Arm's Length

"Two weeks," Jaskier hollered as he paced around Geralt's room. "Two bloody weeks! I'm in Oxenfurt and I miss all the action!"

"Lower your voice," Geralt grumbled, glancing down at the sleeping baby in his arms. "And there's been no action."

"Right, no," Jaskier sassed. "Just a pack of ghouls. Not thrilling at all. And now you have a child."

"She's not my-"

"I swear, if you say she isn't yours one more time-"

"She isn't," Geralt said through gritted teeth.

"Silly me, of course not. You're her nursemaid."

Geralt rolled his eyes. "Hardly even that. By official title, I'm her protector."

"Asked by Princess Pavetta herself, no less." He sat down on a chair across from Geralt. "I bet the Queen is just loving this. Oh, please tell me there's actual smoke coming out of her ears."

"If only."

Jaskier chuckled and sat back a little. Then, he shifted in the chair. "Cushion-y," he commented. "Cozy room overall. Opulent. Not exactly…your style. No offense."

"I agree. But it's only for when I'm here. I'm not confined to it."

Jaskier crossed his arms and his legs. "So how will you juggle witchering and being her protector?"

Careful not to disturb Cirilla, Geralt leaned forward awkwardly to grab something from a drawer, and he handed it to Jaskier. The bronze device was round and fit in the palm of his hand.

"A xenovox, Mousesack calls it," Geralt explained. "He has one, too. He bought them off a mage and made some modifications. It'll work over fairly long distances, and we can talk with it, but he can only contact me. Not the other way around."

Jaskier raised a brow. "Bit rubbish in that way, isn't it?"

Geralt shrugged and put the device away. "Better than nothing, if I'm to do my job."

Jaskier flexed his jaw. "Why are you doing this? Months ago you were blatantly ignoring the Law of Surprise. And now here you are, damn near embracing it. Minus," he quickly said to avoid a pissed off Geralt. "claiming the child as yours, that is."

Geralt looked down at Cirilla again. Her face was tilted towards his chest, and her eyes were peacefully closed. She looked absolutely miniscule in his arms.

He looked back up at the bard. "Because something did pull me here. Don't know what it was exactly, but it did, all the same. And…I can't let anything happen to her. I don't know why, but I just can't."

Jaskier's eyes were wide. "Wow," he muttered. "I think…that is the first time you've ever admitted I was right about something."

He glared. "Fuck off."

"Alright, alright," Jaskier said quickly. Geralt was surprised when he got serious rather quickly. "Well. At least you seem to have found what was at the center of it all." Jaskier sat up straighter to get a closer look at the baby. "She seems alright. Healthy." He paused. "You're a part of her life now."

What Jaskier just said wasn't any great realization, or meant to put anything into perspective. It was just something he thought should be said aloud. He often put emphasis where it wasn't exactly needed, and Geralt so often had no choice but to listen. This was one of those rare times where Geralt truly didn't mind.

"And how you got here was truly extraordinary," Jaskier added with a growing grin. "Oh, the song I could write about that. Those ghouls. I'm certain I could write some sort of metaphor for how realization can come at you like a rabid necrophage. I can almost hear it now!"

Geralt rolled his eyes. "Write whatever you want. See if I care." He paused. "No songs about Cirilla, though. The less people that know about her and my affiliation towards her, the better."

"You know, I would say you've suddenly developed a hero complex, but let's face it, you've always had one." He looked at Cirilla again. "She's yours by law. Are you ever going to claim her?"

If Jaskier had only just met Geralt, he would've missed the split-second furrowing of the witcher's brows.

After a moment, Geralt said, "She has a mother, father, and grandparents. Family. I'm just her protector."

Cirilla wriggled a little in Geralt's arms to get more comfortable. Very seldom did she fuss in his presence. But when she did, he would unconsciously tighten his hold around her. One of her hands grasped his shirt tightly as she made a cooing noise in her sleep.

Jaskier noticed all of this, and exhaled. "If you say so, Geralt."

The xenovox worked well, though the device sounded more and more muffled the further he got from Cintra. In turn, he had to stay within a few days ride of the castle. This didn't infuriate Geralt as much as he thought it would. He could still come and go from the castle as he pleased, and take contracts in between.

Geralt made it a surprisingly effortless habit to stay within Cintra's borders. It helped that he often found work in the neighboring communities now. Perhaps Pavetta had put a good word in to the villages, or maybe the monster problem really was getting bad. Either or, Geralt was never short on coin, even when he wasn't working for Cirilla's family.

There was a downside to staying in one place for too long. It was easy to pin him down. This was a problem for an elusive witcher who wanted to maintain a reclusive reputation. Good thing Geralt was never too proud to care for such things. Although, the ribbing he was currently receiving from his brothers, he could've gone without.

Lambert guffawed, and accidentally spilled some ale onto the tavern floor. "Geralt of Rivia! A wet-nurse! Who'da fucking thought!"

"The Law of Surprise," Coen muttered. "Are you insane?"

"Evidently," Geralt said with his own mug up to his lips.

"Naw, I think it's sweet," Lambert smirked. "For me. 'Cause I'm taking bets on if you'll cut and run the moment that baby soils its swaddle."

Coen rolled his eyes. "Witchers don't run from anything. Even a child." He elbowed Geralt. "Least of all your child. You ain't like that Geralt. You ain't gonna run, even if you claim it isn't yours." He took another drink. "If anybody's qualified to protect a princess, it would be you."

"Hey, in all seriousness," Lambert said. "You are fucking insane. You actually want to be a part of that kid's life?"

Geralt struggled to find the right words that would sate his brothers' curiosity. "It's the Law of Surprise," he said instead. "How many people actually get a say in that?"

Truthfully, he was still grappling with the fact that he was going to be a part of Ciri's life, when there used to be a time where he was hell-bent on the opposite. He would at least do his best to keep her at arm's length, when he could. He had to. His life was dangerous. He only wanted to be her protector until she was older, until he was sure she could handle herself. Then, he would take his leave.

He almost laughed bitterly to himself. Perhaps Jaskier was right about that 'hero complex' thing. Coen was right, too. Protecting those that needed protecting was something he was good at.

Destiny, or whatever, didn't exactly give a damn about 'arm's length', though.

Whenever Geralt was called on to protect Cirilla, there were rules to his job position, rules of which he could dictate, but must be cleared by Pavetta. She had yet to disagree to any of it. When in his care, Geralt would only allow a select few individuals to also care for Cirilla. Her mother and father obviously. And Mousesack, Eist, Calanthe, and Mila the medic. No one else beyond that. And if there was a threat of monsters, Geralt would take complete charge of the situation.

On this particular night, monsters would not be a part of festivities. It was just another ball being held in the banquet hall. Eist's birthday. Or was it the Queen and King's anniversary? Geralt couldn't remember, and he couldn't be bothered to keep track of such things.

He and Cirilla kept to the edges of the room, keeping out of the way of the guests. He was currently leaning his back against a pillar, holding the baby to his chest. His hold involuntarily tightened when a drunken lord nearly crashed into him.

He rolled his eyes and looked down at her to ensure that she hadn't been jostled too terribly. He exhaled. "All this pomp and circumstance, eh Ciri. And for what? So they can all get sloshed and forget about its reason in the morning?"

She responded by grabbing hold of his medallion and trying to fit it in her mouth.

He raised a brow. "Is that something you can choke on?"

Mousesack came over to him with two mugs. "No, she should be fine," he assured. "It's too big for her to be a hazard right now."

Geralt refused the ale. "I don't drink on the job. Not unless there's a bard nattering in my ear."

Mousesack chuckled. "I'll pretend to know what that means. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"First real day as her protector."

Up until now, anytime spent with Ciri had mainly been for bonding purposes. Sure, he'd accompanied the royals around the castle and in the streets of their city, and he was always alert in those situations and took his job seriously. However, due to how young she was, there was rarely a situation where his job title was truly needed.

Though they were within the castle, this night was a little different. All of Cintra's royals would be preoccupied for the next several hours. Dancing, discussing politics, mingling with guests. Basically, all things that Geralt didn't care to be a part of. He was the only one who could have his undivided attention on Ciri.

"How're you holding up," Mousesack asked. "Do your arms need a break?"

Geralt resisted the urge to scowl at such a question. "She's hardly heavy. And I'm fine."

"Very well." He took a swig of his drink, and didn't seem to be in any hurry to rejoin the guests.

Geralt raised a brow. "Is there something you need?"

He nodded. "I wanted to thank you. For taking this seriously."

Geralt gave him an insulted look. "Why the hell wouldn't I?"

"Oh, I had faith in you," he said with a sure nod. "But you'd be surprised at how many people don't take this kingdom seriously. This is my family." He nudged Geralt with his elbow. "And you're part of that now. At least in Ciri's eyes."

This time, he did scowl. "Someone needs to stop giving you alcohol."

Mousesack only laughed at that.

They were interrupted by one of the guards approaching. "Sir witcher," he bowed slightly. "The Princess wishes to see you for a moment."

Geralt nodded once, instantly. The guard reached out to temporarily take the baby from him, but he brushed right on past. Ignoring the odd looks some of the party guests gave him, he stepped up towards the thrones until he was standing at Pavetta's side.

"Your Highness," he greeted her.

Pavetta, who was flushed from dancing the past hour, gestured for him to sit down in the chair next to her, to which he accepted. "How is she," she asked, tucking back some of Ciri's cloak to get a better look at her face. "Are the festivities overwhelming her, do you think?"

"Not at all," he assured. "As calm as ever."

"Only around you. She never stops fussing otherwise." She looked at him with that grin of hers that he never could quite decipher. "And what about you? Are you doing alright?"

He gave a long-suffering sigh and leaned back in the chair to get more comfortable. "People keep asking me that. I'm almost starting to get annoyed."

She laughed. "Well, if that's the case, I should probably take her off your hands for a while."

"I'm fine," he said, readjusting Ciri in his arms, as if to hold her impossibly closer. "No one else to talk to here, anyway." After a moment, he stood up and walked away. Without looking at Pavetta, he told her, "Stop smirking like that."

He heard Pavetta laughing again behind him.

And then he heard Calanthe say, "We ought to not get comfortable about this. He's only here because we pay him."

"Mother," she scolded sharply.

Geralt didn't react to any of that. Why should he when the rest of the world held him in the same regard? He lost count of how many years it'd be since he last tried to correct someone about his own morals. It just wasn't worth his energy. Speaking of which, he didn't think he would be expending energy tonight. It was just another feast, after all. Drunken brawls were to be expected, but nothing beyond that. And certainly none that would involve him, what with a baby to care for.

Only a few hours into the festivities, he was proven wrong.

"Oi, witcher!"

Geralt turned in the direction of the voice. The noble that stumbled towards him was short and scrawny. It took a moment, but Geralt recognized him. He had attended Pavetta's betrothal feast. If memory served, he was the shorter one from the manticore debate. Was that really almost a year ago?

"Evening," Geralt greeted curtly.

"Piss off," the noble replied.

He rolled his eyes. "Gladly. Nothing to do here anyway."

"'s not your baby," he slurred. "Witchers don't have babies. D'you steal the li'l runt?"

From a nearby table, having clearly had too much himself, Eist managed to momentarily sober. "Watch yourself, boy," he warned. "That's Princess Cirilla."

"D'you hear that, everyone," he hollered, causing most of the festivities to grind to a halt. "This witcher's stealing royal babies." He hiccupped. "How you think that's gonna work out?"

"Sit your arse down," Eist sighed in exasperation. "He's not stealing her. It's his job to protect her."

"A witcher protecting a baby," the noble spat. "What they gonna come up with next?"

Geralt smirked tightly. "A way to instantly make you sober? Of course, that would be doing us all a favor, and I don't think the universe is that kind."

This earned some chuckles from around the room, much to the noble's growing annoyance.

"Perhaps you ought to go home and sleep it off," Geralt suggested. Not wanting to waste more time on this nuisance, he turned around to go back to the edge of the room.

"Draw your sword."

This was another one of Geralt's rules, to keep one of his swords on him whenever he saw fit. It was up to him to decide when it was appropriate to use it. And he didn't take kindly to such a demand.

With only a slight exhale to signal his irritation, Geralt turned to face the noble again. "What?"

"You heard me," the noble demanded. "Making a fool out of me. I've a right to defend myself!" He took out a long dagger hidden in his tunic.

The guards immediately stepped forward, ordering him to drop the weapon. Geralt's eyes narrowed at the hand that shook around the hilt.

"I said draw your fucking sword!"

Geralt's eyes remained narrowed. He shifted Ciri to one arm, just in case, but he didn't take out his sword yet. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ciri dropping his medallion, and he felt her wide and curious eyes staring up at him.

Geralt sighed tiredly at the noble. "Put that thing down before you hurt yourself."

This was apparently the wrong answer.

The noble lunged forward. Geralt could've easily diffused this bullshit without needing a weapon himself, but he didn't want this drunk bastard, or the knife, anywhere near Ciri. With reflexes that no ordinary human could ever keep up with, Geralt drew his sword and flicked downward. The knife was flung from the noble's grip. It bounced off the tiled floor until lodging itself in the side of a wooden table.

Once divested of his weapon, two of the guards roughly seized him by the shoulders, to which he yelped loudly and indignantly. He kicked up a fuss as he was hauled out of the room.

Eist stood up. "Never a dull moment, eh! Let's not let that fool ruin the evening! Keep the beer pouring!"

Geralt sheathed his sword. Doing what he originally intended, he went to the other side of the room, and leaned his back against the wall. He shook his head slightly, irately. He thought he could've talked the noble down to avoid any conflict, but alas. And he should know better than to try and reason with drunken fools.

Still. Part of his job was not only stopping any kind of altercation, but also preventing it, which he failed to do.

He felt Ciri's hand thump clumsily against his chest. He looked down at her to see that she was still staring curiously at him. "I'll do better next time," he mumbled to her.

She grasped his medallion again, and went back to gnawing on it.

Even though the noble or the knife hadn't come anywhere near her, and even though she wouldn't respond back, he still had to ask. "Are you alright?"

Gums and all, she smiled up at him, none the wiser. She had started smiling not long after Pavetta employed him. Though someone mentioned that babies start doing that around a certain age, so it had nothing to do with him.

This time, alongside the smile, she made a noise. Geralt was still trying to decipher her way of speaking, but it didn't take long for him memorize all the sounds she could make. Until now. This one was new, and was more bubbly and shrill than her usual chatter. It made Geralt freeze.

She was laughing.

…She'd never done that before.

And it was in response to something that he had done.

Something caught in his throat, and there was a burning in his eyes. He cleared his throat harshly. "'m glad you're alright," he murmured.

She laughed again, very happily.

Metal entered his field of vision. Quick as a flash, his hand shot out to stop it from coming closer.

"Easy there," Eist chuckled. "Only me. Do you want this?" It was the knife that the noble had wielded against him. "We've got too many of these to make use of it."

Geralt shook his head. "Keep it. For when Ciri gets older. She might need it."

Eist patted his shoulder once. "I'd say she already has that covered. You handled that situation well."

His jaw clenched. "I shouldn't have allowed him to get that close."

Eist frowned confusedly. "How do you mean? He wasn't anywhere near you. Or Ciri." He looked in the direction of his family. "You've impressed us."

Geralt snorted. "I'm blushing."

Eist chuckled again. "Speaking of which, the Queen and Princess are discussing what to do with that idiot. They want your input."

Geralt shrugged. "Send the lad home. He's clearly of no use to us in his state."

"Hear, hear," he agreed, taking a long swig of ale.

A question came to mind. "Why ask my opinion?"

Eist looked at him as if it were obvious. "Cirilla's safety was called into question just then. And it's part of your job to help make these kinds of decision."

Ah. Well, that made sense. Geralt just assumed it would be out of his hands once the guards took over.

Eist patted his shoulder again in silent thanks, and walked away.

In his arms, Ciri gave a yawn, and burrowed her face into his chest.

Geralt didn't let her go once that evening. Not until it was her bedtime, and even then he was hesitant. He absolutely detested the thought of her being out of his sight. But at the end of the day, Ciri wasn't his. And he had to respect that. Plus, he was still a witcher, and still had monster contracts to attend to, beyond the castle.

Keeping the child at arm's length, to be as uninvolved in her life as possible, was doomed to fail. Geralt had known that for many weeks now.