Frozen - Or: Laughter is the best medicine
Ciri wakes up from a nightmare. Luckily, Geralt is already there. And he has the best cure for this haunting, bad dream.
For the Merry Whumpmas prompt 22 "Nightmare" and the Witcher Yuletide Calendar Door 22 "Ice Skating"
"Ciri, wake up!" Geralt shakes her lightly by the shoulder. The girl's green eyes fly open and she sits up with a start.
"Shh, it's alright. I heard you whimper in your sleep. Was it a nightmare?"
Ciri nods. A nightmare she does not really want to talk about. It is great that Geralt is here with her after the terrible dream, but fuck this sharp witcher sense of hearing. Now he will not let it go before he has found out what was troubling her.
"The Wild Hunt again?"
It would be easy for her to lie and pretend it was indeed Eredin with his skeleton riders, but, unfortunately, Geralt has the uncanny ability to always know when she is not telling the truth. And then he looks at her with this expression of disappointment and hurt that Ciri simply cannot stomach, especially not after this particular nightmare. It makes her feel bad enough already without the added guilty feelings from lying to her dad.
Ciri shakes her head.
"What then? Not the black knight?"
"No, I haven't been afraid of him in ages," Ciri says, astonished at the question. "And why would I? Cahir never wanted to hurt me, not like— those others."
"Those others? Then it was about Bonhart and his men? Or Vilgefortz?"
Ciri nods, shivering from the memory of the dream. And of what really happened. Geralt wraps his arm around her. She leans her head against his shoulder, avoiding to look him in the eye.
"I never really told you what happened on the lake at the foot of Tor Zireael, did I? With Rience and his cronies? On the ice?"
"Tarn Mira? No, you did not, Ciri. But I know."
"What?" Ciri's emerald eyes grow wide. "How? How can you know about that?"
"Cahir. He saw it in a dream while we were in Toussaint. He told me. But, alas, his dreams were never clear enough to locate you."
"Then you know that I cut Rience's fingers off with my ice skates? That they all drowned or froze to death because of me?"
"Yes, I know. I've known for months. And I don't love you one tad less because of it."
"But, Geralt, I did it in cold blood, like a killer, a monster!"
"It does not matter, honey. You did what you had to do. And you know what would have happened to you if you had not. Killing them was the lesser evil." Geralt pauses for a moment. "Have I ever told you about how I killed Renfri?" he then asks. "I am not proud of it. And I still have nightmares once in a while with Renfri accusing me, cursing me, rivers of blood spouting from the wound I inflicted on her. It feels really shitty, believe me. But regretting it won't bring her back, and I doubt that bringing her back would be a good idea. With Rience it's even a lot easier, because who would want to bring that creep back? It would be a most horrible idea, right?"
"Mmh." Ciri cuddles up closer to Geralt. What he says sounds reasonable. She has already told herself the same things, repeatedly. But when Rience and his men rise from the icy water of the lake, half a dozen frozen zombies that reach for her and want to grab her, drag her under, it does not help much. Their dead eyes burn into her, making her shiver and shake all over.
"Admit it, you enjoyed killing us!" they say, their dead voices reverberating in her head. "You're as cold-hearted as we, Cirilla of Cintra. You're no better than we. You're a monster, too, precious princess. And you deserve to die like we did!"
When she wakes up, she feels like she does deserve that. As if the cold water has frozen her heart.
"Don't listen to the voices, Ciri. They'll haunt you for a while, yes, but it will happen less frequently and less intensely, I promise. They'll fade with time. And I think I know something that will make them vanish even faster."
"Really?" Ciri looks at Geralt doubtfully.
"Yes, really. We'll replace bad memories with good ones, starting tomorrow. Now try to get more sleep. I'll stay here with you."
"Love you, dad." Ciri gives Geralt a peck on the cheek. Then he tucks her in. It does not take long and her regular breathing and slowing heartbeat tell the Witcher that his daughter is deeply asleep again. It would probably not be strictly necessary to watch over her for the rest of the night while she is doing so, but he promised. So, Geralt tries to make himself as comfortable as possible in the old armchair that is standing by the end of Ciri's bed. It will soon be morning anyway.
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"Ah, this was a lovely idea, Geralt. We should do that more often," Yennefer says, only slightly ironically, while sitting on her butt on the frozen lake, a giggling Ciri right next to her.
"You just need a little more practise, Yen, and I'm sure Ciri is very willing to give you that." Geralt winks at his daughter. She nods vigorously. It is a beautiful day, the air crisp, the December sun glittering on the snow-decked fir and pine trees around the little mountain lake not far from Kaer Morhen, and the ice is thick and perfectly smooth. She scrambles to her feet and, together with Geralt, helps Yennefer up. Ice skating is one of the few things she is a lot better at than her mother and Ciri enjoys it to the fullest that, for once, the roles of teacher and pupil are reversed. Yennefer does not seem to mind. Laughing and holding Ciri's hand, she tries her luck on the ice once again.
Geralt watches his beautiful wife and daughter as they skate around the lake in a slow circle. They almost make it. Yet, a few metres before the circle is complete, Yennefer overbalances and they tumble down in a giggling heap of black and ash-blond hair and purple and green cloaks.
"So close," Geralt says, reaching out his hand to help them up. Ciri and Yennefer exchange a quick look. Then they both grab the Witcher's hand and pull. Surprised, Geralt slips on the ice and lands on his butt next to the laughing women.
"Now I want to see you ice skate, and don't chicken out, Witcher!" Yennefer says. And before Geralt can protest that he has no skates, she has conjured up a pair of black ones in the perfect size.
"Alright," he mumbles and puts them on. Funnily enough, they have never done any ice skating when he was a boy at Kaer Morhen, and later, after the trial of the grasses, as a Witcher, why would he have? But now, with a daughter and wife, things have obviously changed.
It feels very strange to stand on skates for the first time. As a Witcher, he should not have any problems with his balance, yet, when Geralt takes the first tentative steps forward, it turns out it is far from as easy as he thought. It does not take long and he finds himself on his butt again. Ciri and Yennefer explode with laughter. But soon, he gets the hang of it. And it is fun! Taking the still somewhat wobbly Yennefer in the middle, they skate several rounds without falling. Then, Yen needs a break and Ciri and Geralt race each other around the lake. Ciri is still a lot faster, but Geralt is getting better quickly. Breathless after many rounds at high speed, they join Yennefer for a picnic on the ice. Magically, she has lit a fire and a nice mug of hot cocoa is already waiting for each of them. There is a basket full of freshly baked cinnamon rolls to go with the cocoa, and later, after some more ice skating, they roast sweet chestnuts in the fire.
It is a wonderful family day out on the ice, just the first one of many more to follow.
And whenever Ciri dreams of Tarn Mira, she remembers the fun on the ice she has been having with Geralt and Yennefer. Immediately, the huge lake of her nightmares shrinks into a much smaller one, and the screams of pain and fear transform into laughter and giggles. Gone are the icy spectres of the past, the blood and gore and guilt, and all that is left is family and love.