The White Wolf and His Pup
A/N: I have many one-shots of Geralt and my OC, Akela (the baby in this story) on tumblr, and they always get a lot of love, so I figured I'd post them here, too. Each chapter is of a different stage in Akela's life. One chapter could be of her as a baby, and the next could jump to her as an adult. I'll let you know what age she currently is before each story starts. In this, she's about three days old, around four years before Geralt claims the Law of Surprise.
If you'd like to read the reader versions of these stories, they can be found on my tumblr: cas-kingdom
Enjoy, and please tell me what you think!
Summary: Geralt finds a baby girl in the woods, and for some reason, he can't quite let her go.
Of all the things to see in the forest at night, he could most assuredly tell himself that this was not one of them.
He had seen squirrels. Rabbits. Deer. Wolves. He'd seen dragons, for fuck's sake, and yet this was still almost too much for him to comprehend.
Because Geralt of Rivia was staring directly down at a baby.
His eyes were black. He'd only just returned from a hunt, stalking silently through the forest, sticky blood on his clothes and hands, sword hanging limply by his side. He was tired, frustrated, and in need of a bath and bed, and he'd had every intention of doing so until the soft, eerie cry of a baby rang into the night.
He'd stopped immediately, pure alert tinting his face. The forest followed his movements. He could hear every squirrel, rabbit, deer, and wolf—no dragons, he hoped, else his sword would be having another meal that night—stop in their own tracks and just listen. No doubt the wolves would be licking their lips, gathering their packs for the hunt…
The crying came from the East, and he was heading North, so what possessed him to turn on his heel and pick his way through the trees, he was unsure, but he did. Without hesitation. He was swift, soundless, simply following the cry, every sense attuned to it.
And so, despite everything nature stood for, here he was. Perhaps five feet away from a tattered wicker basket, little pink arms and legs waving wildly about inside.
He frowned. Tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. Glanced around. He was well accustomed to traps. After a short while, the beady bright eyes in the darkness ahead became more pronounced, and with that came a great deal of indecision on his account.
For, yes, he was a witcher, but leaving the child to the merciless ways of the monsters in the woods would forever remain on his conscience, and he had enough of that already.
So, he stepped forward. Once, twice, slight hesitation, and again. He clenched his jaw and leaned down to peer at it. Or, rather, her, if her nakedness had anything to say about it. Scanning his surroundings, he deliberately placed his sword on the floor, waited a moment, and removed his cloak. He wiped his hands free of as much blood as he could and slowly reached out, his heart peculiarly beating against his ribs, and lifted the child into his arms.
Like a beacon of light in an incessant shadow, she instantly ceased her screaming. Large, glassy eyes opened wide and stared straight into the blackness of his. She was such a fragile thing, and he was enraptured for a moment, fascinated by the size of her against the palms of his hands, the length of his forearms. Had he ever seen such a thing? If he had, his mind had wiped all remnants of such a memory. She was so… human. So small. So fearless.
"Hmm."
He brought her to his chest and wrapped her tightly in his cloak, pulling it up and over her head, which he noted sprouted blonde hairs. At the howl of a nearby wolf, followed by its numerous echoes, he took his sword from the ground and grasped it tightly with one hand, the baby in the other. He turned and walked back through the forest. His grip on both never once slacked.
He had somehow found himself in a tavern, the baby—crying once more—held close to his chest, eyes staring straight ahead as he, quite frankly, figured out what the fuck he was supposed to do. His intention had been to pass her on to the first human he saw, optimistic enough that they wouldn't leave her alone as her parents had done, but he had ignored them all, for some unknown reason he was now regretting.
"Please, quiet down," he hissed. Mercifully, the tavern was loud enough that no one could hear the wailing baby in the arms of the witcher in a shady booth in the corner, instead focused on their tankards of ale. Though that didn't help his case much. He was desperately resisting the urge to place the child on the seat and leave without her, and he may just have acted upon that had a new voice not interrupted his thoughts.
"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?" He snapped his head up and subconsciously drew the baby closer to him, expression guarded. A young woman stood by his table, the ale he'd ordered in her hand, and he watched carefully as she placed it on his table. She didn't move to walk away.
"She's not mine," he told her gruffly.
The woman nodded. "I thought as much." She hesitated before speaking again. "You're one of those witchers, aren't you?"
Geralt didn't reply. He reached for his ale and brought it to his lips, averting his harsh gaze. He hadn't come to be interrogated.
The woman correctly took the silence as unwillingness to answer the question. "Didn't think I'd ever see one of you… never mind one of you with a baby." She leaned across the table to peer at the crying child. "Where did you find her?"
He swallowed and gritted his teeth, speaking around them. "In the woods."
The woman gained a sympathetic look, and a sad smile crossed her lips. "Poor thing," she said. "Parents probably gave her up."
He knew that, but hearing it from another's mouth still caused a feeling of turmoil to settle in the bottom of his stomach. As it always had been, he wasn't one for emotions, but he was still unable to comprehend how anyone could leave a baby—a creation supposed to be born from love—alone in the middle of nowhere, for a malicious reason. He'd felt things once before. He remembered.
"I can take her off your hands, if you want," the woman spoke up. He looked at her. "Find her a home. I know a few couples looking to start families. Or… I could take her myself."
For a moment, he wasn't sure what to say. Studying the woman's features didn't help, either. She seemed serious. Besides, what could she want with a child apart from to do what she'd claimed? Surely, nobody could hurt her more than her parents already had. That feeling of not being wanted… it would doubtlessly follow her for the rest of her life.
He lowered the baby to hold in front of him. Her little mouth still hung open, wails spilling from her lips. He was surprised his ears hadn't fallen off from the relentless noise, but he was used to the volume of the world as it mindlessly spun around him.
A hint of something sparked within him as he gazed at those teary eyes and tiny balled fists.
"She's probably hungry," the woman said again, peering closer, but Geralt didn't move. He continued to stare for a moment longer before he sighed internally and nodded once, taking a long drink from his tankard.
"Fine. Take her."
There seemed to be a new life in the woman's eyes as she nodded eagerly. "I finish here in fifteen minutes. Would you mind waiting until then?"
He shrugged and sat back against the seat, watching as the woman scuttled off. The baby let loose an extra loud scream and his chest rumbled with a noise of irritation which had him standing suddenly to his feet and wrapping her back up in his cloak. He pulled his hood over his white head and shifted his way through the rowdy drunks, heading outside.
The outside night air felt good, and he breathed it in the moment he stepped away from the stuffy tavern. It was almost too quiet, save for the marginally lessened cries at his chest, but he took it gladly, walking a little way off. "What is it?" he asked quietly, reaching a large hand over to her. Her little fingers immediately wrapped themselves around one of his, and he rose an eyebrow. "Perhaps you are hungry," he pondered, remembering the woman's suggestion. "Cold? Tired?" What else could humans—babies—be?
After a short while of aimlessly wandering around, dodging looks from any who happened to walk by and ensuring he was well hidden by his cloak and the shadows, the child's cries still refused to die down, and he found himself for the first time at a loss for what to do. Strangely, irritation wasn't following that loss, which was only strange because he was one to become frustrated if someone beside him chose to chew with their mouth open.
If he'd had any experience with children at all over his years, he would know what to do. And yet…
"I will rearrange the stars, pull them down to where you are," he spoke as softly as the breeze was light, amber eyes staring down at the child in his arms, "I promise, I'll do better." It was a song, a faraway memory he had pegged as belonging to his time before, something he hardly remembered anymore. He wasn't singing it as he remembered it being sung, but it seemed to do the trick, because a second after the lilting, melodic words left his lips, the baby's cries stopped. Her bright eyes stared back at him, just as they had done when he'd first picked her up, tears clinging to her long lashes, little mouth partly open, fingers still entwined around one of his. "With every heartbeat I have left, I will defend your every breath." She hiccupped, and one corner of his lips drew upwards, just as his brows furrowed. "I promise… I'll do better."
"Sir, I can—I can take her now."
His head spun, coming face to face with the woman once again. She was smiling, and yet, to him, she was merely an obstacle. "What?"
She paused for a moment before nodding towards the doe-eyed baby. "I can take her."
Oh. Geralt dropped his head. The baby in his arms now suddenly felt like a lifeline. He didn't know why, and he didn't know how that had ever come to be, but, for some reason or another, he wasn't feeling totally averse to that small fact.
She was hope. He could see it so clearly. A little round face with those tiny wisps of hair, dark eyelashes still laden with tears… bright, baby orbs which seemed to bore into his own and place a hint of something akin to warmth behind them. Yes, she was hope. And she was beautiful. He had never put such a word to a human based on appearance alone.
When had he ever cared for anything besides himself and the few he chose to protect? He hadn't, and that was the vast truth of it. But who said that had to be for ever?
"I…" He couldn't quite believe the words were about to leave his mouth. "I'm going to keep her."
The woman's eyebrows shot up. She blinked. "You are? But… but you're a witcher. You're not supposed to feel… well. Anything!" He glared, and she had the good sense to shut her mouth. In a calmer tone, she clasped her hands together and stepped forward, chewing on her bottom lip. "Do you know anything on how to be a father? That child deserves someone who does."
Without taking his eyes off the baby, he answered her. "Does anyone know anything on how to be a parent before they become one?"
She mulled it over. Then, her lips turned upwards in a small half-smile, and she nodded once in clear defeat. "Alright," she said softly. "I think they may be wrong about you. Good luck, Witcher. Perhaps I'll see you both again." And, with that, she hugged her cloak tighter around her and turned to head back through the night.
The child shifted in his arms, and he turned his attention back down to her.
Shit.
He took a few frantic steps in the direction the woman had gone but stopped as soon as he'd started.
What had he just done?
He now had a child. A responsibility. And a big one, at that.
What the fuck had possessed him?
The little girl gurgled, and he stroked a finger across her soft, baby-skin forehead. She sneezed, and he found that familiar warmth return to him once again.
A baby.
His baby.
Gods. Fuck, fuck, shit.
He blinked, running over the words in his mind, all the while staring down at her.
Then, he hummed and walked back towards the building to get himself a room.
Nobody had ever done it before, but somehow, this tiny smudge of a human being had. She'd wrapped her little paws around the heart he hadn't known was there and, on some odd grounds he didn't believe he'd ever understand… he couldn't find any reason to complain.
