I've had a few of the scenes that will show in this fic knocking around in my head for a while. This is a first for me in quite a while-writing a multi chapter fanfic, but that's exactly what this will turn out to be.

For my continuity Geralt and Yennefer settled in Toussaint after Blood and Wine. Ciri went on the path. I write under the ending where Detlaff was killed, only in my version Regis took what was left of Detlaff and decided to heal him bodily and mentally without the duchess' knowledge instead of finishing him off.

She'd tried. She'd really, really tried everything she knew, but the sad, bottom of the barrel truth of it was that she was not a healer. She knew how to be gentle, she could be kind, and she could do much with her knowledge and her magic, but she couldn't save the mother. She was a warrior sorceress, a creature to whom power and energy came easily.

But not healing. Should she be so surprised when her existence until recently had hinged on being able to fight? She'd never cultivated healing abilities the same way. Maybe she couldn't.

Yennefer stood there, breathing hard, her eyes locked on the mother's body with sympathy twisting her brow as failure gripped at her heart. A tiny cry distracted her attention and she turned her head, bowing over the bloody infant wrapped in a shawl. She hushed the little girl gently, rocking her and cradling her close, turning towards the girl hovering uncertain in the doorway.

Geralt woke to Yennefer yelling for him, and his instinct had him on his feet with sword in hand before he even knew what he was doing. He ran to the door of their home, standing in the frame and blinking twice before his split eyes adjusted to the late moonlight.

"I didn't expect you till morning at least, Yen, what are you-" he squinted, his fingers slackening a little on the handle as he quickly sheathed the sword and went to the sorceress, who looked paler and more shaken than he had seen her in a very long time. He looked down at the bundle she clutched, ghosting his fingers over hers and then across her arms. She was tacky with blood, and she stank of death. A far cry from what a midwife should evoke. "Yen, what happened?"

"I couldn't save the mother," Yennefer said quietly, her voice strange and unreadable to him. "The father is a knight, he is away. They don't know for how long. They are a young couple—alone in Toussaint. The closest family are in Novigrad..." She looked at him, her brow twisted. "She has no-one, Geralt. Not until her father returns. Only the servant girl remained with the mother to help her with the chores and she is half mad with grief and barely fourteen, she wouldn't know what to do with a baby."

Geralt's heart broke as he looked into her eyes, and he lifted a hand to stroke back her silky hair, craning his head so he could read her expression half hidden as it was by shadow. "Yen, it's not a good idea," he whispered, brushing her cheekbone with his thumb.

Her eyes hardened and she turned away from him. He let her, but the motion hurt. "Yennefer-" he tried softly, but her shoulders stiffened.

"She has no-one," she repeated, but she did not look at him.

She went inside like a shadow, leaving him in the moonlight with a troubled heart. He stood there for several long moments, arms crossed over his chest and wishing that Ciri was there. He knew Yennefer was in pain, he knew that made her normally level head a little unsteady, and he felt for the child, but he could see nothing good coming of this. How would Yennefer have the heart to give the baby up when her father returned if she was already attached? He gave a long, bone-weary sigh, glanced out over their vineyard, and followed her.

He found her in Ciri's room. She was sitting unclothed in a tub of water that was steaming gently, the baby cradled on her propped up knees. She was speaking softly to her, washing the blood away with gentle strokes.

Geralt stood watching them for a long time, guilt eating at his heart. He was incurable, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his mutations were permanent, but maybe Yennefer wasn't. Maybe, with someone else, she could have what she so clearly still longed for. Pain pulled at him, manifesting in his throat, and he tried to push away the thought that he shouldn't be with her. That she deserved the chance at this. Yes, they had Ciri, but Yennefer had never gotten to raise Ciri like this.

The feeling of inadequacy clung to him like wet spiderweb and he closed his eyes for a long moment, turning his head away as he blinked and tried to compose himself. He wanted Yennefer to be happy, and he hated that he was doubting their relationship again. He didn't know what he would be without her there in Toussaint with him. Neither had been able to retire fully. He still took contracts and ran bandits out ahead of the knights and Yennefer had taken to practicing a wider variety of spells and helping the local women as a midwife.

But they were happy. They delighted in each other, and in their work. He was hunting because it thrilled his blood and the people there, at least once in a while, thanked him for it. She was helping mothers because it made her happy to do so while they both waited for Ciri to come back and visit. It was a far cry from the years where he hunted so he wouldn't starve and she studied so she could outsmart the Lodge and survive the miseries of court duty.

He truly wasn't sure he would be able to stay at the vineyard without her. He knew that unless he had her to come home to, he would surely end up on the path and fulfill the prophecy placed on the head of every Witcher. He would die alone in the mud from a festering bite rather than in his own bed.

Slowly, he took a measured breath and pulled away from those dark thoughts, the weight of his medallion against his chest all too apparent. Yennefer, for once, did not call him out on his thoughts. No doubt she wasn't listening to his mind or even his heart in that moment; she was consumed by the child in her lap.

Slowly, his fingers feeling stiff, he unbuckled his sword belt and lay it across Ciri's bed, rolling his sleeves up and carefully moving into Yennefer's line of sight before kneeling down and resting his forearms gingerly on the edge of the tub. He studied her, but she wouldn't look at him. After a long beat of silence with nothing but the water in the tub to break it, Geralt dared to speak.

"What's her name?"

"Teya," Yennefer said quietly, rubbing her thumb back and forth on the baby's tiny hand. She'd fallen asleep gripping Yennefer's finger and the sorceress looked like she never wanted to move again.

He wanted to say a million things; I'm sorry, I wish I could give this to you, we should take her to a temple, but instead he said "Do you need anything?"

"A fresh blanket. I've already fed her. She will need to sleep in our bed tonight."

Geralt nodded and got up, going against his better judgment to get the requested blanket. When he returned, Yennefer was standing with Teya cradled against her bare breast, looking out the window across the vineyard at the silvery pools the moon created. Daring again, Geralt approached and unfolded the first towel he'd fetched, draping it around Yennefer's shoulders and daring to wrap his arms with it when she didn't flinch away. They stood there for a long time, his chin resting on her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her and the baby with the towel to stave off a chill.

She finally looked at him, and the amount of pain mixed with conflicted awe in her eyes caused his heart to stumble as he gently let go and drew back so she could turn towards him. "Oh Yen," he breathed, reaching out a hand to brush her cheek. To his great surprise, she let him. Even closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

"I know we cannot keep her, Geralt," she began, and he heard her pain even though she tried to hide it. "When her father returns I will give her up. It's only-" she sighed, brushing a hand over the crown of the baby's head as Geralt held out the smaller blanket. Yennefer accepted it and carefully wrapped Teya up without waking her. "You should have seen her eyes, Geralt. They are so very much like Ciri's."

He did not know what to say to that, because nothing he could say would fix things, so he just reached out and clasped her hand, trying to convey wordlessly what he simply could not find words for.

Yennefer hardly slept that night, watching Teya until the early morning when they both finally fell asleep. Geralt didn't sleep at all, too concerned about their situation and too disturbed by old insecurities. He sighed as the smell of very early morning blew across them from the cracked window and got up, leaving the room silently. Yennefer remained asleep with Teya on her chest.

He walked out of the house barefoot and into the front courtyard. The workers living on his property used to give him strange glances when he moved about at odd hours, but now those that were awake to care for the chickens or start early on the vines barely spared him a glance and a respectful nod. Geralt stood there in his sleeping trousers and shirt for a long time, watching the morning as it rose and wishing he could think about something else.

Finally he shook his head, relenting back to what he always seemed to: the path. He went through the herb garden harvesting blooms of wolfsbane and fool's parsley crisp with dew before descending into the wine cellar and back through the broken wall to the laboratory he'd discovered. With Regis' help it was now a highly functional mutagen lab, and though he needed no further treatments from the trials it was also a good place to brew potions. He set about to the task, something familiar enough to ease his restlessness but demanding enough that his mind wasn't constantly snagged on worry.

He was in the middle of making moondust bombs when a flustered young man came running pell mell down the tunnel so fast he barely stopped in time to avoid knocking over the table. Geralt had been very focused, and startled when the footsteps sounded, spilling silver dust all over the table and his hands.

He cursed softly, dusting it off and sighing, his eyes adjusting as he glanced into the light to fix on the newcomer. "Get your breath back, then tell me what monster has you pitching yourself past courtesy and into my cellar."

"Apologies...master Witcher..." the boy wheezed, and Geralt sighed, shaking his head as he got up.

"I told you to get your breath back first," he chided, folding his arms and leaning against the table as he scanned the lad for clues. "You're not bloody so I assume you saw something?"

"Heard, yes, my master sent me to you," he managed after a moment, heaving a great breath and finally standing upright and looking at Geralt instead of leaning on the table.

"Heard?"

"A rumbling, like some great thunder but in the ground and then nearly an entire acre of the vineyard just...collapsed." His eyes were wide and his tone was like he could hardly believe what he was saying himself.

Geralt frowned. That sounded like the result of centipede burrows but that was one massive infestation if they were causing ground collapse on such a huge scale. "Did you see the creatures responsible? Can't be Archispores, those prevent ground decay most of the time. Kikimore don't typically burrow that shallow. If this is centipedes you have a lot more than one Witcher can handle."

The boy's face paled and he groaned low in his throat, rubbing his forehead in distress. "I was affeard you would say something like that. But after you took down the beast of Beauclair I had hoped..."

"A single opponent, even the Beast is very different from clearing out an entire nest of centipedes. Especially one that big."

"Then what am I to tell the master? He and the rest of the household have fled to the city for sanctuary but the vineyard—the harvest-"

"Are lost," Geralt interrupted. "There's nothing I can do about that. I am not saying I won't help, but I can't take this contract alone. Tell your master and his family to stay where they are. And you stay too. When I have a plan and some backup I will go and your problem will be taken care of. But it will take time for other Witchers to arrive."

"I don't know how many my master can afford, what with the vineyard a loss this season," the boy said, and if possible he looked even more afraid, as though Geralt might attack him at the mention of a lack of coin. Geralt felt himself anger at the implications but he couldn't help that Witchers had such a warped reputation.

"I'm sure we can work something out," Geralt said evenly. "The Dutchess cares about her people and an infestation like that is a public problem. I'm sure your master wouldn't be paying alone. I will warn you though, I will need at least two other Witchers to help me with this. One could be here quite soon, provided I can make contact. The other could take weeks."

He nodded, taking a shuddering breath and straightening his back. "Alright, thank you. What should we do in the mean time—I fear that they will spread."

"Tell the knights about it and give them this," Geralt said, fishing around on a shelf until he found a small vial of foul, black liquid. "That's a concoction that mimics the scent of the centipede's greatest natural predator. Unfortunately they are extinct, but the centipedes don't know that. If the knights make more with this formula-" he handed over the vial and a piece of parchment "then spread it around the edge of the nest it will keep them in one place. At least for a while. A constant guard of knights will help protect travelers. If we warn people away from the area we should be able to prevent more casualties until I and the other Witchers can get there. Got all that?"

The boy nodded, clutching the two items. "Yes sir." He tapped his heels together and nodded sharply, his wits about him again. "Thank you sir."

Geralt couldn't help his amused smile. "You're welcome. Now go on, take a horse if you don't have one. Just not either of the mares in the upper stables."

When he went back inside, Geralt was feeling considerably better with a new challenge to face. He wasn't sure that was a healthy sign but he chose to focus on preparation instead of mentally dissecting himself. If he was going to contact Eskel and Ciri he would need Yennefer's help though, so he followed her scent to the side garden where she sat with Teya under a tree.

"Yen, I need to contact Eskel," he said, settling in the grass beside her and trying not to read into the fact that she only spared him a glance. "And Ciri, if you could," he added carefully. He didn't want her to think he was trying to push her on getting out of the baby slump, even if he did quietly hope that seeing Ciri would make this entire thing easier on her.

Yennefer tore her eyes away from Teya to look at him, rocking the baby unconsciously as she read his expression. "What's happened? I thought you wanted to let Ciri walk the path on her own?"

"I do, but there's a contract that is far too large for me to handle alone. I need her and Eskel if we are going to be able to complete it and all walk away breathing."

"So don't take the contract, you have no further need for money," Yennefer said, her tone indifferent and cold. Geralt's brow furrowed, even though he knew Yennefer did that to protect herself. It was her way of saying she wanted him and Ciri safe.

"I can't ignore an infestation like this, Yen. The centipedes caved in an entire acre of a neighboring vineyard. I'm equipped to handle it and so are Ciri and Eskel. That's why I'm asking for help. I'm not doing it for the coin, but we both knew that I wouldn't stop hunting all together. Maybe it's because it's all I've ever known but some part of me enjoys hunting. You said you were fine with that." He paused, looking at her long and hard. "Are you changing your mind?"

She took a deep breath and let it out, adjusting Teya and standing. "I cannot contact Eskel, you know that."

"Yes, but you can contact Ciri, and she can look for him. The moment she finds him she can blink them both here and we can handle the threat."

"Fine. I will summon your cavalry. Is that all?"

Geralt flinched at the question, his brow furrowing. Was this what it was going to be between them now? All because he was trying to protect her from the grief he knew she would face when the baby's father came back?

"Yeah," he said finally, even though he probably should have said something entirely else. "That's all. If you need me I'll be in town, getting my swords honed and my armor repaired."

Over the next few days Geralt prepared. He refreshed his mind and muscle memory by practicing in the courtyard with his swords. He meditated and brewed potions and crafted enough bombs first for himself, then for Ciri and Eskel as well. When he couldn't justify making more without risking the entire estate going up with a stray spark, he moved on to perfecting every edge of his armor and swords—even the ones he wasn't planning on using during the fight. It was the flimsiest excuse he had ever given himself but he justified those hours by thinking that if a sword broke or Eskel lost one of his then there would be plenty of backup.

As if Eskel would actually lose one of his swords. Probably the only Witcher in history to lose his swords and live to be horrendously embarrassed about it was Geralt himself. He felt his body grow hot with the memory and he scrubbed harder with polishing wax.

When he used up all of the fat in the larder on sword oils Yennefer spoke to him long enough to send him out of doors, and he spent the next three nights camped in the country practicing more and more intense versions of Yrden and Igni. He had hoped in some small corner of his mind that when he returned Yennefer would show some sign of missing him, but she was in the kitchen with the baby tied to her chest and she showed no indication that she'd even realized he hadn't been home in three nights. He wanted to say something to her, but his fingers tingled at the thought of her touch and so he grit his teeth and walked away.

He'd done everything he possibly could to prepare for Eskel and Ciri and still Ciri hadn't tracked him down. That left Geralt alone with his thoughts and a Yennefer who was completely absorbed by the baby, and his judgment went down from there.

He spent too long in the tavern the next two nights where his anger melted into the alcohol and turned into grief that felt something like the shreds of fear.

"What are you doing?" he growled to himself, catching his balance on a fence as he walked slowly back home, his intoxication levels high even for him. He felt unsteady and slid to sit for a moment, cradling his head. He breathed hard and found his ability to draw air was actually suffering, his lungs feeling like they were stuffed with warm cotton. Oddly, he wasn't distressed. He supposed he probably had his mutations to thank for that: his body was way better at carrying and distributing oxygen than most people and that meant if he wasn't in the thick of battle he could go quite a while without a real breath.

Not that he was planning to make this a habit or anything. He sighed, scrubbing at his eyes as he cursed softly. What in the world was he becoming? His medallion rest heavy against his breastbone and he fumbled it as he picked it up to look at it. He swallowed the dryness caused by the drinking and blinked, trying to focus on the wolf head. Instead of falling back into an existential crisis about whether he wanted to be a Witcher or keep being a Witcher or if he ultimately had a choice in the matter, he just thought about Vesimir and that brought tears welling that he was just too drunk to chase away.

So he sat in the dirt, his back against a post, and cried because he felt alone. The tiny sober part of him was saying they were never picking up a vodka bottle again, but the rest of him simply did not have the energy to care. He hated that Vesimir was gone. He hated that he hadn't seen Eskel in more than two years. He hated that Yennefer seemed to have forgotten him in the midst of her false rapture. More than anything though, he hated that he couldn't just find peace in a home and a mate, even without a child. He was fine on the path, maybe he should just go back to it. Yennefer could keep the estate. Do what she would.

She would find happiness without him. Maybe the father wouldn't come back at all and it would be Yennefer and Teya in that vineyard. She probably wouldn't notice if he didn't come back at all. He'd be free to go fulfill the Witcher destiny of dying in some rotten cave instead of bothering someone with funeral arrangements.

Gods, when had his thoughts gotten so darkly self-indulgent? He wiped clumsily at his mouth, realizing that he'd started to fall asleep and drool. He slowly got back to his feet and stumbled towards the river. This time the sober part of his brain was telling the rest of him he was being ridiculous and needed to piss so he should splash his face, get over himself, and get the rest of the way back home. Yennefer was hurting. He should be there for her. They'd learned enough times that they were better together.

Hadn't they?

Cold water ran down his face and into his collar as he looked skyward, taking in the stars through his fog. He closed his eyes and focused on filling his lungs properly, getting gingerly to his feet after. By the time he got back to the house he was less intoxicated and more able to think.

All the same, when he came finally into the bedroom and saw Yennefer with her back to him and the baby laying next to her, he couldn't help the plummet in his stomach or those same thoughts that wouldn't stop gnawing at him. He should leave. Let her have this peace. Let her have a chance with someone else. If he walked away then she wouldn't have to follow. He knew the path. He could go back to it for as long as his heart continued to beat.

Yennefer's head picked up suddenly and he stiffened, sensing a change in her mood. Slowly, she gathered herself and sat up, touching the baby's stomach to ensure she was safe before turning around and looking at him. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes pierced through him. "Outside, please?" she said, and it was the first words she'd directed towards him since he'd asked her to contact Ciri. His mouth went dry and he swallowed, but she had already gotten up and walked past him, clearly expecting him to follow.

He did. She stopped in front of the racks of armor displayed at the base of the stairs that led to Ciri's room, folding her arms and turning to look at him. For a long moment her eyes searched his face and he looked back, not knowing what to do or what to think. He just looked back at her, paralyzed by pain and by her scent and beauty.

"Yen," he finally tried, unable to stand the scrutiny or the silence any longer. She grabbed his jaw and he tracked her with his eyes, tensing slightly and uncertain about what to expect.

Her lips pursed with displeasure for a moment before she reached up and pressed a long kiss to his mouth, her hand tightening on his arm when he tensed. He didn't remember feeling her grab his arm to begin with. She broke the kiss and before he could see it coming his cheek was stinging from a slap.

"Gods, Yen, ow? What was that for?" he exclaimed, and she clapped a hand over his mouth to keep him from waking the baby. Her eyes darted over his shoulder to look at the bedroom door and for a moment there was nothing but the crickets. When Teya did not wake and begin crying Yennefer let his mouth free and stared him down, keeping him in place with just her eyes.

"Do not think that just because I've been busy with Teya that I haven't been catching the tail end of every miserably idiotic melancholy thought you've been hauling around like a hunting prize for the past week," she said, her voice stern. "I did not say anything simply because I know you don't like me reading your mind, but frankly it's difficult not to when you're projecting so strongly. And even if I hadn't read your mind I can see it in your eyes. I know you, Geralt, do not forget that for a single moment, and I know when you are thinking about running."

Geralt worked his jaw back and forth for a moment before staring at the floorboards and huffing through his nose. "You still could have said something. I can't read minds, Yen. How was I supposed to feel when you wouldn't talk to me?"

"Wouldn't talk to you?" she said, incredulous. "When did you try? Yes, I'll admit I've been distracted by Teya. Working some things out. I thought you were mature enough to do the same. I also did not say anything because I thought, after everything, after what I said to you before we took on the Hunt that you would realize I love you and I don't blame you for what you cannot help. I know what and who I chose, Geralt."

That got his attention, and he looked up in surprise.

Yennefer sighed, gentling in her entire posture as she reached up and caressed his jaw before gently brushing his hair back from his neck. "Geralt, I felt it in my heart and my body long ago that my condition is not fixable. It simply isn't. No matter what remedy, no matter what spell, I will never be able to bear children. I had my season of chasing men that made me feel like there might be a chance, and all I got was more cold beds and denial. I love you, Geralt, and I love Ciri. I've chosen you as my family, and that means whether you are on the path or off it, whether we can speak to each other or have these stupid spats, I will continue to love you."

She took a deep breath and Geralt felt the overwhelm of relief settle inside his chest and well up in his expression. He had thought he was mostly sober, but it seemed he was still drunk enough to want to cry at her admission.

"Oh Witcher," she sighed, shaking her head and carding his hair back like he was a child that needed comforting. "Unless you wish to leave because you are no longer happy with me, do not think of it again. Understand?"

Geralt swallowed thickly but could only nod.

"Good." She gripped his hand and squeezed. "Now clean up and come to bed. I spent too many nights without you already in this life, I do not intend to spend more because of a misunderstanding."

Though they couldn't mess around partly because Geralt was still pretty drunk and partly because of Teya, they both undressed and curled up with one another. Teya slept safe in the crib Yennefer had bought only the day before, so when Ciri arrived at dawn the next morning with Eskel she found her parents the way she'd seen them more times than she would ever let them know: completely naked and completely asleep.

"Well, some things don't change," Eskel said from the doorway, snorting as he wandered into the foyer to look at all the swords and armors Geralt had on display. Ciri shook her head fondly and shut the door. She wouldn't wake them. They could discuss business when both woke naturally.