The Family Ring
Summary: AU-Where Illyana Zerbst is the great-grandmother of Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz or where Vesemir and Illyana shared more than moments before the Sacking of Kaer Morhen but moments across her lifetime.
Inspired by venividivictorious on Tumblr.
Link to the post that inspired this story: venividivictorious/710189598488297472/so-in-notw-illyana-had-three-daughters-with-lord?source=share.
Despite her initial worries, she found herself settling in well at Kaer Morhen during the harsh winter storm. Snow and ice had blanketed the ground, making it impossible for her to venture down the mountain or find alternative lodgings. As she hunkered down for the season, she was surprised to find a bard in her midst. He seemed to be following her around, and despite not having encountered a bard like him in a long time, she couldn't shake him off. It was clear that he was well-suited and at ease among the upper echelons of society, a lifestyle she had left behind long ago.
"Bard, I heard a rumor. That you might be some little lordling or something." She heard Lambert call out, "Is that true?"
Jaskier smirked, "It seems that I've been found out. But honestly, why are you so interested? Considering my life, I'm pretty sure I've been disinherited by now."
The bard had appeared with Geralt and Ciri just after the weather began to turn. It appeared that many a Witcher came this winter to Kaer Morhen. From what she had gathered, Witchers took turns "hosting" one another. This year, it had been the wolves' turn, and as it stood, most Witchers from the other school appeared. Based on her calculations, there are approximately 250 Witchers in the wolves' hall, all currently eating their dinner with varying degrees of delight. The atmosphere was warm and cozy; she could see why Geralt and the others wintered here.
Triss Merigold was sitting beside her, drinking the last of her ale. Her friend Triss invited her to keep her company during the lonely winter months at the Witcher Kept and to help Ciri with her magic.
Ciri, the child surprised herself, was sitting not so far away from Yennifer, nearly new, two seats away. From what sheet overheard, she got a friend with some of the Witchers from the school fashioned after bears. They were entertaining her with tales of their exploits and adventures.
"Come now. I'm sure there is some lovely gossip he would love to spill." Yennefer replied.
Jaskier appeared pensive as he drummed his fingers upon his lips and then smiled. "Well, there is the family lore."
"Family Lore?" ask Geralt, looking inquisitive.
"Well, most families have family lore or at least a story they could pass down from generation to generation. In my family, it is very well-known that my great-grandmother Illyana just happened to tame a Witcher. Although there's also a little bit of a scandal surrounding the birth of her last child, concerning that Witcher as well."
Jaskier pauses. The rest of the Witchers in the hall slowly begin listening in on their conversation.
"Well…bard spit it out." Yennifer becomes exasperated, slamming her drink against the table.
"When I was a young boy Julian, back then – I spent time in disgrace at Great-Grandmama's Lakehouse more than my better-behaved siblings, where I happened upon a Witcher, or at least I think did. I can't remember his name, but he came to the house once or twice. He was strong, strong, golden-eyed, and intimidating. And he looked young enough to be her grandson. No older than my father at the time." Jaskier sipped his drink. "He was quite startlingly handsome with broad shoulders and toned arms."
He smiled at the memories.
"Great-grandmother told us she grew up with him, but I didn't believe it then. He seems so young. Although I found out later that he did visit before a couple of times when she was younger, that is how the rumor started."
Yennifer could see Vesemir flinch as Jaskier continued his tale. He sat at the end of the long table with some older Witchers listening in. The hall her a couple of times before to shift as a warm, cozy atmosphere faded into silent calm.
"Anyways, I remember this one incident when her Witcher swept her off her feet to lift her into her carriage as though she weighed nothing at all, as she giggled like a schoolgirl. Great-grandmother seemed very happy despite their age gap. It was just hard to imagine. I remember my great-grandmother being a twinkly-eyed, wizened raisin of a woman who walked with a cane."
Jaskier smiled at the memory.
Triss cut in, "You said there was a rumor."
Jaskier grimaced in agreement, "I did. From what I understand, when my grandmother gave birth to her youngest daughter, there was a rumor circulating that the daughter wasn't necessarily my great-grandfather's. They thought this because of my grandmother's eyes. From the way I heard it, the assistant to the midwife, after the child had been born, had noticed that the child had golden eyes, not brown. Although when the child was checked again later in the week, it was found to be merely a trick of the light, and the assistant was dismissed quite quickly after that."
He stated quickly, trying to brush off the idea as if it offended him. There was only silence in the hall.
"And then there was this one incident while my great-grandmother was entertaining my more well-behaved siblings that I found all the letters she kept in her bedside drawer, tied up with a blue silk ribbon. And, of course, being the boy was, I had to steal and read them. But I believe she found me snooping amongst her things before I could read the letters."
"And, of course, there were the stories." Yennifer noticed how the room paused, waiting for the next breath. "She used to go on and on about brave and heroic monster hunters protecting the innocent from a grisly fate," Jaskier said with a smile.
"But about the rumor?" Triss asked.
Jaskier seemed puzzled by the question. He seemed a bit conflicted, almost like he didn't want to answer the question.
"I mean, they had to be more than just an assistant, seeing for a moment, a child with golden eyes for her to suspect such a thing," Triss replied.
Jaskier nodded in understanding, "From what my father's told me, my great-grandmother was fond of her Witcher. From what I've been told, Witcher used to visit her throughout her lifetime, once between the birth of her first and second child and once just before the pregnancy of her third child. The rumor goes that she and her Witcher cuddle up one evening when Lord Zerbst was away. Based on general calculations, the child would've been two months too early however, according to the midwife, the girl was born fully grown, hence, the rumor. But everyone knows that Witchers can't father children. Hence, the reason the assistant was dismissed. She insulted the lady of the house by her comment."
She saw Vesemir inspect the Bard closer than before from where he sat. He seemed to be dissecting the Bard.
"During our conversations, she used to narrate stories about two young witches who united against Manticore. To enhance her storytelling, she even hired an artist to create books containing depictions of monsters and Witchers. Additionally, she shared an incident about a fierce battle that took place at a concealed Witcher fortress, far away from Lettenhove. It was a treacherous encounter that nearly claimed the life of her Witcher and herself, had he not sent her away beforehand. Another story she told was about her Witcher and the elf king, who were searching for a mutated Elven child, if I remember correctly."
Jaskier looks down at his right pinky finger, adorned with a ring, fondly. The ring was gold, with an engraved design of half flowers and suns.
"Great-grandmother even gave me this ring. Supposedly it is chanted for good luck." He stated as he looked at the ring. "From what she told me, it's part of the gift her Witcher gave it to her. From what I understand, he gave her a set of earrings, a bracelet, and a single ring. All of them were enchanted, with good luck. Or was it good health? I can't remember."
The air seemed still as he finished.
"Is your grandmother still alive?" Yennifer asked.
"Well, I hope so. Because the letter I sent her just this evening will not be able to reach its intended target." Jaskier retorted with a smile.
"How old is your grandmother?" Triss asked.
"Why?" Jaskier replied.
Triss shrugged her shoulders, "Call it curiosity."
"Well, if you must know, our family celebrated her centennial birthday about a decade ago, which would make her about 110 these days," Jaskier answered.
Jaskier turned towards Geralt, who was stunned into silence, "I was thinking of bringing you there, of course. That was before the whole dragon hunt mountain unpleasantness." Jaskier said as he jester towards Geralt.
"Did I also tell you I'm like 3rd or 4th in line for the Kaedwen throne?" Jaskier continued. Yennifer tried to show her surprise, but she brushed her thoughts aside as Jaskier continued. "All thought if I'm disinherited, then I might have need removed from the line of succession."
"Jaskier, don't you find it a little bit odd that your grandmother is still alive?" Yennifer asked. She couldn't believe that the Bard was this daft.
"No, not really. My Great-grandmother lived until she was 102, and my great-great-grandmother lived until she was 105."
"Would you perhaps know if you have any Elven blood in your family?" Triss inquired.
"Maybe, but I can tell you that about 4 to 5 generations ago, most people in my family started to live quite long lives," Jaskier pondered, "there was something my grandmother said about longevity that wasn't necessarily related to Elven blood, but something does something else entirely."
Yennifer could feel her eyes squint at the response.
"Can I see the ring again? It looks quite intriguing." Yennifer asked. Jaskier threw Yennifer a questioning look as Yennifer held out her hand.
"Fine." Jaskier placed his hand in hers.
Yennifer brought the ring closer to her vision, examining its lovingly worn appearance. Upon further inspection, she noticed that the metal seemed peculiarly smooth and perfect. As she ran her thumb over the intricate design, she suddenly felt a spark and hastily released her grasp.
"Shit." She felt magic, incredibly powerful magic.
Yennifer went for Jaskier's hand again, tugging his hand even closer.
"Hey." he said, feeling his strength in the pull, "you don't have to rip my arm out of its socket."
"Shut up, Bard." She snapped.
Jaskier rolled his eyes.
"What are you?" she asked out loud. Yennifer was fascinated by the ring. It was such a small thing, but it contained so much power.
She then decided that she needed to study it until she found all its secrets. In one swift move, she pulled the ring off Jaskier. She quickly stood up, wanting a better look at the ring in the Mage's Tower.
"Give it back, witch," Jaskier growled, following suit, standing at the table. The air grew heavy.
Yennifer smirked, "Make me."
"Give it back…"Jaskier's plea echoed through the room, but before he could finish, he doubled over in pain, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the table.
Yennifer, Triss, and the others quickly retreated from the table, clutching their drinks tightly.
For a moment, Yennifer caught a glimpse of Jaskier's eyes flickering from gold to blue, before they rolled back into his head, turning white. His body became rigid, shaking and contorting. Yennifer could only describe it as a fit.
"Jaskier!" Geralt shouted in shock and horror, catching Jaskier before he hit the hard stone floor.
"Jaskier," he called out again, gently laying him down on the cold ground.
Yennifer peered over the table, her heart sinking as she saw Jaskier's pale face, his neck, face, and hands covered in dark veins.
"Vesemir," Geralt called out urgently. Yennifer watched as the seasoned Witcher approached, assessing the seizing bard.
"This can't be," she heard Vesemir murmur. He moved closer to Jaskier, carefully opening his shirt to reveal even more black veins spreading across his chest, as Jaskier curled up in pain.
"Vesemir?" Geralt looked to his mentor for answers.
"It appears to be..." Lambert interjected from behind Geralt. "It appears to be a grassing."
Geralt and Vesemir attempted to lift Jaskier from the ground, but he cried out in agony. Geralt's keen eyes caught a glimpse of Jaskier's briefly opened eyes, a mesmerizing shade of golden yellow.
She let him in just after dusk.
Her maids were dismissed early today due to the incoming inclement weather. According to the magician's prediction, it would snow heavily that night. So, she came down the stairs and let him in herself.
Illyana had performed this act countless times, welcoming him inside when the weather was harsh, and the Lord of the House was absent on business. He was often away with a dear companion, and she couldn't fault him for it; he had fulfilled his responsibilities and had fathered not just one, but two children - two daughters. As she swung open the door, a biting gust of wind swept through, causing her to glance back cautiously, mindful of the icy ground and the snowflakes descending from the sky. And there, standing before her, was her enchanting Witcher, Vesemir.
His brown hair glistened under the moonlight, contrasting against the dark night. His piercing yellow eyes held a hint of weariness, a testament to the countless battles he had fought and the monsters he had slain. Yet, despite the hardships he had endured, there was a sense of strength and resilience that emanated from him, captivating her every time they met.
Vesemir's rugged appearance was complemented by his worn leather armor, adorned with intricate engravings and scars from past encounters. The scent of potions and herbs clung to him, a reminder of his alchemical expertise and the elixirs that enhanced his abilities. His presence exuded a sense of danger and mystery, drawing her closer to the world of monsters and magic that he inhabited.
As their eyes met, a spark of recognition and longing ignited between them. They had shared countless adventures, their paths intertwining in the most unexpected of ways. She had witnessed his bravery and skill, his unwavering dedication to his duty as a Witcher. And in return, he had seen her kindness and compassion, her unwavering support in his darkest moments.
With a gentle smile, Vesemir stepped inside, shaking off the snow from his cloak. The warmth of the hearth embraced them, casting a soft glow on their faces. They stood in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. It was a familiar ritual, this dance they performed whenever he returned from his travels.
She reached out, her hand finding its place in his, their fingers intertwining effortlessly. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes of the unspoken connection they shared. In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and they were enveloped in a cocoon of their own making.
As the fire crackled and the wind howled outside, they found solace in each other's presence.
With a smile, he complimented her, "You are absolutely stunning, my dear." Despite not feeling beautiful, she prepared herself for bed. Her blonde hair was elegantly tied up in a protective style, and she wore an oversized nightgown, feeling cozy and comfortable. Illyana couldn't help but smile and blush at his words, as she warmly embraced him, inviting him back into her home.
Vesemir stood at the doorway of the witch's tower, his eyes fixed on Yennifer who was tending to the bard. The bard was lying on a makeshift bed in the center of the room, his body wracked with fever and shivering uncontrollably. His face had turned a sickly shade of gray, and his breaths came in shallow gasps. Yennifer was moving quickly and methodically, taking samples of his blood and mixing potions in a nearby cauldron. Vesemir could see the beads of sweat on her forehead as she worked, her face etched with concentration. He couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding - the bard's condition seemed grave, and he wondered if Yennifer's efforts would be enough to save him.
Geralt stood at a distance, refusing to abandon the bard in his current state. He observed the witches work with Vesemir, being cautious not to impede their efforts.
Geralt's eyes fixated on the bard, his mind racing through every possible hint that could indicate Jaskier's true nature, something far beyond that of a mere bard. Yet, try as he might, Geralt couldn't recall a single thing. Jaskier bled like any ordinary man, slept like any ordinary man, and possessed the same cravings for delicious food and pleasures as any ordinary man.
The memories of his own time as a student under Vesemir's guidance resurfaced, bringing back the excruciating pain of the Trials and his subsequent transformation.
As Geralt watched the bard convulse and groan, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease and apprehension for his friend's well-being. Geralt had refused to leave the bard in this state. Stand off the side, careful not to get in the witches' way, he watched with Vesemir. He searched his mind for hints that Jaskier was more than a bard, any more than just human.
He reminisced about his days as a young student, being trained by Vesemir to become a Witcher and learning the art of combat and survival. The memories of the grueling Trials and his own transformation haunted him. As he observed the bard trembling and groaning in pain, worry-filled his heart.
Taking a momentary break, the witch wiped the blood off her hand with a cloth. He couldn't help but ask her, "Will he be alright?"
Yennifer let out a sigh, her expression filled with uncertainty. "I can't say for certain. But what I do know is that this ring," she held out the Jaskier ring, "is no ordinary enchanted ring."
Geralt's face contorted with frustration. "Yennifer," he growled.
"What?!" Yennifer exclaimed. "The last time a Witcher was created was over a century ago. I have no knowledge of what signs to look for, whether the process is failing or succeeding."
A throbbing headache began to creep upon Geralt as he absorbed her response. "Will he make it through the night?" he inquired.
Yennifer glanced at the bard, still being cared for by the elder Witcher and the other witch. "I don't know," she replied honestly.
"My lady!" A servant exclaimed as they hurriedly ran. "My lady?!" Cynthia, the servant, sprinted towards her lady's room, which was situated at the highest point of the manor. She passed a few other maids cleaning in the hallway, receiving peculiar glances as she rushed by.
Stopping just outside the door, Cynthia raised her hand to knock and gasped for breath. The wooden door swung open.
"Yes?" her lady inquired, stepping back to allow her servant to enter.
Taking a moment to catch her breath, Cynthia replied, "One of the portraits in the office has changed." She followed her mistress into the room.
The lady closed the door, ensuring their conversation remained private. "It does that," she responded with a hint of annoyance.
"No, my lady. The portraits of the family tree have changed," Cynthia reiterated. Her lady sat at the vanity, applying different shades of blush to her arm to decide which one to wear for the day.
"Yes, they change every few years. It's enchanted to keep track of the entire family. Has someone turned dark?" her lady inquired.
"No," Cynthia answered. "But one has turned golden."
Her lady glanced at Cynthia through the mirror. "Golden, you say."
"Yes, my lady."
Turning around in her seat to face the servant, her lady asked with curiosity, "Which portrait, Cynthia?"
Cynthia cleared her throat. "Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz, my lady."
A smile formed on her lady's face. "Tell the footman to prepare the horses. It seems I must pay a visit to my great-grandson Julian."
END.