a couple of seconds to realise that she was having a nightmare!

Geralt tried to wake her up: called her name, shook her. But she was trapped deep in her own head. He thought he heard something like his name but could not be sure. Seeing his efforts go in vain, he took her face in both hands and shouted her name while shaking her once more. He wasn’t sure if it would work but luckily, it did. With wild eyes she stared at him, as if trying to figure out where she was, trying to put up a wall between her horrid imagination and sweet reality. When she finally came around, she threw her arms around Geralt’s neck, causing him to tumble to the mattress with her below. Once again, he fought with himself as a wave of relief washed over him, eventually crashing into a strong desire to keep her encased in his arms and caress her for the remainder of the night.

“I dreamt that you were…” she almost sobbed. “That I had…” She couldn’t bring those bitter words to her tongue.

Geralt understood.

“You will never lose me. I shall always be by your side. I promise.”

In the dark veil of the night, in those weak moments, he made her a promise that even he did not know how he would keep, for she would be married to some royalty some day; she would have to go away, leaving him with his solitude and monsters. He could not keep her to himself nor could he watch her be with somebody else.

But that was a worry for another day. Right then, she was in his arms, and no one else’s. Even if for a moment, she was his. He lay on his side and pulled her to his chest. A hand cradled her head, drawing soothing lines through her hair, until her warm breath on his skin had become stable.

Geralt never seeked help or answers from the gods; he did not believe in them. But as he kissed the crown of her head that night, his lips prayed for her safety and happiness, and if possible, for her to be bound to him for eternity.

He knew he was being selfish. He did not know who heard his prayers or even if there was someone who might hear them. But he whispered them anyway, believing that it was the only way to make his wishes come true.

***

[casually-eat-my-soul]

The continent always wondered what was the last straw for the Witchers before they snapped and stopped. Before they united, together as one rather than live separately. Before they become one kingdom.

Some thought it was due to the fall of Cintra.

The hunt for the lion cub, the heir to the blue mountains and the daughter of the White Wolf. The girl of elder blood and magic of an ancient time. The hope of the new bloods and of future for Witchers. While Ciri is beloved by many Witchers, this was not what caused the divide between Witcher and human.

Other thought it was due to the white wolf, the warlord of the north. A man who brought all the Witcher schools together. Who brought enemies, brothers and strangers and banded them under one cause. And while Geralt become their king, it was not him who caused the turning point. Why would Witcher fight for a man who didn’t care about them. Someone, who even became myth among the legends of Witchers, he lived just the same as any of them. Who lived, fought and died on the path. Those who thought it was Geralt of riviera were wrong.

In reality, it all came down to Jaskier, the bard.

The man who sang of Witchers as heroes. Who gave them a story beyond monster. Touched them with the kindness that was not afforded to them. Who loved with all this heart. Someone who wanted more for Witchers than to die on the path, fight for people who hated them. A human whom defended, in all counts of what was know, Monsters. And whom expected nothing back. And when the Witchers learned that he was to be executed they rebelled. For the continent, may not have Jaskier, who was a home for Witchers. They had lost enough, they would not lose their songs.

And so it began. The greatest change of the age, all due to a man with a heart that could love a monster.

[biblically-accurate-frog]

things i am feeling very strongly about from the witcher s3 part 1:

yen ciri mother daughter bonding

"i saved your sorry arse once, i can do it again pankratz"

jaskier being treated as more than the comic relief character, and his trauma actually being addressed

ciri and jaskier mocking geralt and yennefer

women pretty

valdo marx and his bardic glee club

geralt not being an arse to the people he cares about for once

don't trust radovid

[jay-arts-t]

Sometimes I just like to think about what it could've been if Geralt had gotten Ciri right after Pavetta and Duny died. If Calanthe was so weighed down by grief she realizes she can't take care of Ciri. So she orders Moussack to go find Geralt to collect Ciri. Imagining Geralt in a random tavern somewhere in Temeria, slowly making his way up to Kaer Morhen for the winter as autumn is approaching. Him having a gut feeling he should head up early, he thinks it's because something is wrong with Vesemir so he's anxious to make it through. But Roach needs to rest and well, it wouldn't hurt to get some extra supplies for the winter. Certainly wouldn't hurt to get some extra booze so he has relief from Lambert's grating voice on his ears. Besides, he and Eskel can stay up late and drink to their hearts content up in his room like they used to sneak around when they were teens.

Then out of the blue he sees Moussack, and dread fills his entire body. He doesn't keep up with news outside of what Dandelion tells him. So when Moussack is telling him Calanthe is summoning him he's thinking "oh fuck, she's changed her mind and is going to execute me."

But Moussack reassures him he's not going to be harmed. Calanthe is asking for him because of his child surprise. And now Geralt is really worried. What happened to them? Are they okay? Are they hurt? Did they die? They're only a few months old, there's so much that could've gone wrong. So he agrees to go with Moussack.

Calanthe looks a mess when Geralt sees her. Eist is by her side as always, trying to comfort her. Pavetta and Duny are nowhere in sight and it's making Geralt extremely antsy. Calanthe tells him the news, her voice is hoarse from all the crying she's been doing. Geralt sympathizes with them, gives them his condolences. And then that's when he realizes "oh. OH. OH NO". Sure enough Calanthe tells him she can't take care of herself, how could she care for a baby. Geralt refutes telling her "they're your grandchild, I don't want to rip them away-" and Calanthe tells him then it's a girl. And for a split second his brain gives the helpful thought of "oh I have a daughter" and Geralt is having an internal meltdown right there in the throne room. But he can't refuse. His entire basis for not coming back and claiming her is because she has a family who cares about her. But now that family is saying that they can't care for her, not because they don't love her, but because they do. So Geralt agrees to take her.

The first time he meets her he is entirely captivated by how small and precious she is. The moment he holds her he feels overwhelmed with such a fierce protectiveness and he can't help but absolutely adore her. He is trying so hard to stay stoic and unemotional but the moment he's alone with Ciri back in that old tavern he'd been at he just holds her and smiles. If he'd been a normal man, he probably would've burst into tears by how happy he was. (he did later once she got settled into Kaer Morhen, when he and Eskel did end up drinking up in his room. They're talking about the usual things, and then he looked over to her in her makeshift crib and just started bawling. Eskel freaks out and asks him what's wrong and he replies "I just love her so much."... Yes Eskel teared up.)

Then he has to go through the lovely moments of "how the fuck do you raise a baby" which Vesemir watches with so much amusement. Geralt raided most of Kaer Morhen's library and Nenneke's office for books about parenting. (Kaer Morhen has none, unsurprisingly.) He eventually asks Eskel to go to Oxenfurt and grab Dandelion and any books about parenting, childhood development, psychology and women's health he can find. (He is DREADING eventually having The Talk with Ciri but he won't be unprepared.) Dandelion is completely awestruck with Kaer Morhen of course however, nothing shocks him more than seeing Geralt looking bone tired with a 5 month old baby wailing in his arms, trying to soothe her.

"uh... What ya got there, Geralt?"

"H e l p."

Where's Yennefer? What about Yennefer?? Geralt is hesitant at first to even tell Yennefer he has a kid. But she sends him a letter one day, asking him where he is now that it's coming up on spring. (Ciri's first bday!!! Yay!!!! Also oh gods planning a birthday?!?!?!?? That's a thing??????) So he does tell her, and she understandably to her character demands to see this child surprise. So again, sends Eskel on out (pls Geralt, he's your childhood best friend, not your errand boy.) to go get Yennefer. Yennefer storms through the main hall, not even acknowledging Lambert and Vesemir, and right up to Geralt. How did she manage to find her way through the halls without ever being there before? Geralt doesn't know and he's scared by it. Yennefer spots Ciri, who's doing her tummy time. To which she's very fussy about and gives the nastiest glares an almost 1 year old can to her father. Yennefer is absolutely gobsmacked that Geralt was being genuine. She points to Ciri, then to Geralt, then back to Ciri, to Geralt.

"YOU?????? HOW????"

"I'm really bad at making jokes."

Yennefer adores Ciri, but Ciri is a little skeptical of her. Who is this strange woman????? Where is her dad?????? Where's her other dad (Dandelion)???? How dare she smell nice and be warm???? Ugh as if she'd let her feed her!!! No way! Yennefer is always completely drenched with baby food whenever she attempts to feed Ciri. Geralt tries so hard not to laugh at her. Ciri is absolutely seething by the end of it and is only contained when Geralt picks her up and holds her securely. Then it's like little devil Ciri never existed, she's all smiles and babbling happily to her dad. Yennefer gets really disheartened over it. Late at night she ends up crying over it, thinking it wouldn't matter if she was able to have kids or not; Ciri proves she'd be a horrible mother anyway. Geralt doesn't know what to say at first, but he knows it's not true. Yennefer is trying her best, it's just that Ciri is really fussy. She even fusses sometimes when Dandelion holds her. He tries to comfort Yen, and ends up deciding the best thing to do is hold her and tell her that she's doing amazing. He doesn't think she believes him because she's still got a very somber look on her face the next day. She becomes reluctant to take up care of Ciri because of the incident. Well about after the third day of this Ciri gets fussy again. Geralt is taking a well deserved nap day. He's back in his room snoozing away. Yennefer and Dandelion are with Ciri in the library, one of the warmest places in the keep. Dandelion wipes his hands of the ink that stains them and picks her up and checks if she's soiled. She isn't, so he asks if she's hungry. She thrashes around in his hold and turns in search of Yennefer and starts grabbing towards her. So Dandelion hands her over to Yen. The moment Ciri's resting against Yennefer she settles down.

"huh, guess she just wanted her mommy." Dandelion comments and Yennefer starts crying. (Dandelion's face morphed from aww to OH FUCK)

The bigger Ciri gets the more rambunctious and energetic. Geralt couldn't be prouder that they're all raising her to be genuine to herself and that they've broken the generational trauma. Vesemir pats Geralt on the shoulder one day and tells him "I'm proud of you, Wolf" and damn, if that doesn't make him want to cry. He doesn't of course, only meeting Ciri made him cry from joy. And oh how she gives Lambert a run for his money. It's hilarious to see a 60-something year old argue with a 4 year old. They get into the most stupid arguments too. "blue is better than red!" Or "I'm taller than you" which is the most absurd because it's always Ciri who starts it. Geralt thinks it's because Lambert is the shortest besides Vesemir. But Vesemir has only become short due to his old age, and Ciri already gives him a hard time for that. ("Why are you so fat and old? Aren't you a Witcher like Daddy?" She said once and Vesemir just paused and looked at her like "why would you say that to me". She burst into a giggle fit at his crushed expression.)

The argument will always, without fail, go:

C: I'm taller than you.

L: no you're not? I'm 5'11!

C: well I'm 8 feet tall!!!!

L: more like 2 feet tall!

C: NO! SEE

Then she'll stand on the chair so she towers over Lambert.

L: fine well I'm older.

C: no??? My birthday is first

L: NO ITS NOT?

C: YEAH IT IS

L: NO APRIL IS BEFORE MAY. AND IM 67, YOU'RE 4

C: uhhhhh I hate to break it to you, but no you're not. You've been lied to your whole life.

L: W H AT WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE????

C: uhmmmmm god.

Then when Coën finally meets one of the Wolves and comes up to Kaer Morhen he's shocked to see someone so young. At the time Ciri was around 7. She calls him ugly and walks away to the stables. Coën is just left flabbergasted while Lambert and Eskel are laughing their asses off. Geralt apologizes to him, while trying to hold in his laughter. Coën becomes like an older brother to Ciri, and he gets on her good side by helping her prank Lambert.

When Ciri hits 12 she does get her period, and Geralt is like "OH GOD OH FUCK HOW DO I TALK TO HER ABOUT THIS I DONT WANT TO MAKE IT-" and Yennefer walks into the room and goes "I told her, we're good."

Then comes the "boy talk" Where Ciri brought up that a character in a romance book was attractive and Geralt went into "No one is good enough for my baby girl" dad mode and brashly announced "you're not allowed to date boys until you're 21."

Yennefer slaps him on the arm and Ciri looks at him almost offended.

"jokes on you I don't even know if I LIKE boys. Maybe I just like this character's personality." She replies sassily. Geralt cannot argue with that logic. (And yes 2 months later, she goes on a day trip with Yen and talks to a girl her age. She comes back and Geralt asks her how it went and she says "I definitely like girls." And walks up to her room to take a nap. Geralt celebrates as soon as she leaves "YES!!! I DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT SOME BRUTE MESSING WITH MY DAUGHTER FUCK YEAH" Yennefer reminds him that some women are just as bad and he crumples to the floor in agony. Now he has to worry about brutish women hurting his daughter.)

Essentially, I just love that Geralt has a daughter, and that he's so proud of her and loves her so much. Their relationship is just so 🥹❤️ I adore them.

[samstree]

thinking about jaskier who finds good fathers irresistable. the sight of any man gently taking care of his children will have him go awwww and head over heels fall in love. but only. with men. who. aren't. geralt.

geralt: hmm did i mention, very casually, that i'm going to take care of ciri now. you know, ciri, my daughter who i adopoted during a literal war, and fought literally every bad guy in the world to protect. ciri, who i, a good father, love and care for deeply--

meanwhile, jaskier, looking at a passing farmer letting his daughter do the piggyback: dilf! dilf! dilf! dilf! 😍😍

[frankcastleonlyfans]

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐈𝐄𝐒

pairing: aemond targaryen x daemon's daughter!oc (dad!daemon x mom!reader au)

warnings: angsty (?), aemond is a bookworm and a worried father, alyssa couldn't care less about old lady vhagar, they both have trouble with their feelings about each other.

author's note: i really love alymond's relationship. they're top tier enemies to lovers and i'm living for them. also, the face claim for alyssa is freya allen as ciri in the witcher, so picture her with silver hair and violet eyes.

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. support your content creators 💓 please leave a comment if you like my work, and enjoy your reading.

gif by @useraelin

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ୨♡୧ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

Alyssa always had trouble sleeping. Is something Daemon had, and passed it on to his favorite child.

On these sleepless nights, the young princess would find distraction in old pages from the old books on the old shelves at the library inside the Keep.

Her favorite place in the castle, Alyssa had great memories there, where her father taught her high-valyrian, where she used to play hide from her septa, and where she would find refuge from insomnia.

What she did not know is that Prince Aemond shared the same feelings about the library. The place where he had studied his whole life, to be better and smarter than everyone else.

So she wasn't expecting to find the Prince's slim figure, sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, reading a book.

Blushing, Alyssa gulped, quite startled by the sight of her cousin. He wasn't wearing his eyepatch, and his sapphire glowed in the firelight.

She had a full view of the scar she gave him.

They had not seen each other since they shared a kiss, four days ago.

"I believe the hour of the owl is not up for little girls to be out of bed." Aemond muttered, too focused on his book.

"Fuck off, Aemond." The princess retorted, and went in search of a book.

When she found one she was familiar with, she wandered around the room, looking for a warm place to sit, but none was better than the empty armchair by the fireplace, beside Prince Aemond.

"You can sit here, I won't bite." He voiced in a murmur, and his eye never left the old page he read, to look at the princess.

Alyssa sat on the armchair, and stared at the cover of the book without saying a word.

Perhaps the princess thought that ignoring her cousin would make the moment less awkward, but it didn't.

It wasn't very often that Aemond was seen without his eyepatch, and she tried hard not to stare.

She thought he was already gorgeous, but that precious stone that replaced his eye made him look something more.

"What are you reading?" The princess asked lowly.

"Now you want to do small talk?" Aemond cocked an eyebrow as his smirk threatened to make an appearance.

Alyssa tsked, rolling her eyes.

"I'm reading a chapter about the life expectancy of dragons. Vhagar is not getting any younger, and if something happens to her..."

"Didn't Balerion die at 200 and something? Isn't Vhagar like... 180?" The princess questioned.

"181." Aemond corrected.

"Gods, that thing is really old." Alyssa mocked, playing with her fingers.

Aemond finally turned his head to face her. His sapphire glowed to the firelight, the beautiful shade of blue contrasting with the prince's pale skin tone.

"She's the last living piece from the conquest. You should pay some respect."

Alyssa scoffed, "Aemond, she's a living burden. She's as slow as she's big. You should hope she dies so you can claim a better dragon. Maybe the wild ones will let you tame–"

Aemond slammed his hand against the arm of the chair, offended by the princess' idea.

"You have no idea what it’s like to be dragonless! They're what makes us what we are! Dreams didn't make us kings, dragons did!" Aemond closed the book in his hands harshly.

"I–" The princess frowned. She was quite hurt that her words actually affected him. "I am sorry, Aemond. It wasn't my intention to make you angry."

Aemond sighed, staring at the book resting in the princess' hands. She had not opened that book once since she took it out of it's shelf.

"What is yours about?" Aemond nodded at the book. Alyssa followed his direction to her hands.

"Tales of Old Valyria." She murmured, "It's my favorite book."

"Oh. I've read this one. It's m– hm, It's really good." Aemond bit his lip, turning his back to her and facing the fire.

They stayed in silent for a couple of minutes, but there was nothing comfortable about it. It was awkwardly strange, and Alyssa still felt bad for mocking Vhagar.

And she couldn't stop thinking about the kiss, and how Aemond's soft lips felt against hers.

And how handsome he is without his eyepatch.

And his scar... the one made by her hands. She felt bad about that, for the first time. They were just children. Stupid children, she thought.

"I'm sorry."

Aemond half turned to her. He wondered if she was really talking to him, and what she felt sorry about.

"I– I'm sorry about your eye." Alyssa whispered, her voice could barely be heard.

Aemond chuckled softly, "You're a few years late, Alyssa."

It took him a few seconds before he added;

"I'm sorry about your cat."

The princess smirked, staring at the man in front of her.

Aemond was so different from what he normally looked like.

His hair was tied in a low ponytail, and it rested on his shoulder.

He wore linen clothes, like he was off to bed. And yet there he was, in front of her. Both alone, in the library, during the late hours.

And to the fire that warmed the space around them, Alyssa was sure he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

"You're a few years late, Aemond."

[first-edition]

Daughter of Kaer Morhen

Smut-mas day 5

Geralt of rivia x reader

Sum- You spend all your time and days taking care or kaer morhen with your dogs but it’s only when the witchers come home you can finally relax

CW- smut, 18+ language and themes, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral! Fem receiving, pet names.

“Come along.” You call to your 7 dogs as they all run up to the large doors of kaer morhen aka your home. The first and only human to reside there.

You’ve lived at kaer morhen ever sconce you could remeber. Vesimer found you as a baby in the woods cold hungry and dying. He took it upon him self to feed, clothe and house you teaching you the skills of a Witcher yet brought in mages to teach you the skills to be a proper lady.

Over time you became friends with the other witchers and even a lover to one, geralt of rivia or as you and the others call him white wolf, wolf for short.

You stop in your place seeing horses tetherd and smoke roaring from the top of the hold. Running to the door you open it seeing your family. A huge smile covers your face. You place down your basket and run to them. All the men embrace you in a large group hug.

“Move aside come now let me see my daughter!” Vesimer voice travels through the room as everyone steps back.

“Father!” You exclaim and run to him hugging him he picks you up spinning.

Placing you down he pulls back too see your face. “Oh how I’ve missed those lavender eyes, fair skin and strong spirit!” He smiles and kisses your fore head.

“You look well.” He says “yes my dogs have helped me much so with winter hunt. You on the other hand look starved.” You reply and whistle one of your dogs grabs the basket walking over to you.

“Venison, bear, salmon, and mushrooms if they server your liking?” You ask “oh!! You treat me too well.” He says you smile and grab your basket.

“Your rooms are mended and fresh fur is placed….” You say but stop and look around the room counting how many are left.

“Where is wolf? And eskel?” You ask. Everyone looks around “not here m’lady” lambert says “hm.”

“I’m sure he’ll arrive” Coen replies. You nod and continue your way to the kitchen.

———

You sit your dogs around you nose head resting on your lap. A horses whine can be heard.

“That’ll be eskel he has the loudest horse.” Lambert says. You scoff. The doors open revealing the famous, large, white haird Witcher. But he’s brought someone with him a girl around the age of 16.

“Where the fuck have you been!?” Lambert exclaims as geralt places his bag down with a thud.

“We thought you were lost or killed..” coen says

Geralt chuckles “not yet..” he says and laughs as they all hug. He greets vesimer as well. Your dogs get up and run to him and greet him but bark at the sight of the girl.

You stand up “Vulcan heel!” You exclaim he whines and runs to your side “sit.” You say he does. Geralt watches you in awe missing the sight of you. Everything about you perfect to him.

“Wolf..” you say as he walks twirls you.

“You’re late..3 hours to be precise-“ he cuts you off pulling you in and kissing you. You smile into the kiss wrapping your arms around his neck.

Ciri covers her mouth not too show her smile. Geralt spoke of you before but she never invisioned the fearless heartless man to be so mezmerized by you.

You two pull away and you look into his amber eyes. “I’ve missed you.” He states, “and I you.” You reply but your sight goes to the girl.

“And who have you brought with you?” You ask. “Cirilla. This is y/n.”

“Are you a Witcher.?!” “Oh no but I am vesimers daughter, I live here tend to it whilst the witchers are gone.” You reply she smiles “pleasure to meet you!” She says “and you cirilla” “ciri.” She corrects you nod “ciri”

———

Soon eskel arrives and the party begins

The night is filled with music and laughter ciri dances with the rest.

You stand and watch by the door way.

“You’re not enjoying yourself?” Geralt asks from behind you as his large arms weapp around your waist.

“Huh? I am believe me…just parties with women of the night aren’t really my scene. I’d much rather spend it with you.” You reply turning around to face him he presses his lips against yours lightly and squeezes your waist.

You pull away and grab his hand leading him away.

Walking into the room he closes the door and smashes his lips against yours. His hands roaming your waist to your back instead of waiting to in tie your corset he rips it apart. Getting you out as soon as possible.

Opening your legs he rests in between sitting up only to take off his shirt and pants leaving you both nude. His large hard cock presses against your pussy making you gasp “Ah wolf please!” You plead out to him.

“I want to take my time with you, I haven’t seen you all year!” He huffs in your ear as he grinds himself against you. His mouth pulls from your neck. He kisses down your body between your breasts. His large calloused hand takes a breast in hand and squeezes causing you to moan out.

Kissing down your body he finds his way to your thigh kissing it as well. You look up at the ceiling and feel his tounge press against your clit causing you gasp and shift. Geralt grabs your thighs keeping you in a place as he eats you out.

His tounge swirling around you dipping into you causing your back to arch. “F-fuck geralt!” You moan out placing your hand on his head. Trying to pull him off “ngh g-geralt please I-ah I’m gonna cum.” You huff he dosnt listen and only moves up and inserts a finger then another.

Pressing against your g spot as sucking on your clit make it unbearable. Finally snapping as you cum. He dosnt rest over stimulating you.

He finally pulls away and immediately moves up to kisses you letting you taste your sweet self. You grind your hips on his dick. He pulls away hissing through his teeth.

“P-please.” You answer his gasp. “Please what!?” He growls pulling your hairs back.

“Ngh.. p-please fuck me.” You reply he kisses your neck surely leaving hickeys And angles himself up to you. “Good girl.” He huffs and pushes himself in making sure to be carful and not to hurt you. 

you moan out as he enters your pussy. 

he begins to move slowly at first to find a rythim and then rough and fast. 

Your nails drag against his back and arms being sure to leave marks. 

“F-fuck Wolf!” you exclaim you breast bouncing to his hips pounding you. 

he pulls back a bit and pulls you closer to him pulling your leg up over his large shoulder. the angle making your back arch and grabbing the sheets. “ah shit.” he curses groaning out. 

The sound of moans and groans, skin hitting skin rumbels through the room although not loud enough to reach the party loud party downstairs. 

you cletch around geralt dick as you cum. he sees this and fucks you even rougher.  “Ah ah g-geralt i-.” “come on baby” he grumbles in your ear. as he bottoms out hitting you cervix making you cum again this time its enough for him to finish as well. his warm cum pooling inside of you. 

Both if you pant coming down from your highs. he pulls out making you whimper. he chuckles and pecks your lips and moves off of you. 

geralt lays next to you an pulls you close to him. “come with me.” you says you giggle “where.” you reply “out. out of kaer morhen.” he replies. 

“you know i cant do that.” you reply. “y/n..” “wolf-” you cut him off. 

he sighs pulling you closer to him and kissing your head. “Just one year..come with me.” he says you dont reply. “y/n..” he says trailing off seeing youve fallen asleep already. he chuckles and nods kissing your head again

[infernothechaosgod]

lore olympus leuce is done dirty

okay everyone if you know the myths you know why I'm angry but if you don't lemme give you an explanation to why

Leuce in the mythology is a nymph who got kidnapped by hades and unlike persephone didn't have parents (her only parent okeanos the titan of the sea and you know where all the alive titans are? deep deep underground mostly without any option to interact with the world outside their prison) so when hades kidnapped her there were tears shared amongs her friends but there was no big "I just lost someone i dedicated my life to" moment.

Leuce and hades according to the myths loved eachother very dearly and lived and ruled the underworld happily but the nymphs did not live forever so eventualy she died of old age and hades burried her in elysium and ciried and grieved over her

Now you see in the myths she's the daughter of the ocean and a loved wife to lord hades, But in lore olympus well...

Shes a random woman who has to suduce hades...becuse!

Lore olympus leuce wasnt even shown as a ocean nymph at first byt a flower one, wich like...congrats ranch youre a real folklorist fr fr

But ignoring the nitpicking the part that annoys and even angers me the most about her is that her characterization doesnt show who she really was, THE DAUGHTER OF THE SEA shoud be shown as a very strong character, but even if you don't want that in Her love and care towards hades got completly erased! For completly no reason ecept "Hades and persephone are the real True bond lovers" wich like????? You coud have had multiple "true lovers"

She coud be introduced in a flashback as a girl who he liked but never got to confess to or his ex wife who died and the story coud have a really nice message about how you can really love multiple people in your life and losing one isnt the end but apparently we cant have nice things

[fangirleaconmigo]

Yennskier to Geraskefer concept (Yennefer x Jaskier with some + Geralt at the end)

Ok so what if the very first time Yen and Jaskier ever defend each other, it is a complete shock to both of them and happens (of all places) in front of his parents?

(TW: Yen is in disguise so some of the flirting could be read as dubcon but no bards were hurt in the making of this fic, I promise)

So when they first meet, Yen and Jaskier snipe at each other relentlessly, right?

Scheming, devious, calamitous witch.

Useless cock for brains.

Geralt has taken to tuning them out completely.

By complete random bad luck, Yen learns one night in tavern gossip that Jaskier isn’t his real name. She becomes suspicious of his intentions. She brings her concerns to Geralt.

“They said that his true name is Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz. Is that true?” she asks Geralt.

“His name is Jaskier,” Geralt answers, sounding exhausted.

She pushes. “I know that family. They are well connected, prominent, and bigoted. Your bard could very possibly be asked to turn Ciri in to curry their favor.”

"This is insane, Yen." Geralt drops his head and looks miserably into his tankard. “You two need to start getting along, or I’m going to age at least a century before winter.”

"That's not what this is about!"

She gives up on him. He will never think clearly in these matters. She suspects he has romantic feelings for the bard, which she wouldn't mind, she isn't much for monogamy herself, but oh god, the bard??? That smarmy, whorish little bastard? Unthinkable.

She decides to pay Jaskier’s parents a visit just to reassure herself that they aren’t interested in her daughter.

She disguises herself with a glamour and gets herself on the guest list of one of their fancy parties. She is playing the part of a voluptuous blonde wife of an absent Duke.

Jaskier is supposed to be back at Oxenfurt. That’s what he told Geralt, anyway. But she walks in the door and there he is, holding court at the party in his well fitted satin, with his glinting charming smile, and his flushed cheeks and…and…well…other things that Yen would never admit to noticing.

But what was he doing there?

Why did he lie about being at Oxenfurt? Could he already be colluding with his parents?

At the thought, she expects to feel rage. But an entirely different feeling wells up in her.

Disappointment. Hurt.

She shakes it off. Stupid. She's used too much magic for her glamour. It's making her weak. She takes a seat directly across from him at dinner.

He introduces himself to her and kisses her hand. Julian Alfred Pankratz.

His lips brush the top of her hand and in response she acts like one of his tarts. Only because she has to get him to trust her, obviously. Yen smiles and flutters her eyes at him. His smile is charming. So is his admiration of her form. When his gaze drops ever so briefly to her cleavage she feels something else unexpected.

Warmth.

She shakes that off too.

His parents sit on either side of him. Yen doesn’t waste much time. By the time the second course is served she brings up Ciri and the war.

She doesn’t expect Jaskier’s mom to immediately bring up the horrid witch who is hiding the child. The slut who doesn’t know her place. The evil women who schemes and plots and who gets what she wants by manipulating men with her whoredom.

Yen is used to being called these things by conservative wives. But she finds her eyes flick to Jaskier, and her heart leaps to her throat. It makes her so, so angry that she cares what he will say.

He has always seemed like an enemy? But here? Behind actual enemy lines? He feels like a friend.

Fuck.

But Jaskier averts his eyes. He stares at his plate. He isn’t going to join in, but he isn’t going to defend her either. Obviously.

She DOESNT care godsdamnit. She’s just caught up in the moment. She DOES NOT CARE.

So it is entirely incidental that she experiences immense, sweet relief when he smiles softly to himself before he replies.

“Oh mother,” he says genially, “but I know you. It is simple envy that moves you to such crude accusations.”

His mother splutters. “Do you think I covet her false beauty—“

“Not her beauty.” Jaskier says, still calm. Still affable. “She is beautiful of course, but nothing like that. It’s just that you and father are so small minded and so constantly desperate for the approval of other, equally small minded people, that when you see someone who has a soul and who lives in a free spirited manner, that you ache with envy and impotent rage. And that is why you use such uncharacteristically crude and low language to describe her. That is why you yearn to oppress her and control her. That is why you want to put her in her place.”

Jaskier smiles genially and takes another bite of his lobster.

His parents turn so pink with rage that they look purple.

Yen hasn't felt such satisfaction in so very long. She also isn't used to people taking up for her. Not in places like this.

His father is the first to regain his composure. He smiles and looks around the table at the nervous nobles who are trying their best to ignore the awkwardness.

He smiles around the table. “You have to excuse my son. Instead of accepting the position at Oxenfurt he roams the earth thinking with nothing but his base impulses. He knows nothing of the real world. He is young, idealistic, and completely useless.”

There are nervous chuckles around the table when Yennefer speaks up.

“Actually,” she says in between sips of champagne, “I have heard of your son. Jaskier is that right?”

Jaskier looks at her, surprised and deeply pleased.

His parents smile tight lipped.

“Ridiculous name,” his mother says.

“Well,” says Yen, “you’re probably right. The vaunted thinkers and academics who laud his poetry coast to coast are probably incorrect. The soldiers who offer their undying gratitude that he has documented their deeds are wrong. The traumatized war orphans who cry and say that he has saved their lives with his art are surely absurd. It is you who are correct, I’m sure. Of all the ways you can spend your life, comforting and inspiring people does sound like an utter waste of time.”

She primly sips her drink and the grateful, genuine smile that spreads on Jaskier’s face like the sunrise rockets straight to her soul.

The rest of the dinner is tense, but Yennefer is having a wonderful time. Conversing with a Jaskier like this---he is adoring and attentive--it is addictive. She never knew it could feel like this with him.

And after dinner, when he finds her outside the privy and steps incredibly close to her, his hand sliding around her waist, she is shocked into silence by her desire. She doesn't find her voice until he has kissed her ever so softly and tenderly that she almost melts onto his parents stone floors.

"J-j-askier," she manages to mumble.

"Yes, love. Marina, is it?" he murmurs into her ear, his nimble fingers trailing from her neck down, down down. "Beautiful name. Beautiful woman."

She steps back and lets his arms fall heavily to the side.

"I must tell you something. And you will regret what you just did."

It could have sounded like a threat. She meant it to sound like a threat. But it just sounds sad. The glamour falls from her and his face transforms into shock.

She swallows the lump in her throat as he steps back so hard, he hits the wall and covers his mouth with his hands.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands. He looks white as a sheet. Terrified.

"I just did!"

"Earlier!"

"Because!" Yen squeaks. (She never squeaks) "I was...flummoxed. I--oh a pox on it, Jaskier, I liked it. Is that what you want to hear? You asshole? You bastard?"

His hand falls slowly from his face. Then a soft, tiny, smug little smile begins to form.

"Ha. I knew it."

He did not know it.

She smacks him. He laughs.

Then he remembers something and falls back against the wall againt groaning. "Oh, Geralt. Geralt. I'm a terrible friend. I will have to run off, to never return--"

She smacks him again. "Ow, what?"

"Calm down. Let's go see him together. I have a feeling he is going to like what we have to say."

The next time they kiss, it is in front of a roaring fire in her home in Vengerberg, with Geralt caressing them both, and watching with fondness.

"If I had known that it was this easy to shut the two of you up, I would have insisted on it a long time ago."

[angelellipsis-devilofdots]

a long list of songs that remind me of the witcher

okay i started this way too late at night when i was in a witcher mood so here we go, here's a deadass masterlist of some of the songs that remind me of the witcher (some might be a stretch but WHO CARES, not me)

[ SPOILERS AHEAD !! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED ]

ciri

nobody by the crane wives because of her and mistle

little astronaut by aku p

rose by the oh hellos mainly because of the lines "wars are raising for her" but also some other parts, this one is a stretch

take me to war by the crane wives reminds me vaguely of her during the voleth meir possession, but just her in general

run baby run by the rigs

welly boots by the amazing devil can't fully explain why, it just feels right

soldier, poet, king by the oh hellos she's the king, of course

hard times by ethel cain

eat you alive by the oh hellos

jaskier / dandelion

blossoms by the amazing devil season 2 character arc

the old witch sleep and the good man grace by the amazing devil season 2 character arc again

soldier, poet, king by the oh hellos the poet, for obvious reasons

dandelion by gabbie hanna

dear fellow traveler by sea wolf don't know why. it just seems like the kind of situation he'd get into

rule #35 - microphone by fish in a birdcage kind of reminds me of his plot in blood origin? i didn't like that show either i just love him

little lion man by mumford & sons reminds me of season 3 when he has to tell geralt that "ciri" was taken by nilfgaard

rule #2 - moonlight by fish in a birdcage just him being a golden retriever when he hyperfixates on a person

geralt

blood upon the snow by hozier and bear mccreary

soldier, poet, king by the oh hellos as the soldier

the wolf by the crane wives

yennefer

as good a reason by paris paloma

tongues & teeth by the crane wives i don't know it's just? her?? can't articulate it but it's her

burn your village by kiki rockwell well well, if it isn't the embodiment of yennefer of vengerberg

pray by the amazing devil

pretty little things by the crane wives

the horror and the wild by the amazing devil

yenralt

the angel of small death and the codeine scene by hozier

i want to live by borislav slavov

wild blue yonder by the amazing devil

danse macabre by the oh hellos i know it's instrumental but. hear me out. it reminds me of the melange

like real people do by hozier

radskier

rule #7 - angel tango by fish in a birdcage

caesar by the oh hellos (i have zero reasoning other than i've always imagined the song to an animatic of literally any kind of gay betrayal i DONT KNOW WHY its not at all relevant to the song)

no light, no light by florence + the machine

i want to live by borislav slavov

the garden by the crane wives

yennefer and ciri

arsonist's lullabye by hozier

burn your village by kiki rockwell but under different reasoning this time, so hear me out - "i am the vengeful daughter of the witch." In this essay I will

geralt and ciri

everybody wants to rule the world by lorde - or tears for fears since it's the original of course, i just feel like the lorde version is more fitting for the dark & dramatic tone of the witcher

rule #9 - child of the stars by fish in a birdcage

space song by beach house i think just because of the lines "it will take a while to make you smile" and "were you ever lost? was she ever found?" once again, a stretch

jaskier and ciri

inkpot gods by the amazing devil in the sense of their adorable uncle/niece dynamic (i interpret this song in a familial way in most contexts). it could also very well be a geralt and ciri song

that's all i can think of at the moment. i tried to look for geraskier but i couldn't find anything yet. reblog with songs that remind you of the witcher and i'll add them, this list will be updated as i think of more

[fragolar]

Quite the manners || Geralt Of Rivia - The Witcher

Hello darlings, Back to this for a second round. Previous part. Summary: Lexa and Geralt have a tense meal, teasing each other over their differing manners and backgrounds. They agree to share their secrets in their own ways. Despite their initial judgments, they find common ground in their burdens and responsibilities, beginning to understand and respect each other. They realize that perhaps they are more similar than they initially seemed.

She was eating rather slowly, enjoying the lunch in peace, utter silence after quite a long day. However, the sounds coming from across the table were making it hard for her to continue her meal.

Geralt was eating quickly, clearly hungry, but his movements, while hurried, were not entirely unrefined.

“It’s not like I’d remove the food I just granted you from your plate, Witcher. Show some manners and respect for those who are feeding you instead of letting you rot in the pearly white snow.” Her voice was gentle, though it slightly betrayed her irritation.

Geralt paused, looking at her with a calm, measured gaze. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and slowed his pace. “Apologies, Princess,” he said, his tone even. “It’s been four days since my last proper meal. This is the best food I’ve had in a long time.”

The princess sighed, still somewhat annoyed but appreciating the change. She put down her napkin and stood up from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, my appetite has been satiated.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Princess,” Geralt muttered in a low, husky voice, causing her to pause. Despite her irritation, she found herself momentarily captivated by his presence. “I meant no offense. The food is excellent, and so is your hospitality. I respect your efforts to keep your people safe.”

“Take a bath afterward. You smell like horse manure.” Lexa shifted her attention elsewhere, making Geralt smirk.

“Do you always change the topic when—”

“Careful, Witcher,” she interrupted, trying to mimic Geralt’s manners. However, it only backfired as his little smile grew wider. He rested his back on the chair, his forearms on the edge of the table. Suddenly, her breath was short. They shouldn’t interact like this. Yet it was exciting. Thrilling.

“How come your father decided to keep you a secret? Aren’t royals supposed to embrace as many connections as they can?”

Lexa stood still, debating whether to sit down and talk or to end this interaction. He was dangerous, and his smirk too.

“Because of monsters like you.”

“Touché,” Geralt hummed, pleased with her words. “But I’m asking you for a more elaborate answer.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady. “Secrets can be burdensome, Princess. Trust is hard to come by. But sometimes, sharing them with the right person can lighten the load.”

“Tell me first why you’re suddenly so interested in the promised child after years of neglecting her.”

Geralt’s gaze softened, his expression betraying a hint of remorse. “I’ve been searching for Ciri for years. She’s like a daughter to me, and I made a promise to protect her. But I’ve failed her before, and I won’t let it happen again. The world is a dangerous place, and she needs me now more than ever. So, despite years of searching and neglecting her, I’ve realized that I can’t abandon her. Not again.”

Lexa sat back down on her chair, staring curiously into his yellow eyes. Did she feel empathy? It was hard to tell. The only certainty was that she trusted his words.

“I wish my own Father asked himself such questions.” Her chuckle echoed in the room. “I’ve been but a mere shadow for decades now.” This time it was Geralt’s turn to listen attentively to her words and observe her expressions. Maybe she wasn’t so spoiled after all. “I never understood why, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Her eyes greeting his. “Finish the food, and go wash yourself. I wasn’t being disrespectful on purpose, you indeed do emanate horse manure.”

“Speaking of horse…”

“Your horse is alive, worry not. She’s in our gardens alongside other horses.”

“That’s a relief, thank you Princess.”

As Geralt finished his bath, he found amusement in the Princess's provocation of adding all kinds of flowers to the water. He felt rather relieved. Upon exiting the bathroom, clothed in the generous garments provided by Lexa's stylists, he encountered the Princess, her hand midair, about to knock.

“Impatient, Princess? Couldn't wait for me to finish?” Geralt's smirk was unmistakable.

Lexa's cheeks began to color as she cleared her throat. “No, not interested. My lovers are finer than your grotesque mannerisms.” Geralt raised an eyebrow, the smirk growing wider. “I'm not here to discuss such scandalous topics. Rather, to inform you that there's a violent storm coming, which will delay your departure.”

“And here I thought I was welcome,” his voice lowered, husky and pungent.

"Partly."

"Partly?"

Lexa hummed softly, holding his gaze, her mind beginning to wander away from her duties. It was a terrible idea to come after he had showered. She should’ve sent a servant to invite him for tea instead. “Remember, I've got your horse and swords,” Lexa warned.

“And what exactly would that entail?” Provocation after provocation. Why was Lexa letting him have so much fun? Did she enjoy it too?

“There's this recipe that involves a horse head stabbed with a silver sword.”

“Lay a finger on my girl and I'll murder all of your livestock.” His tone became unfriendly, clearly not amused by her words. Who knew a Witcher could be so affectionate towards a horse?

“Then don't ask me stupid questions, Witcher. Nor insult my pride.”

Geralt hummed slowly, his voice vibrating in his throat as he looked away and began to walk down the hallway.

They were like cats, wanting to get to know each other but too cautious. Deep down, they both knew how this would end, but they had too much fun to continuously bicker.

Next part.

[creepyscritches]

Emhyr in the books: My daughter Ciri was born so she would bear my child later and solidify my rule with a Cintran alliance, also do not tell her she is my daughter

Emhyr TWN: I just really care about family and miss Ciri suddenly :(

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 13

Chapter 12.5

Just so there's no confusion, when the reader and company arrive at King's Landing, Viserys is married to Alicent, and Alicent would be 5 or 6 months pregnant with Aegon at this point in time.

"I should have Caraxes burn those pointy eared bastards for their insolence," Daemon sneers once on the saddle. "Don't you dare," you scold, "the elves are already persecuted enough as it is for because of the shape of their ears. You'll only contribute to lessening their numbers."

"They had us bound, and were willing to kill a defenseless woman and her child, along with the girl. Why would you defend them?"

"Don't speak of things you know nothing of," you snap, "they have their reasons for being the way they are. Not that you would understand, you've never been in their position. You don't know what they've been through."

Daemon gave you a confused look, like this concept was completely foreign to him.

"I forget how overly kind you can be sometimes," he admits, "take care that someone doesn't take advantage of it someday." "Yeah, SOMEone," you mutter sarcastically, thinking about the irony of the situation. Daemon didn't seem to pick up on that cue.

"What did you even say to them?" the prince asks.

"...I bluffed," you decide to tell him, "I let them believe your death would be avenged should they strike you down."

Daemon chuckled a bit; knowing his brother, it would never have come to that. "A clever little Lark you are-" "Just so we're clear, I didn't do this for you," you interrupt, "I did it so they would spare Aemma and Ciri."

Daemon glared at you, but decided to accept it as he would've done anything to protect his daughter as well.

"You alright, Ciri?" you ask the girl, to which she nods; Ciri had started to wonder if some the elves of that group once lived in Cintra before her grandmother had sent soldiers to drive them out and put their heads on spikes. The guilt was gnawing at her at this point as she had lived her whole life in a castle before this, blissfully unaware of her grandmother's hatred of this race and the harm it had caused.

As the dragon took off into the skies, the elves became smaller until they disappeared from view. Although you were feeling relief that you and the girls were spared the fate of arrows through your chests and heads, you could still feel your heart race for what was to come in King's Landing.

Before long the land began to disappear and was replace by a vast expanse of water. The Continent was behind you now. The next time you saw land again would on the shores of Westeros.

--------------time skip to King's Landing-----------------

"So what is King's Landing like?" Ciri asks as they got closer to land. "Have you ever been to Novigrad Ciri?" you ask her.

"No," the girl shakes her head. "Well, we'd better off there then this den of vipers," you say to her, "just stick close to me when we get to the Red Keep. And let me do the talking."

Ciri was about to protest, but then Caraxes dipped down across Blackwater Bay and the came up over the buildings of King's Landing.

Ciri looked down in awe, as people from down below stared up at the sight before them; while it wasn't uncommon to see a dragon flying over the city, it had been a while since anyone in King's Landing had seen Caraxes flying over.

The dragon passes over the Red Keep and finally makes it to the Dragon pit.

Once Caraxes landed, Daemon dismounted, helping you down, followed by Ciri. The Dragon Keepers arrive and greet the prince, some looking at you and Ciri rather strangely, especially when they saw Aemma in your arms with her silver blonde hair being the most striking thing about her.

"Good to be back, isn't it?" Daemon says as he places a hand on your back and leads you to the keep.

"Yeah, certainly is," you mutter, keeping Aemma close you, "the stench of shit could be smelled even before we made it to Blackwater Bay. Sure prefer that to the smell of fresh snow and freshly brewed ale at Kaer Morhen."

Before Daemon could retaliate, Ser Harrold Westerling approached, two guards at each side, "His Grace awaits in the throne room," he announces, looking at you to see the babe in your arms, "gods be good," mutters before addressing the prince further, "this way."

You, Daemon, and Ciri follow, but the guards stop Ciri. "The girl is with me," you tell them. The guards look to Daemon, who nods in approval, and they lower their defenses.

"Does any of this feel familiar to you?" you whisper to Ciri.

"In some ways," Ciri admits, remembering the castle she grew up in back in Cintra, "we didn't have a dragon pit though. And it wasn't quite as warm there as it is here."

"Remember what I said before," you say to the girl, "whatever is about to be said, you can't refute it. For Aemma's sake, Ciri. Do you understand?" "I...think so," Ciri says, having a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach about what was going to happen.

Inside the Throne Room sat King Viserys on the Iron Throne; by his side was Otto and on his other side, to your surprise, was Alicent who was dressed in red. You take notice of the young Hightower woman's swollen stomach.

Next to Alicent was Rhaenyra, who seemed relieved the moment she saw you.

Accompanying were others members of the Small Council: Grand Maester Mellos, Lord Corlys, and Lord Lyonel.

You keep your gaze down, having taken notice of the rather hard and intense look you were receiving from Otto; Alicent too was looking at you rather crossly, but not to the extent that her father was giving.

Daemon was first to approach, "Your Grace," he greets with a light bow.

Viserys said nothing, but turned his gaze to you, or more specifically to Aemma, "so it is true," the king speaks, "you fathered a child with my daughter's bard."

"You sound surprised," Daemon notices.

"Not at all," Viserys refutes, seemingly out of contempt, "I had only hoped that if the day came that you were to bring your offspring to court, it would've been with your lady wife and not some..." he looks at you, slowly recanting what he was about to say, "paramour."  

Daemon scoffed a little at that, "I'm not even sure a child could grow in such hostile environs." "Have you ever even tried?" Viserys glares at his brother before turning you, "you, step forward."

You were hesitant to do as he said. "The king has given you a command," Otto states with authority and rather impatiently. "Yes, I heard him," you snap, before recanting, "I mean, of course, your Grace. I will do just that at once."

You take a few steps forward. Viserys stands up and approaches you. "Let me take a look," he says. You pulls the shawl back a bit so the king could take a good look at his niece. "The resemblance is uncanny," Viserys states, "it would be impossible to refute. Has she been given a name?"

"...her name is Aemma, your Grace," you say. Viserys' eyes widen at this, and some of the lords exchange looks as well.

"You named her after the late Queen?" "I may not have known her as well as you have," you tell him, "but her death, the way it was carried out, I must admit, left a considerable impact on me. I thought by naming my daughter thus, it would keep her memory alive."

No one had noticed, but Rhaenyra felt a tear about to slip out, but she fought it back and kept her composure.

Viserys too was internally moved by this, the guilt of losing his wife slowly coming back, but as king he too had to keep his semi-stoic composure for the sake of his image.    

Alicent approaches, standing by the king's side "It is a good name," she states, "a good name for a strong girl, especially one who's been through so much already before she was even born. The both of you in fact."

You look up expectedly at the king, "Ah yes, we all heard what happened shortly thereafter," he explains, "I can't imagine what it must have felt, being abducted against your will and forced on by a horde of lecherous sell swords. Whatever could the likes of them want with a woman with child?"

"Clearly, brother, they meant to turn my child into one of them," Daemon speaks up.

"Well then," Corlys speaks up, "we can thank the gods that the prince has brought the Lady (y/n) and her daughter back safely."

Ciri's eyes widen by this. She knew this was all a lie, that you weren't taken against your will, and the witchers certainly never forced themselves on you. Especially not Geralt, who had cared for both you and Aemma since you came to the witchers' keep all those months ago. She wanted to refute it, tell the entire council that none of those things was true, but she also knew if did, then the king and council would accuse you of lying just to gain sympathy.

So the girl had no choice but to keep her mouth shut.

"Brought back safely indeed," Otto scoffs, "that is if she even was taken against her will at all." "You dare question the integrity of Lady (y/n)'s account?" Daemon glares at the Hand. "The lady has yet to even give account at all," Otto points out.

Viserys turned to you, "what say you?" he asks, "is what my brother said about your sudden departure true?"

You look down, not wanting to lie, but knowing telling the truth would only ostracize Aemma even more so then she could possibly be, "I was taken to Kaer Morhen when Aemma was maybe five months growing in my womb," you say, "I...I remained there for the remainder of my pregnancy and after I gave birth to her. There was a sorceress there who helped me during my labors and the witchers, they....they..."

You feel the tears well up, threatening to spill, not from having to lie, but also from the fact that you were taken indeed taken against your will, just not by Geralt and his brethren.

You start to sniffle thinking about it.

"Do you believe her now," Daemon steps up, placing a comforting hand on your back, "she is clearly in distress from this whole ordeal, there is no need to put her through it any further."

"Even if this account is indeed true, how are we to know of the true father of the child that lays in her arms," Otto scoffs, "For all we know, she may not have even been with child when she was taken, and one of those...butchers could've planted their seed inside her and the child is a product of their vile acts."

"That is not likely, Lord Hand," you wipe your tears away, glaring at Otto whom you knew was well aware that Aemma is Daemon's child, "it is known on the Continent that witchers are sterile. The mutagenic alchemy that was used to create them has also taken away their ability to produce children."

"I can corroborate on such facts, your Grace," Maester Mellos interjects, "some of my followers have traveled to the Continent prior to studying in the Citadel. There are dozens of accounts on these so called witchers that span for nearly centuries. It appears there has never been one that was born, but were created by rather dark and unnatural magics. Deadly as well, as very few have appeared to survive the process."

"I've heard those tales as well during my travels to the Skellige isles," Corlys adds, "three out of ten boys, it is said. And all unable to produce offspring of their own afterwards."

"Well then, by all accounts, it would appear (y/n) and my brother have spoken the truth" Viserys speaks, "now, if there are no further disputes over my...niece's parentage, I see no reason why she and her mother should not stay here and be cared for." 

Rhaenyra approached you and the king, "I wish to meet my cousin," she announces. Viserys nods and stands aside to allow the princess to meet Aemma. Alicent gave Rhaenyra a small smile, but it seemed to only be answered by a cold shoulder on Rhaenyra's part.

"May I?" the princess asks. You lower the shawl again so she could meet Aemma.

"The blood of the dragon does indeed run in her veins," the princess states, "it's a shame she was born under such cruel circumstances."

"It's not true!" Ciri blurts out, unable to stand the lies anymore, and getting everyone's attention, "none of this is true. (y/n) was taken against her will, but not by the witchers. She was taken here by this man," she points an accusing finger at Daemon.

"Who is this girl?" Viserys asks. "Her name is Ciri, your Grace," you answer, "she's...my ward. I-" "I found the girl at the keep of the witchers," Daemon explains, "she had been staying there for some time before (y/n) was brought there. It didn't seem...right to leave her there alone."

"Sounds to me the poor girl has been through worse then what the lady troubadour has," Lyonel states.

"Those deviants," Mellos says, "they truly know no morals or character."

"No, that's not true! They're good people!" Ciri insists, "if it weren't for the White Wolf, I would've perished in Cintra or have been captured by the armies of Nilfgaard!"

Now that got the attention of everyone in the room.

Rhaenyra broke the silence when she approached Ciri, "and what would Nilfgaard want with you?" she asks.

Ciri knew the barrel of ale has been opened right now; there was no closing it at this point.

"I'm not just some girl," Ciri states, briefly glaring at Daemon before continuing,

"I'm...I am princess Cirilla of Cintra. And I am here because I had sworn to protect Aemma at all costs."

Chapter 14

Masterlist

[limerental]

here, have a half-finished witcher americana retelling I've been sitting on for years now. I didn't quite have the gusto to go everywhere I wanted with it but here she is. I got in my yenralt & ciri feelings mostly :')

It did not go like this:

Yennefer was born the unfortunate eldest daughter of a local farmer of dairy goats and hogs, the sort of farm built into a gully that boiled up with mud and shit when it rained. Born all twisted up in the womb, her spine curved in a permanent hunch. 

Some devil got to her mama, her daddy always said, leaning on a fencepost, hard-eyed and jeering as he spit tobacco into the dust.

Some devil had likely looked a lot like the young man her mama fancied just a few months before she was married quick to her daddy.

The devil long vanished off to the city. 

Yennefer was no good for farm work, but she could do well enough bussing tables at the diner off the main road. She worked there more hours than not for less than scraps, but she did her work and ducked her head and kept mostly quiet about it. If she was just patient enough and careful, she could find her way out of there in time.

Yennefer kept a secret. 

She'd been born with witchcraft hidden in her crooked body, the sort that ran in rich veins through the land itself. The kind that sang in the creek-carved ravines and thrummed through the gnarled roots and swaying branches of the forest. 

She could call the animals to her and find anything lost and drive out the snakes from the chicken coop with a word, and she'd heard stories about things like that all her life so wasn't surprised by the possibility at all. Except for the fact that no one had ever taught her those things, and nobody knew she could do it.

In only a few short months she'd come into the full depth of her magic and the Witch would come for her and changed her life for good.

Before that, she met Geralt.

Yennefer'd long given up fantasies of being spirited away, thinking about strangers' lives with the kind of detached daydreaming of a girl who did dull work for ceaseless hours. 

She wondered who this man was, old enough to have seen the war but younger than her daddy, who had been exempt from the draft on grounds of being a farmer. Which was good fortune, because he would have made a bloodthirsty soldier.

Geralt was a simple man who worked in travelling pest control. His beat up company van coughed over the miles, tools of the trade rattling in the back, big cartoon rat grinning evilly painted across the side. 

Geralt kept a secret.

He knew every trick and gimmick to eliminate a rodent problem, could give his usual spiel about baiting and trapping to any fellow who asked, but had never employed anything that mundane even once. The pests he controlled and catalogued tended to be bigger and meaner and not as pretty splashed over the panels of a van.

Monsters were real, and he knew them by name. Kept tabs on the quiet ones and put down the loud and messy ones.

 Always respectfully, that is.

 Most of them weren't evil, just creatures as old as the land or older, the growing civilizations on this Continent encroaching more and more on the wild places they had once owned.

The war was many years over, and they said the future was bright. The future was now. Geralt didn't know by what metric they measured those things, because to him the world looked the same as always. 

He'd done pest control enlisted in the war too, chasing the sort of monsters that paled in their wretched cruelty in comparison to men. Most of the things he sought out were just trying to survive with shrinking odds in a world rapidly forgetting them.

Geralt got that. 

Got it in ways rural poor America did, living the same rusted out life they always had, going on in the usual quaint and tragic ways.

Yennefer didn't quite get it yet, but she was going to.

She poured burnt coffee for the grey-haired  stranger in the far booth, a typical dusty midday silence settled over the diner. The slanted cartoon eyes of the rat on his sepia-toned van stared at her from where it was parked beside the pumps. 

Places in towns this small wore many faces, general store, filling station, and diner in one. The main road was a common route north, and Yennefer liked to wonder where passersby were going, what lives they led. Imagine what faces they hid from the world, same as her. 

Geralt had a job out this way with a few hours left to drive, hoping the company van didn't shit the bed again before he made it there, and he watched the waitress' hands shake as she poured him his coffee. Crooked through the shoulders, she limped when she walked and seemed to have trouble with the weight of the full carafe. Geralt smiled at her, an ugly, little smile on a face unused to such gestures, but the girl smiled back. He hoped they paid her fair. She had nice eyes, sharp and a cool violet.

Yennefer brought him a slice of apple pie and wondered where the stranger'd got his scars. He had a number of them on his face and hands alone, pink puckers and angry mauve ridges and was sure to have more hidden by his dark coveralls. Probably the war. If it had been the other waitress working, the chatty one, she would have asked, mister, did you get those in the war, must have gotten half blown to hell, but Yennefer didn't ask.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her starched apron and got back to work filling salt shakers, and neither spoke a word to the other.

Geralt didn't make much of a living on the road, but he lived simple and didn't need much anyhow. The pie was an extravagance, tart and sweet. The girl had working hands, calloused. He thought of saying something to her, making conversation, but he didn't. There was the sound of flies humming against the dust-streaked glass, the occasional rumble of traffic on the road, the quiet noise of his fork on chipped china.

He didn't stick around to watch his dollar tip fluster Yennefer's cheeks red. Didn't look back at all. If he had, he would have seen her pause in the screen door to watch him drive off, wondering about what sort of work he did in a strange vehicle like that, what sort of man he was. 

The van's ignition choked and then caught. He had some miles to go.

*

Neither left a lasting impression on the other at that first unremarkable meeting, but when Yennefer next saw him two decades on, she knew him at once in the way that witches always know those sorts of things. 

How fascinating it was to see that the stranger looked exactly the same despite the years. Same greyed hair, same dour expression, probably same pale orange van parked at the edge of the festival grounds. Witchers didn't age the same as men, after all, and that's the sort of thing she saw he was. Perilously slow heartbeat, calculating look in his newspaper yellow eyes, scars curved by talon and tooth and not shrapnel.

Geralt had known what she was by her description, whispered low and reverant like something holy, that this woman was no ordinary medic. Knew before he parted the canvas flap of a shabby tent in some muddy, over-trodden field and stepped into an opulent throne room, the stone walls hung with erotic tapestries, the high ceiling shimmering with a cloud of stars. 

The witch herself sprawled perfectly naked on a high-backed throne with a seat of red velvet. Alone, she looked on in detached interest, still as a statue, a haughty and omnipotent sentinel. Geralt thought her ethereal, beautiful, enthralling. 

Trouble.

In truth, Yennefer was wretchedly hungover after a riotous orgy the night before and could avoid the throbbing of her temples if only she kept perfectly still.

It was by her eyes, shrewd and violet, that, with a jolt of surprise up his spine, Geralt recognized her as the crooked waitress from the diner many years past.

There'd always been witches hidden behind any great power, old world or new. King Arthur ruled by the guiding hand of the wizard Merlin and JFK by a blonde starlet in a snow white dress, though none would ever have taken the latter for a sorceress.

How tiresome it was, thought Yennefer, how empty, how thankless.

Geralt sighed and adjusted his hold on the unconscious Dandelion's thighs, hitching his friend higher across his back as he wheezed into Geralt's ear. Would have rather gone elsewhere. Would have rather the idiot had not offended the ancient, moth-winged creature Geralt had come to reason with into making less noise.

But there was no talking sense into Dandelion. Damn lucky the creature the locals here called Mothman hadn't thought to curse him with something more severe than whatever ailed him. 

It didn't take kindly to flirting.

Dandelion was a poet and a philanderer and a starchild and a balladeer and a free spirit and a scholar and a conscientious objecter and a right pain in Geralt's ass, except that he was also good to talk to and steadfastly humorous even all these years on and the sort of friend who remembered little details like your brand of cigarettes or your favorite candy, who Geralt liked even for his numerous flaws because Geralt liked most people truly and was a good man and loved deeply and loved consistently with his whole damn too-big heart.

"A friend?" asked Yennefer and Geralt shrugged.

What happened next happened the way it always did in every version of the story.

Two broken, fragile-hearted people and something close to tenderness.

*

It didn't happen like this:

Somebody had a pest problem, a wealthy widow with a pretty young daughter. Somebody'd cursed a poor son of a bitch into beastly form. Said he roamed the hills howling by night and walked the streets a man by day. 

The curse broke in the usual way, just as Geralt said. The daughter's kiss on a full moon. True love and all. Happily ever after.

Except a new war broke and in time, it widowed the daughter too and her poor heart couldn't take the grief, and then the market turned sour and the wealthy widow lost her fortune and hung herself in the pantry. Geralt got a letter naming him next of kin by some questionably legitimate legal twist of fate and then, he sighed deep and resigned and drove north to pick up the girl.

It wasn't so unusual in his line of work, strange orphans scattered all over like grisly flotsam. But he didn't usually see to raising them. He'd never had a father besides the old man, and he'd never thought much of having his own children. 

He couldn't know the true dark web of conspiracy around her and would never know the whole of it. The sort of man her daddy was to bear a curse like that in the first place. The old and intricate magicks, bound up in blood and circumstance. The sort of woman young Ciri would be.

Even if he'd known, Geralt would have drove to get her even so. He found the girl buck-toothed and scrawny and lugging a too heavy briefcase down the slumped front stoop of the elderly neighbor who'd been putting her up. Hair the pale color of woodsmoke, eyes like her mama, green as a copper kettle.

And just like her mama, young Ciri had some whisper of something else in her. Something carried over from older lands than this and bolstered by the ancient things here, passed on like the detritus of trauma gained generation to generation. Something tainted and bigger than he had the know-how to suss out.

Geralt sat down and fumblingly wrote a letter.

*

Meanwhile, young Ciri passed an idyllic summer and cold as tits winter on the isolated Morhen ranch in the rural mountains. She'd never worked a farm before and never even seen a farm animal up close, especially not a ranch like that one which was straight out of some pastoral fantasy. 

A painted red barn and swaying, golden fields and a willow tree with a swing beside a white farmhouse on the ridgeline and a little cliche collection of animals. A black and white cow and a billy goat and a pair of checkered chickens and an old, whiskered horse and a little, scrappy dog. 

Keeping up appearances, old Vesemir said and made her go muck out the pen. She wished they'd keep up appearances with mucking too and when she said that, the old man's eyes bugged out his head and Uncle Eskel wheeze-laughed folded over smacking his knees. 

But the others didn't come until later into fall when the harvest needed brought in. For many long, humid, dust mote days of summer, it was just Ciri and her new, mysterious guardian and the old man who trundled on his tractor with a pipe dangling from his lip, mowing grass and cussing when the tires dipped into a whistlepig hole.

Most days, Ciri was expected up early to feed and muck and clean, which she did with a healthy amount of complaining. Her little pink hands sloughed red with oozing blisters, and Geralt held them in his rough palms to apply salve, feeling like he wished he could give this girl something more, something grander, but this was what they had, this was what he knew.

But Ciri liked the idea of it, her hands going rough and calloused and big like his, her body going hard and lean. She wondered about his scars and his lined face and how strong he was when he lifted her up in his arms.

The lightning bugs came out over the fields each night, so numerous that she could cry over it, and Geralt taught her how not to be afraid when catching them cupped in her hands, kneeling before her with the flickering light held out like a solemn offering. 

He prayed it would be enough, the small things he could give her, but Ciri had never known anything bigger. Her daddy sitting on the creaking edge of her bed in the attic to tell her a bedtime story. One with the true monsters and evils smoothed out into a fairytale. 

Geralt told her many stories. Long ago, there were elves and giants and wizards and queens and all of them tangled up together in mysterious and elaborate ways. Ciri reminded him about the knights, and he said, ah yes, the knights, and told her about the quests and the riddles and the labyrinths and the dragons. Ciri liked the dragons best. And the swords that slayed them.

When she asked about his own monsters, he said only that there were things in this land older than all of them.

Sometimes the land itself resisted occupation.

And if she was ever on a dirt road along a field of corn or alfalfa at night, never stray in, no matter what beckoned. And if the screams of the coyotes took on a different pitch, don't go looking. And if the cicadas and the crickets went silent all at once and the woods gathered a hush, run home and run fast and don't glance behind your shoulder.

She brandished a pitchfork out in the animal pen, playing at killing beasts, and Geralt watched from the front porch of the farmhouse wishing he could make it all true for her. Heroes and legends and noble truths.

Instead, he whispered a prayer to the wind rattling through the corn fields and held tight as he could to her little, calloused hand.

*

It all went more or less the same in the end.

*

"And that's it!" says Ciri, waggling her fingers in a dramatic flourish. "Well, it didn't happen like that." She keeps her voice low and steady in the manner of storytelling, perched up on a fence rail,  hands dangling between her legs. "Well, it all did happen. But not like that. Not in those places at that time."

The farm boy she is speaking to looks at her with big eyes, dumb as a newborn lamb. He doesn't know where this America is or half of the words she uses. 

Ciri yawns. She doesn't think she'll tell that version again. Or else be choosier with her audience. The sky has started to go red with fading light, and the bats loose themselves from the eaves of the barn to take wing over the fields.

"Don't you have evening chores to do, boy?" she asks, and the boy startles as though awakening from a dream. "Those sheep won't feed themselves."

Later, when his mama cuffs him over the head for his tardiness, he will not be able to explain the reason for the dawdling. He remembers the dark silhouette of a stranger on the border of the fenceline and a peculiar sort of hollow sadness.

In all the darkest and strangest days of his life afterward, his thoughts will return sometimes to that shape in the cradle of dusk.

 And one night when his own young, sleepless daughter asks to hear a story, he will close his eyes and draw a breath and tell her one.

[vesemirsexual]

Minor Women in The Witcher 3:

Note: this is not the full list of every woman found in-game, however a list of many minor woman that do appear.

• Anabelle - Plague maiden from Fyke Island. In love with a local fisherman (Graham) but her father (Lord of Velen) disapproved. During a Nilfgaardian invasion, fled to Fyke Island to hide in a mage tower with her family. Took a paralysis potion to protect herself from assault when peasants stormed the tower, however when she woke she was unable to move, everyone else was dead, and rats descended on them, hence her ghost from a grisly death.

• Anna Strenger - Wife of the Bloody Baron, mother of Tamara Strenger. Fled from the Baron, his drunken rages and beatings, with her daughter. The Crones placed a curse on her which turned her into a monster after making a pact with them to abort her pregnancy, and she is dragged into Crookback Bog to repay her debt.

• Anisse - Young Aretuza graduate.

• Aynara - orphan found in Crookback Bog.

• Bea - Barmaid in Novigrad, non-human sympathiser and a friend of Ciri.

• Bergthora - Wife of Eiric in Skellige.

• Birna Bran - Widow of the King of Skellige, engaged in a conspiracy that ends in a massacre at Kaer Trolde due to her disdain with customs and wish to establish a hereditary rulership.

• Carthia van Canten (Cantarella/Sasha) - Head of Nilfgaardian Secret Service.

• Catarina - Actor in the Foxen.

• Corinne Tilly - Oneiromancer (deciphering the past and present in dreams).

• Dolores Reardon - Old woman, ran away from her Temerian wealthy family with her lover.

• Dora - young woman harassed by thugs who Geralt walks home (even though she can take care of herself).

• Edna var Attre - Daughter of a Nilfgaardian ambassador, twin sister to Rosa.

• Elsa - Innkeeper in White Orchard.

• Eveline Gallo - Circus acrobat, accomplished thief and an elf.

• Felicia Cori - Young aspiring sorceress, former Philippa pupil, burned by the Church of the Eternal Fire.

• Gretka - Girl which Ciri saves from wolves in Velen.

• Ingrid Vegelbud - Daughter of Patricia Vegelbud.

• Irina Renarde - Leader of the Foxen (Mummers troupe), an actor.

• Jacquette - Young woman who is engaged to a knight errant of Toussaint.

• Jonna - Alchemist in Rannvaig.

• Josta - Priestess of Freya.

• Jutta an Dimun - Shield maiden on Faroe, clan Dimun.

• Karli - Mother of two sons killed by a dragon in Fyresdal.

• Kurisu - Kidnapped by pirates, escapes and is found around Freyas Temple.

• Lena - Young woman attacked by a griffin while sneaking out to meet her Nilfgaardian lover.

• Liesje - Farmer and wife in White Orchard.

• Marabella - Teacher in Novigrad, poet and fond of horses.

• Margrit (Margaret) - Sister of Niellen's missing wife.

• Maria Louisa La Valette - Foltests mistress. A baroness, has two illegitimate children by Foltest.

• Marlene de Trastamara - Noble woman who turns away the wrong beggar and is cursed.

• Marquise Serenity - Madame at the Passiflora.

• Matilda de Vermentino - Owner of the Vermentino vineyard.

• Molly - Maid or noblewoman, depending on previous player choices.

• Nissa - Elven comedienne in The Puffins troupe.

• Patricia Vegelbud - Matriach of the Vegelbud family.

• Pinastri - Lapsed Eighth Day Flagellant, herbalist.

• Polly - Choreogapher in Novigrad. Dandelion used to hide out in her house.

• Rosa var Attre - Daughter of the Nilfgaardian ambassador, twin sister of Edna. Fencer.

• Sara - Godling "haunting" a house in Novigrad.

• Sweet Nettie - Sex worker, potential serial killer victim.

• Tamara Strenger - Witch hunter, daughter of the Bloody Baron. Fled with her mother, and joined the witcher hunters so she would be able to survive trekking into the bog to save her.

• Thecla - Wise woman in the village below Bald Mountain. Seeress.

• Vernossiel - Leader of a small Scoia'tael commando group.

• Viki - Shipwreck survivor, sheltering a young boy in Widows grotto.

• Vivienne de Tabris - Lady in waiting to Anna Henrietta. Cursed to turn into a bird when the moon is out.