Name Game
A/N: This is set after the last episode (of season 1 for all you reading after later seasons!) Akela's about 18.
Summary: Geralt accidentally calls Ciri by Akela's name.
Geralt was quite surprised at the fact they'd made it almost twenty-four hours without any major incident befalling him or the girls. Sure, they hadn't said a single word to each other, and he'd caught Akela sending curious glances Ciri's way more than once, but at least she hadn't tried to bury her outside while he wasn't looking.
As for the princess, she was quiet for reasons beside the obvious ones. Perhaps she could sense Akela's energy. He certainly could. He doubted the old couple whose farm they were still staying at were immune to the coldness radiating from her either. If anyone were to tell him a few weeks ago that she would be this bad, he wouldn't have believed them.
He and Akela had set up their beds outside, close to the edge of the woods, a pitiful attempt on his part to show her their life would still be as it had been before Ciri. Ciri slept inside, likely on a warm bed, and he'd wondered a couple times how she'd fare outside. She'd had to get used to sleeping and living in the wild for at least the past week since Cintra's fall. Hopefully she didn't think that was going to change and they'd be resting at inns for the rest of their lives.
Rest of their lives. That sounded way too ominous.
They ate dinner together, though. That was the least they could do to repay the old man and his wife. If it was just him and Akela, they'd have been out and on the road the moment he felt any type of 'better' again, but the princess had been through a lot, and he figured some rest was deserved before she left the comfort of four walls and a roof. She seemed to like the old man's wife. Maybe she reminded her of someone from Cintra. He wouldn't know. He found himself thinking about her a lot, wondering if he should ask her questions, but no words ever seemed to move further than his lips.
"Tell us, Mr. Witcher." Geralt lifted his eyes from his bowl of soup to look at the old man. "Are the stories true? You found your daughter in the woods?"
He rolled his shoulders back a little. Damn stories. Damn bard. "Yes," he said, "in a basket." He glanced at Akela, sat by the fire, her empty bowl beside her.
The woman's eyes lit up. "And you decided to keep her?"
"Not at first."
"What changed?"
Geralt, unsurprisingly, wasn't one for conversations like this, and he would have said exactly that had he not seen the intrigued look on Ciri's face. Humming, he absently twirled his spoon in the soup. "I don't know," he said honestly. "Suppose the idea of a little maid appealed to me." They both laughed and Ciri smiled. He looked to Akela, hoping she'd be the same. She hadn't changed position. He leant over and picked up her bowl, putting it under his.
"I'll wash these," he said monotonously as he stood to his feet, ignoring the thanks as he took the other bowls. He let his shoulders slacken once he'd moved to another room, dropping the bowls into a basin of water. The sooner they could get out of here, the better. The old couple were kind, yes, whatever that meant, but seemingly unable to fully process that he was a witcher, and witchers didn't stick around for conversations around a fire and a warm bowl of soup. And they definitely didn't wash up after people, either. He'd simply felt the need to find a moment's peace for himself. Akela was probably cursing him for leaving her alone in there.
He spent a minute in silence, staring at the water. His whole body still felt weak, and his leg aches. He needed to get back below the forest trees.
Sucking in a deep breath, he flexed his fingers and turned to walk back into the main room. Akela was standing by the fire. "Akela," he said, "let's head out for the night."
The moment the blonde turned around, regret hit him like a sack of rocks.
He noticed Akela just walking in from outside. She stopped and stared straight at him.
He gritted his teeth. Ciri, who stood by the fire, stared at him in confusion.
There was a moment's silence that felt like an absolute age. Even the elderly couple seemed to be frozen.
"That's Ciri," Akela said finally, unamused and clearly hurt. She looked at Ciri, who was wringing her hands now, walking tentatively back to sit beside the woman. Wisely, she seemed to have decided on the title of innocent bystander. He wished he could do the same.
He heaved a sigh and threw his hands up in surrender. "So, strike me down." He turned to the couple. "Thank you for the meal." He nodded at Ciri. "Good night."
"Good night."
Geralt headed for the door and followed Akela out. It was completely dark now, stars dotting the midnight sky, a light breeze flitting around his face.
"Does she really look that much like me?"
"She had her back to me. You both have blonde hair. It was a mistake. Don't be a bitch."
"I'm not a bitch!" He was walking faster now, destination in sight, Akela hurrying after him. "She's shorter than me, wearing completely different clothes! She looks nothing like me!"
He shut his eyes against the oncoming headache. "And I am tired, in a shit ton of pain, and fed up. All I saw was the blonde hair. We're not doing this, Akela, not tonight."
There was a moment of silence, and he thought she'd finally complied, but apparently not.
"Are you going to call me Ciri next?"
The witcher stopped so suddenly a puff of smoke could have emanated from his heels. He turned and glared at Akela. "I said we are not doing this," he ground out, amber eyes flashing. "Yes, I thought the princess was you, no, I did not do it on purpose. Do I care? Fucking simply, Akela, no, I don't. We have far more things to be worried about. Get your head on straight before I regretfully cut it off." He stormed off then, leaving the girl standing a little stunned. He felt a pounding in his chest, hands balled into fists by his sides. And then he stopped, blinked a little, and dropped his eyes to the ground. Damn, damn, damn.
He turned. Akela was still in the same position, staring dejectedly at nothing. Today seemed to be a day for regret. He'd thought the brunt of this hatred for the princess would be over after the discussions they'd had, but after each one, she seemed to spiral back to the beginning. He wondered if it would ever stick.
He walked back towards her, and she was in his arms within ten seconds. "You have to stop this," he said quietly. "It was an accident. It meant nothing."
Akela nodded against him. "Seems like an omen," she whispered. She felt his hand go to the back of her head and shut her eyes, relaxing in his hold. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't mean to, I… I just can't stop thinking the worst."
"You never can." He felt a twinge in his leg and winced, shifting uncomfortably.
Akela drew back. "Should I make you more of that medicine? The one Yennefer made for me once?"
The mention of Yennefer caused a twinge somewhere else, but he didn't comment on it. "Alright." She went to walk away but he grasped her arm before she could. "I didn't mean to—"
Akela stopped him before he could continue, noticing the shame on his face that perfectly mirrored her own. "No, don't be stupid. I was being a bitch." She knew he was still in pain—he'd almost died the other day—and she knew he was exhausted. She hated herself for making it worse. "Though I hope you weren't serious about cutting my head off."
Geralt hummed. "We'll have to see, won't we?"
She smiled. "I'll make the medicine," she said, walking towards the camp. That was as far as they'd get on the Ciri situation today. Perhaps tomorrow. "Go and sit down… Jaskier."
The witcher's lips curved upwards. Touché.
