A Mother's Touch
A/N: Yennefer as a mother. Akela's about 15.
Summary: Geralt is great, but sometimes, all you need is a mother's arms to wrap around you and hold you close.
"Fuck." Akela shut her eyes and blew a deep breath out slowly through her mouth. She was sat cross-legged by the lake, the sound of the flowing water just about soothing her. The stars were out, and she'd stared up at them for a few minutes before having to return to her calculated breathing and rocking methods.
Who thought it a good idea to make women bleed every month? What was the point?
She angrily reached up to wipe at the tears rising to her eyes. In times like these, when she was in pain and in need of comfort, she went to Geralt. Whatever the time, wherever the place, he'd ask no questions if he knew it wasn't serious and she didn't want them to be asked. There'd been many nights he'd woken to a presence at his side and would reach for his sword, only to look down and see it was Akela.
But, the girl reminded herself with a sharp sting of pain, Geralt was on a hunt, and he had been on it for the better part of the day. Instead, she was camping out with Jaskier and Yennefer until her witcher was finished. The end couldn't come sooner.
Sniffling, she opened her eyes and drew in a deep breath, blinking up at the sky once again. The water rippled as she dipped her hands in and splashed the cold liquid on her face, feeling momentary relief before it started up again. "Damn it," she hissed, falling to her side and curling her legs up to her chest.
"Are you alright?"
She would have shot up at the sudden new voice if she wasn't in so much agony. She hadn't even heard the footsteps. Instead, she fumbled for a stick in the mud beside her and wielded it in front of her, pointing it at whoever had snuck up on her.
It was Yennefer.
And she looked incredibly amused, despite the spark of concern in her violet eyes. "I like your sword," she commented, watching as recognition dawned on Akela and she threw the stick to the side, curling her legs up again.
Yennefer frowned. She tentatively took the few steps between her and Akela and crouched down beside her, reaching a hand out to rest gently on the small of her back. "Are you alright?" she repeated her previous words, a little more apprehension laced through them this time.
Akela quickly shook her head, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and let out a little gasp of air as though she'd been holding her breath.
"What is it?" Yennefer asked. She tilted her head a bit, scanning Akela's body for an obvious injury, but couldn't see anything which would indicate that she was visibly hurt. "Akela, you have to—"
"I'm on my fucking period and it hurts!" Akela burst out suddenly, not giving a thought to the volume of her voice. Thankfully, Yennefer didn't either. As soon as the revelation left Akela's lips, the mage turned her head and quietly surveyed the trees and bushes behind them before standing to her feet. Tendrils of white magic encircled her hands, glowing in the dark, rustling the bushes and lifting plants and flowers. Akela heard the slight noise and did all she could to raise her head, blinking against the dots in her vision.
"What're you doing?" she asked, one hand clasped over her stomach while the other went to her hot forehead. Yennefer was silent for a moment, disappearing through the trees a second later, and Akela groaned, feeling tears slide from her eyes again.
She wanted Geralt to stop the pain.
Or anyone, really.
But mostly Geralt.
Yennefer returned just as soon as she'd left with two bowls, likely the ones they'd eaten from earlier, and Akela tried to watch as she sat down beside her, handfuls of plants and what looked to be herbs in her hands. For the smallest of moments, Akela's pain subsided as she observed Yennefer with her customary interest, her eyes following her movements while she created a fire, filled a bowl with water, and placed the bowl over the flames. She reached for a large rock at the edge of the river and plopped it gently in the water, then proceeded to fill the second bowl and drop the plants and herbs in it.
All at once, Akela's stomach protested—to what, she wasn't sure, and she didn't care to think—and she let out a pitiful sob. Yennefer waved a hand over the bowl above the fire and a second later picked the rock up. "Turn over for me," she said gently, her hand on Akela's shoulder, and the girl, with a little help, did as was asked, her face wet from tears. She sniffled, trembling slightly as Yennefer gingerly placed the rock on her lower stomach. An immediate sense of reprieve flowed through Akela, and she shut her eyes.
A low sigh left her, and she relaxed almost completely, letting the hot rock do its magical work on her stomach.
Yennefer smiled, pleased, and sat back once more to return to the second bowl. "I'm making a medicine," she told her. "It'll help ease the pain a little more."
All Akela could do was nod, and the both of them fell into a comfortable silence. Akela was utterly exhausted, having not slept a bit since the night before, and the sound of the water along with the light breeze and the distant hooting of an owl almost sent her right off, but Yennefer put a hand on her cheek before she could do so. She helped her sit up and handed her the bowl, sitting cross-legged as Akela drank its contents.
"What is it?" Akela asked afterwards, wiping at her lips with a not-so trembling hand, and Yennefer's smile widened.
"Magic," she said. "How are you feeling now?"
Akela nodded, holding the cooling stone still against her skin. "Better," she said. She glanced up and gave the woman a look of sincerity. "Thank you, Yennefer."
Yennefer leaned forward to tuck some hair behind Akela's ear with a small smile. She took the bowls and stared out across the river. "Geralt shouldn't be much longer," she said almost distantly, and Akela lifted her eyes to look at her. She wasn't oblivious to the fact that Geralt and Yennefer were more than just friends. She'd known for a while now, probably beginning with the whole fiasco concerning the crumbled building years ago, and to be perfectly honest, she wasn't as averse to the idea as she believed she might have once been. Yennefer was kind—she had been since the moment they'd first met—and moments like tonight proved just how much Akela really, really wanted-needed a mother. She had Geralt, and he was brilliant and just about enough, but there were things she often felt she needed to talk about that she couldn't with him. Yennefer was slowly looking to be that person, and neither of them could find one complaint in that.
The mage turned back to face Akela and smiled. "Perhaps you should sleep," she suggested.
As if on cue, Akela yawned, causing Yennefer's smile to widen. "I think so, too." She went to move but decided against it when the pain rose once more. She grimaced and looked a little bashfully at Yennefer. "I might have to stay here."
Yennefer chuckled. "I'll stay with you."
"Are you sure? You don't have to—"
"Your witcher may have quite the fit if he finds out I left you to sleep here alone," she said, shrugging out of her long coat and laying it across the mud. "Here," she said, pointing to it, "lie down on this."
Akela did as she was told, manoeuvring herself onto her side, and a moment later she was facing Yennefer. Something in her, whether it was the missing Geralt or the fact that there was someone right there, made her shuffle forward until she was in Yennefer's arms, her head under her chin, hands tucked beneath her.
And Yennefer shut her eyes, holding Akela tightly to her and wondering if, finally, this was what being a mother felt like.
