Chapter 1
"H-how did I—ngh!—How did I let you trick me into doing this?"
Geralt's tone was pained and weary, but there was no real anger in it.
"Come now, I haven't been able to trick you in a long time." Yennefer, currently fulfilling the role of big spoon, smiled and ran her fingers through a tangle of wild, white hair, inhaling deeply through her nose. "Mmmm…You need a bath."
Geralt groaned in response. "Not now. I don't feel like moving yet."
"You will when the pains get stronger."
"Hm." It wasn't exactly agreement or disagreement.
The witcher was heavy with child, though he did not look it. The babe was carried deep within, behind a thick wall of muscle, and Geralt was not a small man. His labor pains had begun in the early morning and remained slow and steady, that is, too slow and too steady, into the afternoon. He now lay on his side on the four-poster bed he and Yennefer had spent the last several hours in, waiting, rather impatiently now, for any signs of progress.
Yennefer nestled closer against Geralt's back, reaching her arm over and tucking it around the small, almost unnoticeable swell of his abdomen. She felt the softest thump through the thin fabric of his undershirt.
"It's still kicking, then," she commented.
"Hm," the witcher agreed. "And too low."
"I'll be the judge of that," Yennefer said with a tone of authority. She hoped it wasn't too obviously faked.
It had been ten months since Yennefer performed the risky spell that had resulted in Geralt's current condition. She had been almost sure it wouldn't work. Decades of failed spells and dangerous potions had left her with a reproductive system even more damaged than when she had started, and she had retained very little hope for a child of her own. Her initial idea for recruiting Geralt's help was not well-received. Geralt had laughed, checked her temperature, and sent her to bed to sleep off whatever potion, herb, or liquor had caused this hopefully temporary bout of insanity. But Yennefer had persisted, and less than a week later she had gathered all the necessary materials to implant one of her own eggs into an improvised womb within her undeniably male companion.
Even now, Yennefer could hardly believe the spell had worked. If not for the nausea that Geralt had suffered for nearly five months, the swollen feet he now complained about daily, and the solid kicks she could actually feel through the firm muscle of his belly, she still wouldn't have believed it.
"How are you feeling?" Yennefer asked, now gently massaging Geralt's lower back with her thumb.
Geralt did a one-shouldered shrug. "Hurts."
"Badly? I can mix some herbs for you—"
"No, not too badly," Geralt interjected quickly.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah." He shifted with a soft, pained grunt, reached behind his back, and interlocked his fingers with hers, squeezing gently.
Geralt had been careful to abstain from herbs, alchemical concoctions, and even most forms of alcohol for the past ten months, though he had allowed Yennefer to put him into a deep sleep one month previous so that she could "create the path for the child's descent," as she had put it. All this in the hope that the child would be safely born as perfectly ordinary as any other human child, that is, without any of the extraordinary nonsense that its parents had grown weary of in their extended lifetimes.
The witcher shifted uncomfortably again. "About that bath…" he ventured.
"Of course," Yennefer said, getting up immediately. She stepped over to the wide barrel in the corner, eyeing it with a frown. It wasn't much to work with. Seclusion was the best thing the small, abandoned cabin had to offer, but Yennefer had experience on her side. She had worked with humbler elements before with a respectable rate of success. It only took a wave of her hand and the barrel was full of water with puffs of steam rising from it.
"It's ready," she said, the tiniest hint of pride in her voice.
"Impressive," Geralt said, and Yennefer could not tell if he was being sarcastic or not. She chose to assume that was his usual sardonic tone shining through. She moved to help him undress, but he put a hand out.
"I'm fine," he muttered, pulling at his shirt. "I'm not entirely infirm." Yes, the sarcasm was certainly intact. He heaped his clothes in a pile next to the bed and stepped into the barrel, sighing audibly as he sank down into it. Yennefer smiled with satisfaction.
"Better, isn't it?"
"Hm." Geralt nodded, his eyes shut.
The door to the cabin suddenly slammed open and a strong gust of icy wind blew in, tossing their hair and sending a chill through the room. Yennefer rushed over to shut the door.
"What was that? Don't you have this place cloaked?" Geralt asked.
"I did—I do," Yennefer stammered, her heart suddenly racing with a strange feeling of dread. "No one should be able to see it from the outside—Geralt, behind you!"
Yennefer pointed to the cheval mirror beside the bath. The glass reflected the smirking face of an old man with a long white beard, one clawed, inhuman hand raised and waving maliciously. Geralt turned and jerked back on instinct, splashing some water over the edge of the bath. The image was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
Yennefer continued to stare in horror. "What in the fu—!"
"YENNEFER!" Geralt cut her off before she could finish the final word. Yennefer turned and gaped at him in consternation, her finger shakily pointing toward the now empty mirror.
"Did you not just see that fu—"
"I SAW IT!" Geralt shouted, again covering up the end of her sentence. "Listen to me Yen, this is extremely important: Do not speak again until I have explained what we are dealing with."
Yennefer opened her mouth, caught herself, and immediately clamped it shut again. She sat in a chair beside the bath and nodded briskly for him to continue.
Geralt nodded back, then winced, one hand gripping the edge of the bath.
"The creature you saw," he said, panting, "is called a bannick. They don't generally like to be seen, so now that he's made his presence known, he is not likely to reappear…They live in bathhouses or sometimes laundry rooms or anywhere with steam, and they have a tendency to steal infants born in their domain."
He paused, his grip on the bath's edge tightening as he suddenly curled in on himself, a soft groan escaping his lips. Finally, he exhaled audibly, his latest pain apparently dissipating. He looked back at Yennefer, who nodded again.
"This bannick must have recently lost his home, probably due to fire. The steam and my labor must have attracted him here. This is the closest alternative to his real home that he could find."
The witcher's tone was unmistakably sympathetic. Yennefer regarded him with a curious tilt of her head, her slightly raised brows inquiring, "And?"
"He'll only take on a physical form to attack us. The best way is to simply appease the creature, and he'll leave us alone. Keep the place clean, leave soap out for him, and above all, no cursing."
"Are-are you serious?" Yennefer asked, incredulous.
Geralt nodded gravely.
Yennefer burst out laughing.
"Are you telling me this bannick is a fu—ahem, I mean, an eff-ing prude?!"
"Of the most tedious variety," Geralt deadpanned.
Yennefer laughed again, louder this time.
"So wait, not a single curse or curse word?"
"I've been able to get away with 'darn' on all the others I've come across."
"'Darn,'" Yennefer said, as if tasting the word. "Like, 'Go darn your socks, my boy'?"
"It works in place of most curses."
Yennefer searched Geralt's face, suddenly wondering if this was an elaborate joke that he was playing on her. If so, he had gotten her good.
No, he's serious, she realized. He was in too much pain to waste energy on something as ridiculous as this if it wasn't important.
"Well, then, what will the 'darning' thing do if we screw up and lose his favor?" Yennefer asked.
Geralt dropped his head, pressing a frustrated hand to his brow.
"You're using the word wrong—never mind," he growled. "I'm not sure what this one will do, but bannick are known to scratch skin off, throw boiling water, and sometimes even strangle those who anger them."
Yennefer rolled her eyes. "So we have to deal with this creature's bull—" Geralt shook his head, eyes widening in panic. "—er, I mean, this creature's 'BS' rules until he leaves or we do?"
"That's pretty much it."
"Huh. I guess that's not so bad," Yennefer conceded.
Geralt shrugged. "Most townsfolk don't mind them. It encourages children to behave and not sneak around bathhouses alone."
"I'll be sure to be on my best behavior," Yennefer said, her voice taking on a mischievous quality as she leaned in, her lips now brushing Geralt's ear.
"Forgive me, Yen, I'm not in the best state talk pretty," Geralt whispered back. "On account of doing all your hard work for you."
"And I'm very grateful to you," Yennefer said, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. She reached for the pitcher on the nearby table and began washing Geralt's hair with her own liquid soap. Geralt sighed as she massaged it in, then murmured softly, "Is it not enough that I am birthing your child? Must you also cart away the remains of my masculinity with your lilac-scented soaps?"
"I have no choice. Left to your own devices, you would happily smell like onions until the end of time," Yennefer teased.
"And is that really so bad?" Geralt muttered back.
Yennefer rinsed his hair and began to softly comb through it. She paused when she saw the muscles of his shoulders and back suddenly tense up.
"I-It's all right. Don't stop," Geralt huffed. He curled deeper into himself and groaned.
"Shh, shh… Breathe," Yennefer murmured, gently working through a tangled lock of hair.
Geralt's panting seemed to even out over the course of the next minute. Then he suddenly took in a high-pitched breath.
"Y-Yen," he gasped, his voice strained.
"What is it?" she asked, willing a certain amount of calm into her tone.
"I felt something—" he seemed to fish for the word, "—give…inside me."
Yennefer nodded, still attempting to seem calm. "Your water probably broke. Good…um…good place to have it happen. Your contractions are probably going to worsen soon."
"Hm." Geralt seemed resigned to the inevitability. "Are you done? I think I want to get out. I, uh…I need to move."
"Sure, of course," Yennefer said, passing him a towel. Geralt stepped out of the bath and dried off before walking in a slow path around the edges of the room while Yennefer watched him nervously. He suddenly stopped next to the bed and grabbed one of the posts for support, his other hand wrapping around his waist as he doubled over with a sharp cry. Yennefer was at his side in an instant, her hands hovering, unsure if he wanted her touch or would reject it. The pain was clearly worse this time.
Geralt eventually straightened up, but his head remained down, his face hidden by his wet hair.
"I…I don't think I can do this," he muttered, bringing one hand to his face.
"What? Don't be ridiculous, of course you can do this!" Yennefer practically yelled. She had known it would be difficult, but she hadn't expected Geralt to give up this early. What could she possibly do for him now?
"Wha-?" Geralt looked back up at her, as if bewildered by her emphatic response. "Oh. No, I can handle the childbirth, I just meant there's no way I'm going to be able to do this without cursing. Where's my sword?"
"Y-Your sword?" Yennefer released a laugh that might have been a sob. "You're joking, right? You're in labor. And naked."
"Don't need clothes to swing a s—" He stopped short, clutching at his midsection and gasping in pain.
"See? You're in no condition to be killing anyth—"
"Just get me my fucking sword!" Geralt snarled.
The response was immediate. The water from the bath was instantly boiling, a large cloud of steam forming.
"Geralt! The bannick!"
"Fuck. Yeah, that definitely angered it. We, uh…We may be fucked."