Red Rowan

by Indiannahjones

With the Wild Hunt defeated and Empress Ciri on the throne, Geralt thought he and Yen would be free to retire to Toussaint and settle down... but it seems the ghosts of Geralt's past are intent on coming back to haunt him. Geralt/Yen, past Geralt/Shani. [Inspired by a letter found in Witcher 3 if Geralt took the alchemists' potion in Witcher 2.]

23. Angrec

The sun was starting its slow descent as Geralt set out a blanket across the grassy knoll, smoothing it out under the shade of a large tree before indicating for Ciri to sit. Ciri did as she was told, holding their two wine glasses and watching as Geralt popped the seal on a fresh bottle, before he settled in beside her with a grunt, pouring both of them a hearty glass of dark red wine. Leaning back on his hand with a sigh, he stretched out his legs tiredly in front of him, taking a sip of wine and wetting his lips as he allowed himself a moment to consider the view. It was a beautiful afternoon out, perfect for a last few hours after a long day of witchering, and he smiled as he looked over to Ciri again, watching as she sipped pensively at her own wine.

"What d'you think?" Geralt asked.

Ciri paused, licking her lips as she considered the taste. "It's good," she concluded. "Unusual spices. I don't think I've ever tasted a wine like this one. It's quite dark. Oaky, even."

"Meant for sipping," Geralt agreed, taking a contradictory swig.

Ciri nodded, taking an obliging sip. "And what do you call this one?" she asked, curiously.

"White Wolf," Geralt answered. Ciri looked over at him quickly, but he only offered her a knowing grin. "Comes from our vineyard," he added. "Kind of a side business. Not that many monsters in Toussaint."

Ciri chuckled, taking another sip. "I suppose there are worse ways to supplement income," she acknowledged.

Geralt chuckled back, taking another sip, before turning to look out over the vineyard again. It was so pleasant, sitting here like this, wiling the evening away with Ciri doing nothing; it was rare that he happened on moments like these, where the worries of the world came second to simply living, and he felt a small grin pull across his face at the thought that he was finally allowed to call someplace home. Kaer Morhen had been his home for so long, but even that had never quite felt like it belonged to him entirely – its stone walls hung thick with the echoes of souls past, of muddy boots that would never walk its halls again. It was a testament to what was, while Corvo Bianco felt more like a promise of what could be, and he felt his smile widen as he leaned in to Ciri, pressing a soft kiss to her mousy head.

"What was that for?" Ciri asked, wrinkling her nose.

Geralt shrugged, leaning back again to sip his wine. "Dunno," he answered. "Just felt like it."

Ciri smiled, reaching out to touch his arm, before returning her attention to the gardens below, taking a deep breath of summer air as she allowed the majesty of Corvo Bianco to overtake her. Geralt hummed, content, before his smile suddenly faltered, his attention caught by a flicker of black entering his peripheral, and he quickly looked over to see a rumpled, familiar shape peering out at him from the branches of a nearby tree. It was one of Yennefer's kestrels, its yellow eyes sharp as it glared at him from between the leaves, and he frowned as he remembered the letter she had sent, the one which had backfired so stupendously as to bring Ciri all the way out here to investigate.

"That yours?" Geralt asked, indicating the kestrel with the hand still holding his wine glass.

Ciri paused, inspecting the bird, her brow furrowing curiously as she swirled her own wine. "Not mine," she finally answered, taking another sip. "I put the one Yennefer sent me in a cage back in Vizima. I know it's supposed to be loyal to me, but I didn't want it escaping and telling her of my intentions. Did you know those birds can talk?"

"Yep," Geralt answered, sipping his wine again. "Found that out the hard way."

Ciri nodded, resting her glass against her collar-bone. "I've no idea how she conjures them," she admitted after a moment. "That's a bit of magic I still hope to learn someday. If ever I can get my powers to cooperate with other magic, of course. Small tricks are the most of it at the moment, I'm afraid, but Yennefer says I might be able to learn more in future."

"Hm," Geralt answered, narrowing his eyes at the bird. "Yen says they last until they're recalled. Seems like pretty advanced magic. More than just basic conjuration."

"I suppose," Ciri answered, still sounding undiscouraged, bringing her glass to her lips for another sip. "Though that one's looking a bit worse for wear. Perhaps she should consider putting the poor thing out of its misery."

Geralt frowned, watching the kestrel another moment, tapping his finger pensively against the side of his glass, before he finally took a deep breath, turning his attention to Ciri again. The thought of Yennefer's letter had been a convenient lead-in, but now came the hard part, and he steeled his lips, his brow knitting as he tried to decide how to proceed. "Got a question," he said, still not sure how to approach the subject delicately; as much as he hated to bring it up, he knew there was no other way around it. He paused again, noting as Ciri turned to look at him, waiting for him to continue. "Ever heard of the… Aen Ithlinnespeath?" he asked, nearly wincing at how blunt it sounded coming out.

Ciri faltered, saying nothing for a moment, before her brow began to slowly furrow. "Ithlinne's prophecy?" she finally asked, sounding confused. "Yes, of course I've heard of it. Why?"

Geralt shrugged, taking an uncomfortable sip of wine. "Just thinking about it recently," he said.

Ciri hummed, her pink lips thinning. "About which part?" she asked, swirling her wine again. "About how we've only seen half of it fulfilled? Or about how every man who's ever shown any modicum of interest in me has brought it up?" She huffed, taking a long, agitated sip, before turning her gaze out to the vineyard again, causing Geralt to frown as he watched her, realizing he had touched a nerve he had wanted so desperately to avoid. "Truly, sometimes it feels as if my only value to anyone lies in my womb," Ciri added, bitterly. "And if I'm being honest, I've often found myself wishing I had gone through with the Trial of the Dreams, just so I could defy that stupid prophecy."

"Avallac'h wouldn't let you," Geralt guessed.

Ciri shook her head, letting out another hard breath. "No," she agreed, resentfully. "He said the line of Lara Dorren was too important to cut short. That I didn't have to have a child with Auberon, specifically, but that the Elder Blood mustn't cease to exist."

Geralt hummed, looking out over the vineyard again, his brow darkening over his golden eyes. "Doesn't sound like anyone has given you much say," he noted.

Ciri huffed, taking another sip of wine. "No one has," she agreed, just as bitterly. "And while truthfully, I do think I should like to have children someday, that won't be anytime soon. I only want them when I'm ready, and only on my own terms." Setting her wine to the side, she sighed, drawing her knees in and lacing her fingers across them, before she stared out over the vineyard with a distant gaze, her expression unreadable. Geralt frowned, feeling a pang of guilt for having upset her on such an otherwise pleasant day, before she suddenly leaned in to him, resting her head affectionately against his shoulder.

"And besides," she added, sounding more thoughtful now. "I feel I'm still something of a child, myself. There's still so much I haven't done. I'd like to see the world before I settle down, start a family."

"Hm," Geralt answered, resting his nose against her soft hair. "Strange sentiment, coming from an empress."

Ciri frowned, rolling her lips. "I figured you might say that," she admitted after a moment. "And, truthfully, I do sometimes wish I'd never been made empress. I had a choice not to, you know, but… I didn't take it." She paused at the thought, her expression grim, before she finally let out a long, harried breath, instead reaching across to pick up his Wolf medallion from his chest, inspecting it. "I do miss being a witcher," she told him, sounding almost envious of the thought. "You've lived such a full life, Geralt. I wish I could've been there to see all your adventures."

Geralt paused, before letting out a soft grunt. "Hm," he said. "Full and long are not the same thing."

Ciri paused again, her expression faltering, before she suddenly sat up, turning to look at him. "That seems unfair," she observed, her scolding tone taking him by surprise; she had turned so quickly into Yennefer's protégé that he had not had time to prepare, and he bit back a grin, only able to hear his wife's doting influence in her voice. "I'd say your life has been plenty full," Ciri added. "You have everything a man could possibly want. A knighthood, a beautiful manor in wine country, a loving wife and daughter, and a baby on the way. Not to mention all your friends who love you—I can't think of a single man alive who wouldn't kill to be in your shoes."

Geralt hummed, trying to keep his expression from twisting, all warmth of before taking a bitter turn at her last words. "Hm," he finally answered. "Gotta admit. Sounds pretty lucky when you put it that way." Reaching out a hand to Ciri's shoulder again, he pulled her in, pressing another kiss to her forehead, before he let out another soft chuckle, letting go of her to instead pick up his wine glass again, downing half his drink in one go.

She made an excellent point – apart from his dealings with O'Dimm, he had what many would consider a perfect life, and he felt his smile wane as he brought his glass down again, staring into it with a bit of sudden guilt. He had never considered just how lucky he was, but now, he could not help but realize just how much he had taken for granted; Eskel, by comparison, had nothing – no home, no belongings, no warm bosom to return to after a long month on the Path. He had Scorpion and Li'l Bleater, of course, but even those were only animals in the end. And Shani, for all her optimism, had even less, torn now from her home at Corvo Bianco: one trunk of medical supplies and books, and one pair of clothes which no longer fit her. Even so, he had never heard either of them complain about their circumstances, and he frowned as he set his glass down again, wondering if Ciri thought as poorly of him as he now did of himself.

"Haven't done any preparation," he suddenly spoke, causing Ciri to look over at him, surprised. "Got a kid on the way, and nothing to show for it. Whole thing just… slipped my mind, somehow. Got a crib, blankets, but… nothing else. So many sharp edges around the house still. Dunno if babies can… open doors?" He paused, making a face, knowing his painful inexperience was glaring through, but he knew if anyone could be counted on to field his questions with patience and grace, it was Ciri. "Know babies put things in their mouths," he added, his expression twisting as he let out a hard sigh. "But how high can they reach? How tall's a baby? Gotta at least keep the swords out of his reach."

He frowned at the thought, his hand wandering to his wine glass again, having to resist the urge to down the rest in one anxious gulp. "No way to do everything in time," he added, resting the glass against his knee instead. "Might be easier to just buy Shani her own house. Fix it up how she wants, for the baby." He stopped, feeling his heart start to climb ever higher in his chest as he thought, before he took another deep breath, doing his best to calm nerves he had never quite felt before.

"Said she didn't want to stay at Corvo Bianco once the kid's born," he continued, trying to keep his voice steady, to slim avail. "But… would buying her a house be too intrusive? Make her think we don't respect her as a provider?" He paused again, thinning his lips, his jaw clenching so tightly he could feel a muscle flicker in his cheek. "Don't really wanna leave her to raise the kid on her own," he admitted, shaking his head. "Wanna be some part of his life, but… dunno. What if I'd just be harming him, doing that? …Or would I do more harm being out of it? Kid needs a dad, but… should it really be me?"

Geralt paused again, trailing off, feeling his heart climbing steadily towards his throat, before he let out another long sigh, finishing his wine and setting the empty glass on his knee again. "Dunno," he admitted. "Maybe… kid'd be better off never knowing I existed. Never knowing what kind of life I lived. Not having to deal with… stories, ballads about my past. Things I can't hide." He stopped, noting that Ciri was staring across at him intently by now, but he only took another deep breath, his hand tensing around his glass as he looked out over the vineyard again.

"Maybe… kid'd be better off without me," he said, his voice lower now, almost a mutter. "Maybe he'd be better off never knowing his dad was Geralt of Rivia."

Ciri huffed, setting her glass down. "You don't really believe that," she said, causing him to look over at her, surprised. "You don't really believe he'd be better off never knowing you. And you don't really believe you're such a terrible father."

Geralt hummed, furrowing his brow. "Wasn't such a great dad to you," he admitted.

Ciri pursed her lips. "That's not true," she said, affronted. "You were a wonderful father to me. You taught me to be brave, and to stand up for what I believed in. You taught me never to let fear sway me away from what I knew to be right."

Geralt grunted, shifting on the picnic-blanket. "Didn't know you until you were at least twelve," he argued, shaking his head. "Nearly a headstrong teen. Guess you could argue I met you before that, but… wasn't much of a father to you then, either." He paused, pulling his knees in slightly to rest his elbows across them, taking one wrist tiredly in the other as he squinted out over the purpling sky. "Tried to carry you back to your grandmother out of Brokilon forest," he added after a moment, thoughtfully. "Mistook you for a little dryad at first. Eithné tried to take you away from me… thought you'd be better off in her care. You were sick as a dog back then—threatened to bite me for my insolence. Said your grandmother'd have my head."

Ciri laughed. "I remember," she agreed, picking up her wine again and sitting back on the blanket as well. "You carried me over your shoulder like a sack of grain for half the trip, and threatened to spank me with your belt when I protested. But you were also kind to me—you made sure I stayed safe. And when I couldn't sleep, you told me a story. Do you remember?"

"Hm," Geralt answered. "About a cat. Climbing a tree to escape its pursuers."

"It saved my life, your story," Ciri told him, taking another thoughtful sip of wine.

Geralt huffed. "Didn't mean to," he answered, dryly. "Just dumb luck you took it so literally."

Ciri chuckled, resting her glass against her knee. "Dumb luck or not, you're a wonderful father," she told him. "We might've had a bit of a rocky start, true, but… I think I turned out alright."

Geralt paused, thinking a moment, before he finally reached out, running a hand fondly over her hair. "Damn lucky to have a child surprise like you," he told her, brushing a few stray strands from her face. "Turned out better than I ever could've hoped for. But… never raised a kid from infancy before. So much more that goes into it. So much more I could fuck up, get wrong. So many more ways to scar him, just from not knowing what I'm doing." He paused, his soft smile fading, his stern face falling into a frown again at the daunting thought. "Keep thinking about what it'll be like, and… can't imagine it," he admitted, shaking his head. "Too much I still don't know. Too many things I can't plan for. Kid deserves better than a mess like me."

Ciri let out a sharp sigh, sounding almost annoyed, before she reached up, taking his hand in both of hers. "Geralt," she told him, firmly, causing him to look down at her again in surprise. "When the time comes, I believe you'll know exactly what to do. You already have the most important thing you need to be a good father."

Geralt faltered, his brow knitting again. "What's that?" he asked.

Ciri huffed, offering him a tight, vexed smile. "Think about it," she pressed, squeezing his hand. "You already love him so much, and you haven't even met him yet."

"…And?" Geralt asked, still lost.

Ciri gave another sigh, sounding almost exasperated now. "Don't make me spell it out for you," she told him, frankly. "It's love, Geralt. You have love. That's all you need to be a good father."

Geralt hesitated, lost for words, feeling as his heart swelled tenderly at the thought. "Love you, Ciri," he told her, pulling her in with his free hand to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

Ciri chuckled, wrinkling her nose again. "Love you too, Geralt," she told him, fondly. Then, letting out a long breath, she kissed his hand, before releasing it again, reaching over to take the wine bottle and pouring herself another healthy glass of dark wine. "By the way," she added, looking up again. "What were you thinking of naming the child?"

Geralt paused. "Dunno yet," he finally admitted. "Shani hasn't decided."

Ciri nodded, taking a sip of wine. "I think Coën would be a lovely name," she put in, offhandedly. "If it's a boy."

Geralt hummed, turning it over. "Hm," he said. "Have to run that by Shani. Like the name Coën."

"Or perhaps Vesemir," Ciri suggested, looking up again. "Another for if it's a boy."

At this, Geralt frowned. "Dunno about that one," he admitted. "A little on the nose."

Ciri shrugged, pulling up a blade of grass and flicking it casually into the wind. "I like it," she said. "I think I should like to name my child Vesemir. Whenever I have one."

Geralt chuckled at the thought, picking up his glass and pouring himself more wine. "Not for a long time, hopefully," he said, taking a swig. "Not ready to be a grandfather yet."

"Nor I a mother," Ciri agreed, letting out a soft, pensive huff at the thought. "But you never truly know. These things have a way of happening, whether you plan for them or not."

"Hm," Geralt answered, bringing his glass up and finishing it in one go.

---

Ciri had been given Shani's room for the night, with Regis insisting on sleeping in the clinic, and Geralt smiled as he watched his daughter descending the stairs the next morning, coming to join him in the breakfast-nook. The two of them had finished off their first bottle of wine the evening before, and had opened a second while they sat around the fire reminiscing, and though Ciri had been a bit giddy heading to bed, it seemed it had not done her much harm in the long run. Now, he saw that she was dressed in an oversized shirt as she made her morning appearance, likely his, though she had also put on her own trousers before coming down, aware that the house had more company than just the two of them.

Ciri yawned as she dropped in across from him at the breakfast table, looking over the freshly-made spread. "Your cook is incredibly talented," she noted, pulling a clean plate across the table and starting to pile eggs onto it. "I almost thought I was back in Vizima upon waking. Though this looks much better than palace food."

"Marlene will be pleased to hear that," Geralt told her, grinning as he watched her shovel sausages onto her plate. Ciri nodded, picking up a bread roll and ripping it in half before starting to search the table for the butter, and Geralt chuckled, picking up the bowl and handing it across to her. "Need to head out soon?" he asked, picking up his fork and starting to spear his own egg and sausages. "Don't suppose I can convince you to stay. Couple more days, maybe. Show you around the property."

"A few more days is likely all I have," Ciri admitted, stifling another yawn as she buttered her bread. "Sadly, I must continue my tour, though I despise the thought. I've never been much for social events. However, Voorhis saw through my ruse in creating this excuse to come see you, and took measures to ensure I'd be kept to my word." She hummed, shoving the entire buttered half-roll in her mouth, and Geralt had to resist the urge to snort at how much like him she really was. Without Yennefer and the court there to keep them in check, it seemed neither of them were quite pressed for manners, and he picked up his coffee, washing down his own bite of eggs as he waited for her to continue.

"I'm to meet with Anna Henrietta in a few days' time," Ciri continued after a moment, covering her mouth as she spoke. "And from there I'm to be handed off to another noble's company. It's all been very tightly planned, unfortunately. It was only my insistence that we ride harder than usual that ensured this additional time before my appointment with the duchy at all." She frowned, making a face as she finally swallowed, before reaching for her fork to keep eating. "Did I come at an inopportune time?" she asked, spearing a bale of eggs and shoving them into her mouth. "I couldn't help noticing you had other company when I arrived. That gentleman in the day-room—with the grey hair?"

"Regis," Geralt provided.

Ciri looked up at the name, her mouth full, eyes bright. "Is that Regis?" she asked, sounding elated. "How delightful. I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced. The one time I did see him was in a passing glimpse during your fight with Vilgefortz." Finished with her bite of eggs, she swallowed, before next starting to attack her sausages. "I was heartbroken to learn of his death so soon after," she added, shoving another bite in her mouth. "I'm glad to see it was just a misunderstanding."

"Not a misunderstanding," Geralt answered, shaking his head. "Regis died. Melted into glass on the side of a pillar."

Ciri looked up at the description, her eyes wide. "How dreadful!" she exclaimed.

Geralt shrugged. "Yeah," he agreed. "He got better."

Ciri faltered, before finally swallowing, looking as if she had just collided with a training dummy. "Your storytelling prowess, Geralt—" she began.

"Bad?" Geralt asked, taking another bite.

Ciri paused again, trying to think how best to describe it, before finally letting out a breath instead. "It leaves much to be desired," she admitted. "Sometimes I think you do it on purpose."

Geralt grinned, spearing more eggs, before moving them to his mouth as well, enjoying his breakfast. Then, looking up at Ciri again, he paused, realizing he had a unique opportunity at hand. "Actually…" he said, speaking slowly. "Think you might be able to help me out with something. Concerning Regis."

Ciri cocked her head at the mention. "Oh?" she asked.

Geralt nodded, taking another bite of sausage. "Yeah," he said, speaking while chewing. "Has to do with… love. Not sure how else to describe it."

Ciri frowned, seeming a bit confused. "Well, that's… painfully vague, but I'd be happy to help, if I can," she finally answered. "I'm not sure how valuable my insight might be, however. Considering I barely know him."

Geralt shrugged, swallowing his bite of sausage. "Think your insight's just what's needed," he said, dragging a stack of pancakes onto his plate. "Regis is having a problem with… another vampire."

"The more you tell me, the less I think I'm qualified to be of any assistance," Ciri admitted.

Geralt hummed, cutting through the stack of pancakes, before he paused, needing time to think. "He's… hmm." He frowned, before sighing, inwardly cursing his failure to form a workable sentence. "He's… figuring things out," he explained, trying to find the most sensitive way to address it. "Things… you figured out a while ago. And he's… having some issues with it. Wants to talk, but… doesn't have anyone to talk to." He stopped again, making a face, wondering if he was hitting too close to home, but Ciri's expression had not changed as he spoke, making him hopeful he had not said something wrong yet.

"Been trying to help, but… only know so much," he added, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Not really my place to tell his business. Just thought, if anyone could help…"

Ciri nodded, sparing him from have to explain. "I see," she agreed. "That's quite a terrible state. Even worse that he tried to talk to you about it. You're dreadful at that sort of thing."

"Exactly," Geralt agreed, tearing out a thick wedge of the pancake stack. "Thought, maybe you could talk to him. See if you can get him to… do whatever he thinks is right."

Ciri took another bite of sausage, nodding thoughtfully along to his proposition. "I'd be happy to," she finally told him. "But—after breakfast. Pass the apple juice, please."

Marlene's hearty breakfast was all but licked clean from their plates by the time they were finally finished, and Ciri let out a groan as she leaned back in her chair, stretching out her legs to give herself room to breathe. "I haven't had a proper breakfast in far too long," she said, letting out a low, contented sigh. "There's almost nothing on the road between here and Vizima. I've no idea how you stood to make the journey."

"Had a bit of incentive," Geralt answered, grinning at her across the table. "And besides, don't mind eating what I can find. Figure it's a lot harder for your advisors, though. Not used to that kind of thing."

Ciri paused to think, making a face as she shifted in her chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. "They certainly aren't as used to travel," she admitted, rolling her lips as she thought. "But they're not all bad. They know how to cook, and how to set up camp. They're not terrible people, really, only… not who I'd prefer to be travelling with." She stopped, before sitting up again, pressing her hands playfully to her stomach this time. "I wonder if this is how Shani feels all the time," she noted, letting out a laugh at the strange thought. "I do so wish she were here now. I'd love to see her. Perhaps I'll have time to come back before my tour is through."

"Have to give me some warning if you do," Geralt answered, his gaze falling to his coffee-cup, wondering if he still had room to drink it. "Have a few errands to run. Don't want to be out of the house when you come back."

Ciri paused, staring at him across the table, as if considering asking what his errands were, before she finally let out a huff, reaching out to straighten her silverware instead. "When do you think Shani and Yennefer will be home?" she asked. "I'm sure you'll be here then. I'd love to see all of you at once."

Geralt shrugged, shifting in his own chair, wishing he had not tied his trousers so tightly. "Dunno," he answered, letting out a soft grunt. "Could be soon. Could be months. Up to Yen at this point."

Ciri hummed, running her hands distractedly across her stomach as she thought, causing Geralt to have to look away, feeling his stomach turn with the unintended imagery; as much as he knew she was only playing, it still made his skin crawl to be reminded of O'Dimm's task. "I think travelling while pregnant would be miserable," Ciri said at last, looking up at him again, her expression solemn. "Wherever Shani is, she must be missing Corvo Bianco terribly. I can't even imagine how she must be feeling."

"Probably for the best," Geralt answered, offering her a stiff, forced grin in return. "Other things more important to think about, anyway. More relevant. Shani'll be fine. She's in good company."

Ciri looked up at this, intrigued. "Good company?" she asked. "Is she travelling with more than just Yen?"

Geralt nodded. "Yen, Triss, Dandelion, and Eskel," he answered. "A whole troupe. Told you, she'll be fine."

Ciri paused, seeming to consider something, before she folded her hands across her stomach, grinning. "I think Shani and Eskel would make a lovely pair," she said, looking up at Geralt with a knowing smirk. "I imagine that was your intention in putting them together. He's sure to find her utterly delightful."

Geralt made a face, looking to Ciri as if he had eaten something painfully sour. "People keep saying that," he acknowledged, letting out a breath. "Got no idea why. Shani's got no interest in witchers."

Ciri chuckled. "Except the witcher who impregnated her, of course," she pointed out, drolly. "People are liars who say they've no interest in witchers. And Shani is just as prone to romanticism as anyone else." She paused, thinking about it, before she finally shrugged, smoothing her shirt to cover her lap. "And besides," she added. "Eskel is kind, and relatively handsome. I think he'd be a good match for Shani. He's gentle and sensible, and she's brilliant and beautiful. They'd make a wonderful pair."

"Lots of praise for Eskel," Geralt observed, unable to help a small smirk from forming.

Ciri tilted her head, looking up at him. "I could say the same things about you," she told him, fairly. "You're caring, brave, intelligent—and, were I not your child surprise, I might even think you handsome. But I can only ever think of you as my father, and as such, I'm quite limited in the ways I can praise you to your face. The most I can tell you is that I think of you as someone who snores, has terrible handwriting, and often smells of horse."

Geralt snorted. "Don't think those are compliments," he said, unsure if he should be amused or offended.

Ciri shrugged. "I could insult you, if you like," she told him. "But I'd much rather speak to Regis."

Geralt gave a short chuckle, getting up from his seat. "Think that's insult enough," he said. "Come on. I'll introduce you. Sure he's been dying to meet you, too."

---

It had been a while since Geralt had visited the trophy-room, though it was one of his favourites in the house; with everything that had been going on recently, he simply had not had the time to stop by and enjoy it. Now, as he stood in the middle of the floor, looking up over his collection from years on the Path, he found Ciri's comment about his full life had been right, though he had been too distracted at the time to see it.

The walls of the trophy-room were hung with mounted monster heads, magically preserved by Yennefer to prevent them from rotting, and on mannequins stationed around the floor sat various School armours he had gotten crafted from old masterwork blueprints. A high, carved set of open shelves sat against the foremost wall, laden with trinkets from his travels, and he hummed as he looked up across the topmost shelf at the broken Mask of Uroboros, the silver brush from the von Everec estate, and between them, a rumpled piece of parchment featuring a crudely-drawn sketch of himself holding the hand of a little girl.

There were memories in this room, fond memories, but there were unsettling memories as well, and he frowned as he reached down towards a lower shelf, brushing his fingers over the magic lamp given to him by Keira Metz. A faint shudder ran up his arm as he touched the lamp, the memory of what ghosts he had seen with its help coming back to him all at once, and he quickly retrieved his hand again, letting it fall solemnly back to his side.

There was value in the existence of witchers, but the cost of making them was far too high – he had buried the tiny, broken bones of one such cost in the ruins near Kaer Morhen, aided by that lamp. Children were taken from their homes and tortured, battered and broken to create something the world would never accept, and he could not help thinking it was almost a blessing the secrets to the Trials had been lost when the Salamandra had attacked.

Geralt paused at that thought, glancing next to a lower shelf, where a distinct golden spoon-key stared back at him, gleaming in the room light; the spoon-key had belonged to Marlene, one part of a hoard she had kept during her time as a wight, and he frowned, realizing that it was only because of him and his witcher's knowledge that she had managed to be freed of her curse at all. Had he not happened by at Regis' behest, she might have remained a monster forever, and perhaps died that way, and he let out a low hum as he realized there would always be monsters like Marlene—creatures that most misunderstood, that required empathy rather than blades, but without witchers like him to know how to deal with them, would be left to the uninformed discretion of man.

His lips hardened at the thought, and he turned his eyes up again, staring up at the mounted head of a fiend perched high on the wall, its antlers stretched nearly as wide as he was tall, mouth gaping in a frozen snarl. Men, as much as they hated witchers, were simply not equipped to deal with certain beasts of the world, and he let out a soft grunt as he realized his job would likely never be over, so long as he still drew breath.

"Geralt?" Ciri's voice was soft as she peered in through the doorway, taking a quick glimpse around the room; her gaze lingered for a moment on a mounted cockatrice head, before she quickly returned it to the witcher. "I've finished speaking with Regis," she said, sounding oddly tentative, almost reserved. "I think… I might lie down for a bit now. He's in the clinic, if you wish to speak to him, yourself."

Geralt faltered, staring at Ciri for a moment, wondering whether it would be rude to ask what was wrong, but she only offered his curiosity a thin, wan smile before disappearing from the doorway again, heading back up the hall. Geralt huffed, propping his hands on his hips and glancing over to the cockatrice she had been distracted by, before he turned to head from the trophy-room as well, making his way towards the clinic where Regis waited.

Regis was sitting on one of the couches as Geralt entered, but he did not look up as the door opened. His dark eyes were fixed on a tome in his lap, elbow propped on the armrest beside him, two fingers pressed thoughtfully to his temple as his greyish lips pursed in an absorbed line. He seemed to be deep in thought, but Geralt could see that his eyes were not moving, appearing stuck on a single line in the text which his distracted mind refused to depart from. Geralt frowned as he moved across the room, sitting down on the couch beside his friend, before he leaned over Regis' shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of what he was reading, to little avail.

"You okay?" Geralt asked after a moment, speaking quietly. "Ciri said you had a talk. Sounded intense."

Regis paused, before finally looking up, letting out a deep sigh as he gave up trying to read. "We did," he agreed. "And… yes. I am alright. Though I thank you for asking. Your concern is much appreciated." He hummed, his grey brow furrowing, before he took another deep breath, seeming to have trouble collecting his thoughts. "I think… I will depart for the crypt soon," he added after a moment. "There are… things, I sorely need to address."

"Ciri talked you into it?" Geralt asked, surprised his suggestion had worked.

Regis nodded, slowly. "Among other things," he agreed. "She is… more insightful than even I could have anticipated. You've raised quite a clever girl, Geralt."

Geralt hummed, folding his hands between his knees. "Can't take full credit for that," he admitted. "Just trained her, mostly. Personality is entirely her own. Some of Yen's."

Regis paused, before letting out a soft chuckle. "You downplay your influence too quickly," he said, turning to look at Geralt at last. "There's no need to be a martyr. That girl is far more like you than perhaps even you realize." Having said this, he stopped, his expression growing suddenly thoughtful, before he thinned his lips, his bushy brow furrowing as his eyes moved away towards the bookshelves. "That being said, she's also lived quite a hard life for one so young," he added, solemnly. "She exudes such an air of competence and optimism, but… I fear most of it may be a mask."

"Yeah," Geralt agreed. "Been through a lot of shit. Wish I could've helped her more."

Regis frowned, before turning to look at him again. "Your fatherly instinct to protect is commendable, Geralt," he told him. "But sometimes things must be figured out for one's self, to have the most effect."

Geralt grunted, finding it hard to take the vampire's advice to heart, before he took a deep breath of his own, leaning back on the couch to rest his head. "What'd you talk about, anyway?" he asked, folding his hands across his stomach. "If you can say."

Regis tilted his head. "I don't see that it's any great secret," he admitted after a moment. "At least, not from you. We discussed… first and foremost, how difficult it is to be one's authentic self in a world that reproves authenticity. Ciri has a much harder time of it, of course; I've no court to impress, no regal duties to fulfil—and when you're mortal, you've much less time to figure these things out, and many more biases to overcome in exploring them. Thankfully – or perhaps, unfortunately – my own peers care little about these sorts of matters, or one another's affairs. When you live as long as we do, sexual preferences mean little, which can be both a blessing and a curse."

He paused at the thought, frowning a bit, running his thumb along the edge of the book in his lap, before he finally let out a sharp huff, drawing his lips into a pensive line. "Orianna has had her share of lovers, of course," he added, his brow furrowing as he considered. "But they were only ever that – passing flings – which is what vampire relationships usually pan out to, unfortunately. Immortality and romance so rarely successfully mix that… well, perhaps it makes me an idealist, or a fool, that I don't wish for that to be all this is, should Dettlaff even be open to the idea. He's a true romantic, Geralt – as am I, anymore – which, regrettably, only makes this all the more difficult."

"Ciri help at all with that?" Geralt asked.

Regis nodded, folding his hands thoughtfully across the book in his lap. "She did," he agreed. "She was quite insightful, though her experiences differed greatly from my own. We discussed, as well, about love and loss—and about how we're so often seen as a product of our tragedies, she and I. Less than human, in many regards, for things beyond our control, or things we've tried to put behind us. …Notwithstanding the fact that I am not, in fact, human, but—the metaphor still stands, in its intent." He paused again, his expression drawing, his greyish lips pursing as he stared intently at the floor, and Geralt frowned, noticing a small, uncertain twitch in the vampire's expression as he sought to continue.

"We talked about how… perhaps, unwittingly, I thought myself unworthy of Dettlaff's affections," Regis continued after a moment. "How I'd convinced myself I'd lose his friendship if I tried to press further – but in reality, how I felt I was lesser, and undeserving, regardless of his feelings on the matter."

"Figured that had something to do with it," Geralt admitted, nodding in agreement.

Regis sighed, turning his dark eyes up again, seeming frustrated with his own emotions. "He's already given so much of himself to me, Geralt," he insisted. "He aided me, when no one else would. He gave his own life's blood to return me from a fate akin to death – how, then, can I justify asking even more of him?" He stopped, his gaze returning to the floor, before he took a deep breath, letting it out again in a long sigh. "That being said," he added, his tone a bit lighter now. "Ciri reminded me that he did that of his own free will. Because he wished to see me alive and well, and not because it offered some great benefit to do so. If he's already readily given so much, is it really such a stretch to think there might be the propensity for something more?"

He paused again, tilting his head, his brows rising slowly towards his hairline as he considered. "Which is not to say, of course, that risking one's life and health for another is in its essence a romantic gesture," he added. "But… perhaps I've been too derisive of my own worth, after all. I am, indeed, as Ciri put it… quite a catch."

Geralt snorted, having not expected to hear that. "Dunno about that," he said. "Agree you're a good friend, though. See no reason Dettlaff wouldn't be open to at least hearing you out. Giving it some thought."

Regis nodded. "Perhaps," he agreed, letting out another tired-sounding breath. "Though that wasn't the extent of all we talked about. I admit, I was surprised to find a certain… bleak camaraderie, in our experiences, apart from those of love. Particularly, in the subject of my former blood addiction, and she in her former addiction to fisstech." He paused, making a face at the thought that was almost a grimace, though it was hard to tell. "Blessedly I've never had to deal with some of the horrific things Ciri has had to face in her short life, related to that," he added. "I felt almost guilty that my own experiences were much more… dismissive, than her own. Beheading aside."

Geralt frowned, taken aback by the news. "Never told me she was addicted to fisstech," he said, his voice quiet. "Only said she was made to use it when she was younger. Said Bonhart used it to force her to fight."

Regis hesitated, before looking across at Geralt again, considering whether to say more. "It's not really my place to tell you her history with it," he said after a moment, regretfully. "But there were instances before Bonhart's influence. Uses spurred on by those pretending to care for her best interest. Just like me, she initially thought it something good, something to be shared with those who cared for her well-being and entertainment – and, just like me, she quickly learned who her friends were once her use no longer suited them."

Geralt clenched his jaw, finding it hard to say nothing about what he was being told, but he did not have long to dwell before Regis cleared his throat softly to continue. "Regardless," he said, doing his best to bring the conversation back to where it started. "Ciri and I understand one another in a way that I would never have guessed, from one so young. It's tragic – appalling, even – that we've never had a chance to cross paths before just now—through no one's fault, of course. Fate simply did not dictate that we should meet before now, but I think I should like to see her much more frequently, now that we've become acquainted."

"Thinking of visiting her in Vizima?" Geralt asked, trying to set his bad mood aside.

Regis nodded. "Perhaps," he answered. "It's not nearly so long a trip for me as it would be for you, or others incapable of using portals. And she did invite me to come visit sometime, to let her know the outcome of this situation with Dettlaff."

Geralt hummed, turning the situation over. "Offered me the position of court witcher," he said after a moment. "Didn't take her up on it."

"Because of Shani, or…?" Regis asked.

Geralt shrugged, stretching out his legs with a sigh. "Lots of things," he admitted. "Shani mostly, but also just… getting tired of being a witcher. Was gonna retire before this whole thing with O'Dimm. Being court witcher means picking it up again full-time." He frowned, staring down at his boots, wondering when the last time was that he had polished them, but the thought was soon overtaken by the realization that he would dirty them again soon enough with his next task. "No time to just rest, be with Yen," he added, his mouth twisting dispiritedly at the thought. "Plus, can't hang around Ciri forever. Have to let her have her own life eventually."

"That's a very sensible approach," Regis answered, seeming impressed with his reasoning.

Geralt grunted. "More than a hundred years old," he acknowledged. "Gotta be sensible eventually." He paused, staring down at his hands, feeling his lips thin into a hard ribbon as he considered them; it was strange to think that he had lived for more than a century, yet was still surprised by something new every day. Before only six months ago, he had had no idea about the more in-depth struggles of pregnancy – he had known something changed in a woman when she became with child, but had never had a reason to look further than that. He made a face at the thought, wondering how much Shani had to be struggling on the road with no resources, before he let out a long, hard breath, leaning his head back again to stare at the bookcases against the far wall.

"Still weird to think about having another kid," he said, wrinkling his nose at the thought.

Regis hummed, his thin lashes brushing his pallid cheeks as he took in a thoughtful breath. "Another daughter would make a lovely addition," he said after a moment. "A little sister for Ciri."

Geralt shrugged. "Wouldn't even know what to name a girl," he admitted. "Shani suggested Visenna, but don't like that."

Regis chuckled. "Not one for sentimentality towards your mother?" he asked, offering a wry smirk. Then, pausing, he tilted his head, his long fingers drumming against his knee as he considered. "Natanis is a lovely name for a girl," he suggested after a moment, causing Geralt to look over, his eyes narrowed. It was hard to tell when Regis was joking – his bookish lilt made most things he said sound like lighthearted poetry, and his deadpan sarcasm was matched only by Geralt's, aided as he was by his lack of natural inflection. If he was joking, then it was just like Regis to take such an absurdist stab at his nerves, Geralt thought, but if not, then he had to wonder if the list of women they both knew was really so painfully small.

"Not naming my kid after one of your lovers," Geralt finally said, deciding to address it.

Regis chuckled again, turning to look at him, a puckish grin pinching the corners of his dark eyes. "You really do make the worst of things, Geralt," he told him, good-naturedly. "It was only a suggestion, after all. Though I have to assume you'll be hard-pressed to find an appropriate name, if you really do wish to keep to those parameters." He paused, his impish grin widening, raising an expressive brow as he stared down at the witcher. "You've had relations with half the women of the Continent over the course of your illustrious career," he said. "If all those names are to be struck from the table, then the naming pool truly has grown dismally small."

Geralt hummed, folding his arms. "Not that small," he said, turning to stare across at the bookcases again. "Lotta names out there that aren't Visenna or Natanis. Just… gonna leave it to Shani to find them."

---

Geralt yawned as he stretched out on the picnic-blanket, feeling the soft green grass cushioning him beneath it, and he smiled as he looked over towards Ciri lying next to him, staring up at the purpling sky. It had been a day since Regis had left, heading back to Mère-Lachaiselongue at Ciri's behest, but Ciri had opted to stay for one more day, if only to ensure Geralt was not left completely alone. He had groused at the time, telling her that he was a century old, and could take care of himself, but he found that even he could not believe such things, knowing how much he enjoyed his daughter's company.

Now, he hummed as he reached across the blanket, taking her much smaller hand in his, and Ciri smiled as she stared up at the passing clouds, before turning her head to glance over at him, fondly. "Nice having you here," Geralt told her, causing her to chuckle, wrinkling her freckled nose in delight.

"Nice being here," she answered, bringing his hand to her lips for a soft kiss. Sitting up then, she reached over, picking up their glasses and a bottle of wine from the edge of the blanket, before she began to pour them each a hearty glassful, listening as Geralt grunted beside her, sitting up with more difficulty. "I've grown quite fond of the taste of your wine," she informed him, handing over his glass with a grin. "Perhaps I'll commission a large shipment to Vizima. Set up a trade agreement, keep us well in casks."

"If I didn't know better, think that sounds like nepotism," Geralt answered, grinning and taking a long sip.

Ciri shrugged, rolling her glass between her palms. "Perhaps," she admitted. "I am empress of Nilfgaard, after all. What use is there in having such a title if I can't use it to give special privileges to those I love?" Taking her own sip of wine, she licked her lips, enjoying the taste, before she leaned back on her palm against the blanket, staring down at her boots as she breathed in the summer air. "I wish I could stay here forever," she said. "I feel more at home here than I ever did in Vizima."

"Emhyr would go ballistic," Geralt guessed.

Ciri made a face, seeming to think it over. "Perhaps," she agreed after a moment. "Though I'd be more concerned about him trying to take over again, given the opportunity. He was reluctant to hand over the throne to me as it was—without him beside me as emperor, that is."

Geralt frowned, feeling his good mood falter, not wanting to think about Emhyr's lust for his own flesh and blood, and he cleared his throat softly, trying to think of something he could say to subtly change the subject. "Heard you had a good talk with Regis," he said after a moment, the words leaving him before he could stop them. He winced, hoping he did not seem too eager, but Ciri only paused, looking over at him for a moment.

"We did," she agreed, taking a sip of wine and turning her attention to the garden again. "He's a lovely man, Geralt. I'm a bit hurt you never introduced us before just now."

Geralt shrugged, feeling a bit less on edge. "Would've if I'd known he was alive," he admitted. "Thought he was dead until about a year ago."

Ciri hummed, swirling her wine. "I suppose I can forgive you, then," she told him, cheekily. "Though you really should expect by now that death might not be as permanent an affliction as you think."

Geralt grunted. "Hm," he said. "Maybe for some. For most, though, seems to stick."

Ciri nodded again, seeming to be only half-listening, taking another sip of wine. "He had some very insightful things to say," she noted after a moment. "He's quite brilliant, actually, though I'm sure you know that. A barber and a surgeon, and a moonshiner as well."

"Man of many talents," Geralt agreed.

"Yes," Ciri said. "Though he's had quite a long time to perfect them. You needn't feel badly about it."

Geralt faltered, unsure if he had been insulted, before deciding it was not worth it to pursue. "Told me you two talked about his blood addiction," he said, turning to look over at Ciri, solemnly.

Ciri paused, her expression twisting slightly, looking as if she were sucking on a hard candy, unable to decide if she liked the taste. "Yes," she finally answered, her brow furrowing as she pressed her lips together, tightly. "We… did. We discussed addiction in general, and how… it causes uncertainties in other aspects of our lives we might not have considered otherwise. How it raises unsightly questions of whether our feelings towards something are genuine, or just… a need to feel better about ourselves. How it's difficult to know if others' feelings towards us are in our best interests, or only their own, despite first impressions."

"Wasn't trying to pry," Geralt said, causing her to look over at him in surprise, raising her brows. "Just thought it was interesting. Unexpected. Didn't realize you two had so much in common."

Ciri faltered again, before shrugging, the gesture clearly less nonchalant than she would have liked. "I don't mind sharing my history with you," she told him. "As unfortunate as it may be. I trust you with my life, Geralt. I simply… never saw a reason to put it on you. You've enough to worry about as it is."

Geralt made a face. "Know I always care about you first," he told her, finding her excuse hard to buy. "Worry more about you when I don't know things. Always been that way."

Ciri took a deep breath, her brow furrowing again. "I know," she agreed. "You and Yen have always put me first—always. That wasn't ever a question in my mind. It was only that…" She stopped, looking away again, her pearly teeth pinching her bottom lip as she tried to think of how to explain. "Well… I was embarrassed, Geralt," she finally admitted, a pink blush rising to her cheeks as she continued. "You knew I'd been made to use fisstech by Bonhart, to make me fight in his arena, but… that was only the tail end of it. I'd used it recreationally before then—under pressure, I've told myself, but even I have doubts if that's entirely true. I used it because I chose to use it, because my friends…" She paused again, her mousy brow furrowing, before she took another sharp breath in through her nose.

"Well, not my friends," she corrected herself. "But, I thought they were my friends at the time… regardless. I used it because I thought I wanted to, and when Bonhart made me use it again… I lost control, I suppose. It was already a problem, and he capitalized on that by making me fear for my safety were I not to take it when he offered." She stopped, staring down at the grass, before she reached out to take a handful, curling her fist around the greenery and ripping up a swatch of it. "He threatened to rape me, Geralt," she said, clenching her fingers around the grass until it threatened to stain her gloves. "To strip me down, and force the fisstech on me some other way. And I didn't doubt he would have done it – I, fifteen and petite, and he, a formidable giant."

Geralt gritted his teeth, feeling his fist start to curl subconsciously against the picnic-blanket as she spoke, but he kept quiet in spite of his rage, allowing Ciri an opportunity to continue. "I feared for my life," she said, staring down at the grass in her hand. "Or at least, that was what I told myself. Though whether it was true, or simply an effort to lessen the guilt, I'll never know. It made little difference at the time. I tried to kill myself after that… but of course, Bonhart wouldn't allow his best fighter to perish that way. Regardless, the entire time, and even now, years later, I can't stop myself from wondering… were I not so weak before, if I might've been able to better resist."

Geralt frowned, staring across at Ciri, wondering what he could even say to follow something like that. "Lot to keep bottled up inside," he finally decided, his voice quiet, still shaken from the story.

Ciri said nothing for a moment, staring down at the grass still clenched in her palm, before she finally opened her hand again, letting it scatter in broken shreds to the breeze. "I suppose," she said, her voice quiet as well, letting out a soft, weary sigh. "It doesn't feel better telling you about it, however. I thought it might, but… at least now you know."

Geralt hummed, wishing he could think of something to say, before a sudden memory returned to him. "Not the only one who's used fisstech," he said, looking up at her again. "Eskel did too, once. Long time ago."

Ciri faltered, turning to look at him. "Eskel?" she asked, before she scoffed, looking out towards the gardens again. "I find that hard to believe. If anyone, I'd suspect Lambert might've dabbled. Eskel is a good, sweet man—not at all the sort I'd believe might take fisstech."

Geralt shrugged. "Told me so himself," he said. "Long night of confessions. Only used it once. Just goes to show, got nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with weakness. Respect him any less now you know?"

Ciri looked up again quickly, her green eyes wide. "Of course not," she said, sounding affronted. "One use of fisstech doesn't change who he is. It doesn't take away his accomplishments, nor how he's always treated me." Geralt tilted his head, staring across at her pointedly, and Ciri blanched, quickly realizing her own hypocrisy. "It's not the same thing, Geralt," she insisted sounding frustrated. "But… I do appreciate you trying to make me feel better."

Geralt huffed, realizing that was likely the best he was going to get from the conversation, before he thinned his lips, feeling his heart grow heavy as they lapsed into uncomfortable silence once more. After a moment, he reached out to her again, taking her shoulder and pulling her in to rest her head against his chest, and Ciri nestled in gratefully under his chin, reaching an arm across his waist to hold him tightly in a daughterly hug. Geralt ran his fingers through her soft hair, leaning down to press a kiss to her head, before he looked up again, a faint frown creasing his features as he stared out across the property.

"Had a question about something we talked about earlier," he said, hoping to push the conversation to the back of her mind. This was hardly a more agreeable topic, he realized, but anything had to be better than what she had just gotten through telling him. "Dunno if you remember, but… said something about… having a choice, not to become empress. Wondered what you meant by that."

Ciri paused, considering the question. "I did have a choice," she finally agreed, seeming just as eager to move on. "Emhyr had a wife who was empress before me, and no one much seemed to mind. Had I allowed her to remain, I might've lived my whole life as a witcher, and no one would've ever been the wiser." She paused, thinking for a moment, before she finally let out a wary breath, seeming less riled now. "Of course, that would've left Emhyr in charge of Nilfgaard," she added, sounding much less thrilled with the thought. "And as for his wife, everyone thought she was me. That her rulings, all in line with his, were mine. And they would've continued to think that, had I not returned to take the title, myself. You understand why I couldn't let that stand."

"Emhyr had a wife everyone mistook for you?" Geralt asked, trying not to grimace at the thought. "Thought those rumours were all just tall tales and bullshit. Wartime gossip, to explain where you went when you disappeared after Thanedd." He frowned, disturbed to think that Emhyr might choose a wife who so closely resembled his daughter – but then, he knew from experience that royalty was often attracted to the familiar, for better or worse. His first thought went to Foltest and Adda, but he quickly pushed the memory from his head again, instead focusing his attention on the conversation about Ciri and her would-be stepmother.

Ciri looked up at him, her eyes curious. "How long have you known Emhyr, Geralt?" she asked.

"Since before you were born," Geralt answered.

"And how old was my mother then?" Ciri asked.

Geralt hummed, realizing where she was going. "Fifteen."

"And Emhyr?"

"At least thirty," Geralt answered. "Possibly forty."

"Exactly," Ciri agreed, nodding a solemn confirmation. "Emhyr marries for power, not love. My mother was heir-apparent to the rule of Cintra, and several other titles besides—he saved her father's life so he would be owed a favour, then seduced my mother before the time came for him to collect. He wanted to ensure he would not be denied his prize when they discovered what he really was." She paused, taking another breath, turning to look out over the gardens again. "My grandmother tried to turn him down," she added, thoughtfully. "But my mother was young and smitten."

"And pregnant," Geralt added.

"That too," Ciri agreed with a sigh. "Unfortunately for Emhyr, however, my mother died before the throne could default to her. Instead, it was slated to fall to me once my grandmother passed—but I was out of his reach then, under the watchful eye of my grandmother. My mother had thankfully had the foresight to entrust her with my wellbeing when she began to suspect Emhyr of ulterior motives."

Geralt nodded. "I remember your grandmother," he said. "Strong-willed woman."

"Stubborn, you mean," Ciri corrected with a grin.

Geralt grunted. "She knew what she wanted," he admitted.

Ciri laughed, rocking against him with a soft elbow to his side. "Hah!" she said. "You needn't be polite, Geralt. I know she was a handful. It's where I get it from."

"Tried to keep you from me," Geralt reminded her, reaching out to tuck a lock of flyaway hair behind her ear. "Didn't want me to collect on the Law I'd invoked. Dressed you up like a boy so I couldn't pick you out. Take you away."

"I remember," Ciri agreed, smiling. "I was only six then, but I remember you coming around the keep. I didn't know the significance of your visit back then, but… her decision was fortuitous, I believe. Witcher training may very well have killed me had I been made to start that young."

"Hm," Geralt answered. "Doesn't matter now. Turned out the best I could hope for."

Ciri huffed, picking up her glass again, her freckled nose wrinkling with a wry grin. "You have to say that," she told him. "You're my father, after all. Your opinion is clearly biased." Finishing off her wine, she set the empty glass down on the blanket between them, watching as Geralt poured her another, filling the glass half to the top with nearly-black liquid. "Regardless," she said, picking it up again. "That was my grandmother's way. She kept me from everyone, for my own protection. Up until… well. Until I lost her in the Slaughter of Cintra. Right before you found me and took me to Kaer Morhen to train."

Geralt frowned, feeling suddenly guilty for bringing up the topic of Calanthe, but Ciri did not seem to notice, only taking another thoughtful sip of wine. "There was a reward out for my return, you know," she added after a moment.

"I know," Geralt answered. "Wasn't interested."

Ciri nodded, setting her wine glass down again. "I remember," she agreed, starting to trace a distracted outline in the grass beside her. Geralt watched as she worked, noticing as the crude, familiar shape of a rose began to take form. "But others were," she added, seeming too distracted by her tale to realize what she was drawing. "And when they discovered this new Cirilla, they tried to trick Emhyr, to make him believe she was me. They thought they could collect on an easy reward—but Emhyr wasn't fooled by the imposter. He knew she wasn't me. But that didn't seem to matter much, because as fate would have it, this new Cirilla was also a noble of Cintra."

She paused, lapsing into silence as she looked down at her drawing, seeming to realize for the first time what it was, and Geralt watched as her pink lips pursed, before she quickly passed her hand along it, obscuring the drawing from view. "Even though Emhyr wasn't duped by her likeness to me, everyone else was," Ciri continued, speaking as if nothing had happened. "And for years she served perfectly as a stand-in for the daughter he was too proud to admit he lost. Everyone bought the ruse hook, line, and sinker, but when he actually found me… he had no more use for her. When I returned to the throne, he quietly planted an altered version of events in peoples' minds via court rumours, and had all mention of her erased from the history books. I doubt you'll find any that mention her anymore—he was quite thorough."

"Hm," Geralt answered, frowning at the tale. "Didn't think it was possible for me to hate Emhyr more."

"Are you really so surprised?" Ciri asked, looking up and folding her hands across her knees again. "Regardless, that was why Emhyr wanted me. He wanted someone to bring me back home so he could have a second shot at the Elder Blood. He cast a wide net at first, and then, when he realized I'd been associating with witchers the entire time, he went directly to the source – or, close to it – to commission my return to Nilfgaard."

"Got the Vipers, who gave him Yen," Geralt said, his brow furrowing. "Who led him straight to me."

"Exactly," Ciri agreed.

Geralt made a face, finding it hard to believe that Yennefer would agree to condone such things, before he realized that Emhyr had lied to his face about the matter, so it made sense that he had lied to Yennefer as well. "That why he wanted me to bring you back home?" he asked. "So he could marry you?"

Ciri nodded. "Yes," she answered, simply. "You didn't know. I realized that early on, but I felt it best not to tell you. I knew that learning his real intention would only upset you."

"Didn't trust me not to hurt him," Geralt interpreted.

Ciri frowned, tilting her head. "I did trust you," she corrected him. "I've always trusted you. I know you only want what's in my best interest, Geralt. I just felt it best to keep my reasoning simple." She lifted her brows, lowering her gaze until he could barely see green past her thick lashes, and he watched as she took another deep breath in, looking as regal as he had ever seen her. She had the face of a princess, but there was life hardened into its elegant lines – strength of character, an edge to her beauty that spoke volumes about a life lived far from the walls of the throne room. "I did not wish to return to Nilfgaard then," she added, shaking her head at the thought. "I knew you would respect that, even without any additional mitigating factors. And you did. Just as I knew you would."

Geralt frowned. "Not sure I like having things that important kept from me," he admitted.

"I realize that now," Ciri agreed. "Regardless, when Emhyr realized he couldn't have me… in that way… he was greedy enough to take the next best thing. A False Ciri, if you will. Someone everyone should think was me, and even if her identity were to be discovered, a second grab at control of Cintra." She paused, still considering, before she lifted her eyes to him again, her expression impassive. "The only reason he's stepped aside now to allow me to rule in his stead is because Nilfgaard already has Cintra, thanks to her," she added. "And, well… I have you. If not for you, I'm certain he would try to take me the way he had before. Emhyr is only interested in power—continuing to mix his line with the Elder Blood was his way of ensuring his legacy continues for generations to come."

"Hm," Geralt answered, still not convinced. "He tries to lay a finger on you, I'll cut him into pieces so small he'll fit through the eye of a quilting needle."

Ciri paused, considering the threat, before she finally gave a small chuckle, leaning into him again and resting her head on his shoulder. "Thank you, Geralt," she told him, fondly. "I appreciate the offer, but… I have my powers. I can take care of myself if anything… untoward, happens."

Geralt frowned, still not liking the idea of Ciri facing down Emhyr's advances alone, before something suddenly occurred to him, and he paused, taking a moment to turn it over. "Did you say your stepmother's name was… Cirilla?" he asked, unsure if he had heard correctly.

"Cirilla Fiona," Ciri agreed.

Geralt's frown deepened. "She looked like you and her name was Cirilla Fiona?" he asked.

Ciri nodded against his chest. "As far as anyone knew," she answered, honestly. "At least, that was the only name she went by."

"And she was also a noble from Cintra?" Geralt pressed, finding it hard to believe.

Ciri nodded again, seeming just as certain. "Yes," she answered. "Funny, isn't it?"

"Unsettling," Geralt admitted.

Ciri paused, before lifting her head again. "Yes, I suppose," she agreed, sounding less convinced. "But this is Emhyr we're talking about, so it's not as surprising as it might otherwise be."

Geralt hummed, staring out over the garden, still trying to come to terms with the strangeness of the story. "Where is this Cirilla now?" he finally asked, unable to help his morbid curiosity.

Ciri shrugged. "I've no idea," she admitted, plucking a blade of grass and watching it quiver in the breeze. "Last I knew of her, she'd been sent off by Emhyr to live at Darn Rowan, with Countess Stella Congreve. I heard a rumour she gained passage to Skellige from there, but I don't know how much truth there is to that." She paused, staring at the blade for a moment, before her features began to twist, morphing into a thoughtful frown. "I suppose she could've gone to live amongst my mother's relatives," she added, musingly. "Though I'm not sure she would've found much solace there. They aren't her relatives, after all, and I'm not sure how well she would've been received. Crach an Craite was my mother's cousin, you know, which makes Cerys my… second cousin, I believe."

"I know," Geralt answered, nodding. "Your grandmother hired me for a job once—long time ago. That's where I met Crach for the first time. Just a young man then. Where I met you, too, for the first time."

Ciri faltered, releasing the blade of grass to the wind. "Strange," she said. "I don't remember ever seeing you at any of my grandmother's functions."

Geralt grinned. "You weren't born yet," he told her. "Still in your mother's stomach."

"Well, that explains it," Ciri returned, brushing her bangs from her eyes. "Not much to meet, in that case."

Geralt chuckled, resting his scruffy chin atop her head again. "More than enough for me," he told her, pressing a soft kiss to her head.

---

The house was quiet without Ciri around.

It had been only a few days since her arrival, but it felt as if she had lived there all her life, the way her presence filled the house; now, with both the young empress and Regis gone, Corvo Bianco felt almost distressingly still. Geralt had never been a man of much company, preferring the quiet of the woods to the bustle of town, but even he found that he could not shake the feeling of solitude left behind in the absence of his daughter and friend. The fireplace crackled in the silence, the warm smell of spices filling the house from Yennefer's enchantment, but he found even that could not fill the void left in the wake of Ciri's leaving. He knew it was unrealistic to expect her to be able to stay longer than she already had, but he still sighed at the thought as he sat in front of the fire, watching smoke curl in wan ribbons from his pipe.

Regis had left some research notes behind when he had left a few days back to return to the cemetery, but Geralt found he could not be bothered to read them, knowing they would likely only lead to more questions. He had too many questions as it was, too many thoughts going around in his head, unanswered, and he hummed as he tamped out his pipe, setting it aside and getting up to head to bed for the night. He had never turned in this early before, but he found now he could think of little else to do; he had seen Ciri off with her bevy of advisors earlier that evening, and now found himself with only his thoughts as company. He thought about his third task, the solution he had found, and how he knew he would have to pursue it – but the idea of convincing a stranger to sleep with him was one he found he could not dwell on for very long without feeling a bit ill.

It had been a long time since the idea of casual sex had interested him, as every thought of sex now only led back to Yennefer, and he let out another tired huff as he sat down in bed, looking over at the xenovox sitting on his nightstand. He had not contacted Yennefer in quite some time, not wanting to alert her that anything was amiss, but now that Ciri had already come and gone, he supposed there was no harm in letting her know.

Picking up the xenovox, he lifted it to his lips, giving the spell a moment to activate. "Yen?" he asked, before pausing, giving it time to patch the message through.

There was a crackling from Yennefer's end, before the xenovox levelled out again. "Geralt?" she asked, sounding surprised. "I'm afraid I haven't any news to share. I still haven't heard back from Ciri—"

"I know," Geralt answered, cutting her off. "She just left. Came to visit in person."

"She WHAT?!" Yennefer insisted, sounding mortified. "Why didn't you tell me she was there?! Geralt—!"

"She was taking a tour of Nilfgaard's provinces," Geralt explained, trying to ease her concern. "Happened to be passing through Toussaint. Decided to stop by, say hello."

Yennefer hummed, annoyed. "I'm not sure who's a worse liar," she admitted after a moment. "You or her."

Geralt huffed, realizing he should have known better than to try to pull the wool over Yennefer's eyes – she had a way of knowing exactly when he was lying, especially when it came to Ciri. "Had to know she wouldn't believe your letter, Yen," he told her, honestly. "But doesn't matter—got the answer we needed."

"You did?" Yennefer asked, sounding surprised, but hopeful. "Is it… something I wouldn't want to know about?"

"Probably," Geralt answered, feeling his stomach twist with strange guilt at the thought. As much as he knew he could trust Yennefer, and possibly even use her political connections to help track down the former empress, the idea of telling her he was looking for a Ciri lookalike to sleep with was too upsetting to talk about.

Yennefer gave a soft huff. "Then I won't ask," she conceded. "I'll simply trust you to handle it."

Geralt frowned, wishing he could say more. "Gonna have to do some searching," he added after a moment. "Ciri said the answer's either in Nilfgaard's hinterlands, or somewhere in the Skellige isles. Figure Nilfgaard's hinterlands are pretty landlocked, shouldn't be too tough to get there with the amulet. But Skellige's all jagged rocks, deep water. Could be disastrous. Amulet up for that?"

Yennefer paused, thinking it over. "It should be," she finally decided, musingly. "So long as you've got a location securely in mind for it to attune to. Skellige is a long way off, after all. It has to be somewhere you can imagine in total clarity, otherwise it might teleport you into the middle of the ocean."

Geralt gave a gruff chuckle at the thought. "Wouldn't be the first time," he admitted, grinning.

"True," Yennefer answered, fairly. "But this time it would be an accident, at least."

Geralt chuckled again, his grin growing wider as he thought back to Yennefer's face as she had prepared to throw him through that portal – her soft lips pursed, eyes sharp as glass, dark hair flying in wild curls about her shoulders. It had been a frightening sight at the time, knowing what punishment undoubtedly lay ahead, but looking back on it now, all he could see was the fire of her passion, her tenacity and unwillingness to yield.

"Who all's there?" he asked after a moment, trying not to sound too obvious in his question.

Yennefer hummed, considering. "Everyone," she finally answered. "Though they've all gone to sleep now, thankfully. It's only me awake at the moment, in my own chambers. You don't think I would discuss these tasks in front of the entire group, I hope."

Geralt nodded, moving the xenovox stealthily to his left hand and using his right to unfasten his trousers, before sliding his hand down into his underwear, trying to move as quietly as possible as he took hold. "What're you wearing now, Yen?" he asked, taking a hitching breath as he started to stroke.

Yennefer paused, confused. "You haven't seen what I'm wearing now," she admitted. "It's rather plain, I'm afraid."

"Describe it to me," Geralt implored, moving his hand down his shaft again.

Yennefer faltered another moment, taking the time to look herself over. "It's—just a blouse and black trousers, Geralt," she finally said, sounding a bit bewildered. "With a black leather belt. Entirely simple. We haven't exactly had a chance to go clothes-shopping lately."

Geralt huffed, leaning back against the headboard, letting his shoulders relax as his eyes fluttered shut. "Simple looks good on you," he told her, stroking again, taking a sharp breath as he crested the top, teasing the head. "Bet the blouse is loose… open just enough. Pants're tight—always are. Hug your ass just right." He paused, wetting his lips as he shifted, starting to pick up momentum as he continued. "If I were there, I'd untuck your shirt," he told her, his voice lowering to a soft gravel as he continued. "Get my hands under it. Then undo your belt… layers on layers. Pull 'em off, one by one."

Yennefer paused, finally seeming to realize what was happening. "Oh," she said, sounding intrigued. "I see. But that would leave me ever so unclothed. I've only my delicates on under all of this, after all. Whatever am I to do with only those?"

"Leave 'em on," Geralt told her, taking a sharp breath as his shoulders rolled back against the headboard. "Wanna just… touch you for a moment. Get my hands all over you. Your skin is so damn soft." He groaned, stroking again, his grip growing tighter as his hand grew warmer around his cock, caressing the head with his calloused thumb before leaning into the xenovox, feeling his excitement mounting. "I'd press you up against me," he told her, breathing heavily. "Feel that soft lace on my chest. My hands on those little frilly panties. Make you want it as bad as I do. Let you feel me hard against your leg. You feel it?"

"I feel it," Yennefer answered, giving a soft gasp. "You've waited for so long, I can tell. But not yet. I'd kiss you, put your hands on my breasts, my thighs… so strong, so rough. My husband's hands."

"You smell so damn good," Geralt growled, and he grinned as he heard her whimper in response, biting her lip. "I'd smell your hair, kiss your neck… then slide those panties down. Can't resist me anymore."

"I don't want to resist," Yennefer answered, breathless. "I want you inside me. I've missed this so much."

"I'm in you," Geralt told her, and she gasped, her breath shuddering loudly as she pressed the xenovox against her lips. "Lay you back… let you rest your head. Feel you encompass me. Gods, I want you so much." He huffed, moving down the shaft again, feeling his palm start to sweat as the sensation inside him grew; he could feel it building closer to climax, but he was not ready to finish, not quite yet. "You're so damn beautiful," he told her, gasping back a breath as he shuddered against his palm. "Your hair… everywhere. On my face, in my mouth. Your breasts… perfect. Your face… like an angel."

"I love you so much," Yennefer breathed. "I want you, Geralt—I can't stand this time apart."

"Can't stand it either," Geralt answered, teasing his head again with a sharp gulp of air. "We'll switch now… let you be on top. Love to see you up there. Love to watch you riding me. I'm fucking you now, slow and steady—"

"Go faster," Yennefer moaned. "Fuck me, Geralt. I want to feel you inside me, every bit of me."

Geralt grunted, stroking his shaft again, feeling as his cock grew more sensitive with every pass, the tenderness of the tip causing him to hiss with pleasure as he touched it again, running his thumb over it in a circle. "Think I can do that," he answered, letting out a huff, coaxing himself to wait just a little longer. "Love you so much, Yen. Give you anything you ask for."

Yennefer gasped, her breath shuddering into silence, before she finally let it out again in a low, stirring sigh. "I'm so close," she told him, eagerly. "Keep talking, Geralt. I need to hear your voice. I've missed you so much."

Geralt wet his lips, trying to think of what else he could say to pleasure his wife through the xenovox. "When I see you again, never gonna let you go," he told her, his voice a near-growl as he pressed the trinket nearly up against his lips. "Gonna have to send a search party to look for us. Never find us, though. We'll be gone from here, long gone." He sucked his lips between his teeth, taking in a sharp breath as he felt the sensation inside growing, but he only pressed the xenovox to his sweaty forehead, breathing heavily as he tried to hold it in. "Gonna take you away to a place no one can find us," he said, nearly hiccupping as he heaved another gasping breath. "Not Dandelion, not the Lodge—nobody. Just you and me, together. The two of us. Gonna stay in bed 'til we can't walk."

"And what about food?" Yennefer asked, clearly enjoying the imagery despite her questions. He could hear her breathing heavily from her end, before she bit her lip, stifling her breath in a way that sent a shudder through him.

"Have food brought to us," Geralt answered, moving his hand steadily up again and sucking in a shaking breath as he felt himself throbbing against his palm. "Nothing can stop us. No distractions. The world can wait. All that matters is you and me."

"Yes," Yennefer breathed, her voice quivering with frenzy. "Yes. What else, Geralt? Keep talking."

"Gonna keep you there 'til you can't stand it," Geralt told her, huffing as he pressed the xenovox against his lips again. "But you love it. Say you've had enough, but you're lying. You want more, and we both know it." He gasped, his breath hitching in his throat as a shock ran through him, the urge to come growing stronger with every word, and he felt his teeth scrape the edge of the xenovox as it pushed up against the edge of his open mouth. "Keep going 'til we can't anymore," he continued, his breath shuddering. "Then next morning—start again. Just like before. Do good by you… got an eager tongue and skilled fingers. Make you come before I've even started."

"I can feel your fingers inside me," Yennefer gasped, her breath pitching into a stifled whimper. "Your mouth, so warm… I can feel it, Geralt. Keep talking. What will you do next?"

"Have my face between your thighs 'til I'm begging for air, but don't want you to listen," Geralt told her, his voice a low growl. "Gonna kiss every bit of you—your lips, your neck—everywhere. Anywhere I can reach. Then I'll fuck you, just like before. Any way you want, for as long as we both can stand it. Gonna keep going 'til I give you a child, Yen. No matter how long it takes."

"Gods," Yennefer exhaled, the word leaving her lips with a moan Geralt had not heard in far too long, before she gasped again, the sound muffled, as if she were pressing the xenovox against her lips to mute the sound of her climax. Geralt let out a groan of his own at the sound, finally allowing himself to release, letting go all over his hand and stomach, the excess dripping stickily across the sheets. Yennefer's breath was hitching and shaky as she moved the xenovox away from her lips again, before she finally let out another tired sigh, her wordless sounds soothing Geralt through the last waves of aftershock. "I hate this, Geralt," she told him, her voice still shuddering, fighting to regain her composure. "I hate being apart for so long. I don't know how we did it before. It's agony now, not being able to see you like this."

"Been more than a month," Geralt told her, still breathing heavily, looking down dazedly across the mess he had made. He would have to clean it up before Yennefer returned, but for now, he could not help feeling a bit proud of himself. "Did our time apart after your ride with the Hunt. My ride. No reason to be apart anymore."

Yennefer let out another sigh, this one sounding markedly wearier than before. "I wish it were that simple," she said. "But without a permanent place to stay, I'm afraid to leave Shani's side. She's been growing more restless lately, and I'm afraid—" She stopped suddenly, and Geralt frowned, wondering if he had said something to upset her, before the sound of a door's hinges coming through the xenovox made him realize it was not him that had distracted her. He waited, wondering if this would mean he would have to let his wife go again so soon, before he heard her pick up the xenovox again, sounding notably stiffer than before.

"Geralt," Yennefer said, sounding strangely uncomfortable. "I'm afraid we'll have to continue this at another time. Perhaps when you return from your task, we'll discuss it further, but for now I don't think there's any more to confer."

Geralt faltered, unsure what he had done wrong, before he heard a soft, uneasy chuckle in the background behind Yennefer. "Should I leave you two alone?" Shani's voice came through, causing him to immediately flush, mortified. "I didn't mean to intrude. I heard noises coming from in here, and… I thought Yen might be in medical distress."

"Sh—Shani," Geralt fumbled, only able to imagine how red Yennefer, herself, was turning at the news. "How… are you? Didn't think I'd get to talk to you. Figured you'd be… resting, or something." He paused, realizing his flimsy excuses were only digging his hole even deeper, before he let out another sigh, leaning back against the headboard and staring down at his still-exposed cock. It hung flimsily at half-mast now, looking as disappointed as he had ever seen it, and he made a face, wishing he had thought twice before pulling it out again at the first blush of arousal. That always seemed to be his downfall, he realized, though there were few examples quite as illustrative as this, and he let out a grunt as he brought the xenovox to his lips again, trying his best to ignore it.

"Hope you're not having too much trouble," he told Shani, trying to change the subject.

Shani chuckled, seeming more amused than embarrassed. "Not too much," she answered, her tone light as ever. "Just bigger than I've ever been… which is a challenge in itself. Taking some getting used to, you know? Moving around, finding clothes to wear."

"Thankfully we've managed to find some old clothes which work well, for the time being," Yennefer added, sounding more optimistic. "Eskel's been especially helpful with that. They're not fashionable clothes, but we're not exactly parading about high society these days."

"Couldn't be worse than at Corvo Bianco," Geralt observed, remembering the days Shani had had to resort to wearing his old shirts and trousers. "'Long as you're comfortable, that's all that matters. Still wish I could see you, though."

Shani laughed from the other end. "Believe me, you don't," she said, giving a soft huff. "I look like a beached whale."

"Oh, she's lying, Geralt," Yennefer tsked, causing Geralt to grin at her tone. "She's beautiful. She has a wonderful glow about her."

Geralt chuckled at the thought. "I bet."

Shani sighed softly into the xenovox, sounding notably more tired this time. "I wish you could feel the baby kick," she told him. "It's so full of life. A real fighter. I think it gets that from you."

"'Long as it's not hurting you," Geralt answered.

Shani chuckled. "Geralt, I'm a field medic," she reminded him. "A baby's kick is nothing compared to what I'm used to going through every day in the field."

"Well, tell it not to wear itself out too much," Geralt conceded, giving another grin at the thought. "Wanna feel it when you get back to Corvo Bianco. Don't want it to be all kicked out by then."

"I'll keep reporting back on the baby's status," Yennefer informed him, sounding much more at ease than before. "So keep your xenovox nearby. And I want to be updated whenever anything changes on your end as well. Let us know the instant you're back on the mainland again." She paused, before letting out a long, weary sigh. "You certainly could've picked a better time to travel to Skellige," she told him, the same worry starting to creep into her voice again.

Geralt hummed, his brow furrowing at the addendum. "Didn't know I needed to go until now," he admitted.

Yennefer huffed, sounding a bit more flustered this time. "I know," she conceded. "But—do try to wrap up whatever you're doing in a timely manner, please. Shani only has two months until she's due, and if you don't finish what you're doing in time—"

"I know, Yen," Geralt assured her. "I know." He sighed, knowing full well the weight of the consequences should he fail this third task; though he had tried to keep most of it from Yennefer, he found it harder not to question his decision with every passing day, but with how much she had fretted over his second task, he figured it was best not to share too many details of his third. Still, he could not help a lingering feeling of guilt at keeping the crux of his journey from her knowledge – he remembered their conversation from months back, the conversation where she had accused him of intending to sleep around on her again, and he felt his stomach twist as he remembered how vehemently he had tried to deny it back then.

That had been before he knew what lay ahead, he remembered – before O'Dimm had given him these impossible tasks – and though he was sure Yennefer would agree it had to be done, he still found he did not have the strength to tell her what he intended to do in Skellige.

He did not have time to consider this, however, before he heard Shani's soft voice over the xenovox again. "If you can't make it back in time for the baby's birth, it's okay," she told him, causing him to frown again. "The birthing process is kind of… a lot. You'd probably be better off missing it anyway."

"Not such a big deal," Geralt answered, honestly. "Seen horses give birth. Shouldn't be much different."

A stunned silence followed from Shani's end, before she cleared her throat gently. "That's… not exactly—"

"Did you just compare her to a horse giving birth, Geralt?" Yennefer cut through sharply, interrupting Shani before she could finish. Geralt blanched, realizing his mistake, before the soft sound of Shani's nervous chuckling saved him from having to respond.

"It's okay, really," Shani assured her, sounding more amused by the situation than offended. "Anyway, I'll hold off naming her—or him—until you get back and we can all decide on the name together."

"She didn't like any of my suggestions," Yennefer put in, sounding the slightest bit hurt, though clearly trying to hide it. "I thought the name 'Beau' would be delightful for a boy."

Geralt faltered. "Like the trader?" he asked.

Yennefer sighed. "The owner of the place where she met," she corrected, sounding miffed he should question her as well. "Stripped of all correlations beyond that, it's a lovely name. I thought it to be quite… nostalgic."

"It's a good name," Shani agreed, sounding a bit put on the spot. "Just… not what I'm looking for, I don't think."

Geralt hummed, remembering his conversation with Regis, but deciding now was not the time to bring it up – but even so, he could not help a bit of bewilderment at how hard it was to find a name that did not belong to someone some member of their party had slept with. "Gonna make it back in time, I promise," he told Shani, hoping to relieve her of some of his wife's misplaced enthusiasm. "Just one more task to go. Hang in there, Shani. Yen."

"Don't worry about us," Yennefer assured him, letting out a soft sigh at being turned down again. "I'll be taking care of Shani. She'll be fine until you arrive. Just don't do anything stupid while you're in Skellige—like compare more women to horses giving birth."

Geralt grinned at the scolding, embarrassed, but realizing there was no real hostility behind it. "Yeah," he agreed, letting out a gruff chuckle. "Hm. Love you too, Yen."