Disclaimer:

This work is a fan fiction inspired by The Witcher universe, originally created by Andrzej Sapkowski and expanded by CD Projekt Red. All characters, settings, and concepts are used in a transformative and creative manner. This story is not affiliated with or endorsed by the original creators.

Genre: Romance and Tragedy

Alternate Universe Summary:

Cirilla (Ciri) accepts her destiny and becomes Empress of Nilfgaard after the events of Wild Hunt, ruling alongside Emperor Emhyr var Emreis. Geralt of Rivia, after the Blood and Wine expansion, chooses to settle in Corvo Bianco as a count and, during the events of Hearts of Stone, wishes for his fertility back from Gaunter O'Dimm during his dealings with Olgierd von Everec.

In the North, Dijkstra rises to power as the ruler of Redania. However, Geralt, refusing to align with his schemes, helps Vernon Roche and Ves escape from Novigrad, foiling Dijkstra's attempt to assassinate them. This act strains Geralt's relationship with Dijkstra but ensures the survival of Temeria under Roche's leadership.

The stage is set for political upheaval, with Nilfgaard under Emhyr's rule and Redania seeking dominance under Dijkstra's cunning ambition, as Geralt finds himself entangled in the tides of history once again.

"O flame unbound, child of ash and woe, bearer of fire that none shall know.

Serpent's eye and lion's pride, her path shall burn, none may abide.

Through shadowed halls and realms untold, her ember flickers, fierce and bold.

A maiden of ruin, a pyre of strife, the world shall quake at her breath of life."

Prologue:

The soft crunch of boots on gravel pulled Vivienne from her thoughts. She turned to see Geralt approaching, his silver hair catching the moonlight. He wore his usual practical attire, a contrast to the finery of the festival, yet somehow, he always carried himself with an air of understated nobility.

"Couldn't stand the noise?" he asked with a low voice.

"Not tonight. The stars seemed more appealing than the chatter." Vivienne offered a small smile.

Geralt nodded and took a seat beside her on the bench, leaving a respectful distance between them. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence filled by the soothing ambiance of the garden.

"You've been quiet lately," Geralt said finally with soft voice.

Vivienne hesitated. There was a warmth in Geralt's presence, an unspoken understanding that made it easy to be honest, yet she feared his answer to the question that had been weighing on her heart.

"I've been thinking," she admitted softly, tracing the embroidery of her gown with her fingers. "About what comes next."

"Next?"

Vivienne turned to face him despite the nervous flutter in her chest. "You know what I mean, Geralt. My time is short—seven years, less now. I've spent so much of my life hiding. But since you freed me, I've… I've felt alive in a way I never thought possible. And yet, I find myself wondering if I can face what's ahead alone."

"If I could… I… I want to share whatever time I have left with someone I'm deeply in love with," she pressed on.

"So, who do you have in mind?" Geralt replied.

"You, Geralt," she said plainly. "The man who broke my curse, who acts without expectation of gratitude or reward. The one who doesn't try to charm with empty words but still leaves me wondering how I could ever look at anyone else the same way."

Geralt opened his mouth as if to respond, but no words came out. He blinked, her confession replaying in his mind like an echo he couldn't silence. Of all the things she could have said, this was the last he expected. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his gaze fixed on the fountain as though it held the answers he couldn't find.

"I…" He paused, exhaling sharply. "You're asking for something I don't know if I can give, Vivienne."

"I know what kind of life you lead, Geralt—or rather, the life you've led. I know it hasn't been easy, and I'm not expecting it to be. But I also know that life is fleeting—for all of us, not just me. Would it be so terrible to share that time together?" Vivienne said gently.

Geralt sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about you, Vivienne. It's me. I've spent so long alone, keeping people at arm's length because it's safer that way—for them and for me. You've seen what follows me: danger, loss, pain. And I don't want to bring that into your life, especially when…"

He trailed off.

"I know what follows you, Geralt. I know the risks. But life isn't meant to be lived in fear of what might happen. If anything, you've taught me that. Can't we face this together, whatever it may bring?" Vivienne placed a hand on his arm.

Geralt turned to her then, his gaze searching hers for a long moment. In her golden eyes, he saw no fear, no hesitation—only hope and a quiet strength that mirrored his own.

"Vivienne, you deserve more than someone like me—more than a witcher who's spent his life chasing monsters, even if he does happen to own a vineyard now."

She smiled faintly at that. "What I deserve, Geralt, is to choose my own path. And I've chosen you—not because I need stability or a perfect life, but because I see the good in you, even when you don't see it yourself."

For so long, Geralt had believed himself incapable of love, unworthy of trust or devotion. His past with Yennefer had always been a tangle of passion and doubt, shadowed by the question of whether their feelings were truly their own or the work of the djinn's magic. And yet, here was Vivienne, willing to risk her precious, limited years just for the chance to be with him. Her love seemed genuine, untouched by spells or fate, leaving Geralt to wonder if he had finally found something real.

He reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray strand of golden hair from her face. "You're braver than most people I've met," he said, his voice tinged with admiration. "And you're right. Maybe it's time I stopped running from it."

Vivienne's breath caught as she searched his face, her heart swelling with cautious hope. "Does that mean…?"

"It means I'm not saying no."

A laugh bubbled from Vivienne's lips, light and genuine, and for the first time in days, the tension in her chest eased. She placed her hand over his, her touch lingering.

"That's all I needed to hear," she said softly.

The night seemed to hold its breath as they sat together under the stars, the world around them fading into silence. Geralt allowed himself a rare moment of peace, letting the warmth of her presence ease the walls around his heart. For the first time in years, he wondered if there was a place for him in this fleeting, fragile life—and if that place might be beside Vivienne.

As dawn broke, the soft morning sun bathed the vineyards of Corvo Bianco in golden light. Flowers blossomed in every corner, their vibrant colors swaying in the gentle breeze. Birds filled the air with sweet melodies, blending with the hum of preparations for the day's grand event. The estate, once a quiet refuge for Geralt, now thrummed with life as the final touches for the wedding of Count Geralt of Corvo Bianco and Vivienne de Tabris were set into place.

Inside the manor, Geralt stood by the window of his chamber, adjusting the cuffs of his black doublet. The outfit, adorned with subtle silver embroidery that echoed his witcher medallion, was a perfect blend of his identity—regal yet understated. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"A count, a husband… Who would've thought?"

"Aye, not me, that's for damn sure! The Butcher of Blaviken settling down in a vineyard? Next thing you know, Dandelion will swear off wine and women!" Zoltan's gruff voice cut through the quiet.

"That'll be the day," Geralt muttered with a smirk as Zoltan's hearty laugh filled the room.

"I resent that remark, Zoltan. I'm a man of refined taste and boundless charm, not some simple hedonist." Dandelion entered in a flamboyant lavender doublet with golden accents, flourishing a bow.

"You're late." Geralt raised an eyebrow.

"Fashionably so," Dandelion quipped, straightening his attire. "But rest assured, my friend, I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Zoltan crossed his arms, grinning. "Heard the Empress herself is gracing us with her presence. Big day for Toussaint."

"She's been so busy with her duties, I wasn't sure she'd come." Geralt murmured.

"Of course, she would!" Dandelion replied confidently. "If there's anyone who knows the value of family, it's Ciri."

The word "family" stayed with Geralt as they walked outside to join the gathering. For years, his life had been solitary, his purpose shaped by circumstance. Now, on the verge of something new, he wondered if this was the peace he had been searching for all along.

The ceremony unfolded under an arch of white roses and lavender, overlooking the vineyards. Vivienne stood beneath it in a shimmering gold gown, her hair adorned with oriole feathers—a quiet nod to her past and the freedom she now embraced.

Geralt's heart raced. Vivienne's golden eyes met his, filled with a love so pure it left him breathless. This wasn't magic or illusion—it was real, something they had earned.

Among the guests stood Ciri, radiant in her Empress attire. Yennefer's absence, though noted, brought Geralt a sense of relief. Around them, Toussaint's knights maintained their watch, a subtle reminder of the union's significance.

As the vows began, Geralt spoke with quiet conviction. "Vivienne, you've shown me that even a man like me—a witcher—can have a place in this world beyond the path. You've given me hope, and for that, I give you all that I am."

Vivienne's voice trembled with emotion as she replied, "Geralt, you've given me more than freedom. You've given me love, and with it, the courage to face whatever lies ahead. I vow to cherish you and stand by your side, no matter what comes."

When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, cheers erupted from the guests. Dandelion's lute struck up a lively tune, and Zoltan bellowed a hearty toast. But Geralt saw only Vivienne as he leaned in, their kiss sealing the promise of the life they would face together.

In the months that followed, Corvo Bianco's vineyards flourished alongside their new life. Geralt balanced the routines of a witcher with the duties of a count, occasionally taking contracts to aid those in need. Yet he always returned to Vivienne, whose warmth and laughter made the world's chaos fade.

One evening, as they dined on the balcony overlooking the vineyard, Vivienne's hand lingered over her stomach. She met Geralt's gaze, her golden eyes glowing with joy.

"Geralt," she said softly, her voice trembling with excitement. "I have news."

"What is it?"

"I'm… I'm pregnant," she said with her radiant smile.

For a moment, Geralt was stunned. He stared at her, his mind racing. Witchers were sterile—he had accepted it long ago. But then he remembered the deal he had struck with Gaunter O'Dimm, the wish that restored his fertility. He had never spoken of it to anyone, not even Vivienne.

"Are you certain?" he whispered.

Vivienne nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. "The healer confirmed it. Geralt, we're going to have a child."

A wave of emotion washed over him—joy, disbelief, and fear. Geralt rested his calloused hand gently on hers, over her stomach. The thought of becoming a father was both exhilarating and terrifying.

As months passed, Vivienne's pregnancy became a source of joy. Her movements slowed, her hands often cradling her growing belly. The estate staff cared for her attentively, and Geralt remained watchful, ensuring her every comfort.

Still, Geralt carried the secret of his pact with O'Dimm in silence. He wouldn't let that shadow darken their happiness. Whatever the future held, he was determined to protect Vivienne and their child.

For Vivienne, each day brought wonder and anticipation. She often marveled at the life growing within her, a symbol of their love. One afternoon in the gardens, her hands on her stomach, she whispered,

"This is more than I ever dreamed possible."

While in Toussaint's grand throne chamber, golden light poured through high windows as murmurs marked the close of a courtly meeting. Geralt stood near the edge of the room, his posture relaxed, though his thoughts lingered on Vivienne, seven months pregnant and resting at Corvo Bianco.

The meeting had been routine, apart from Guillaume's persistent glares. The knight-errant's frustration was no mystery—once deeply enamored with Vivienne, Guillaume had hired Geralt to lift her curse. But things hadn't gone as he'd hoped.

Geralt had refused Guillaume's gold, helping Vivienne out of principle. That act of integrity had sparked Vivienne's feelings for him, a truth Guillaume seemed unable to accept.

As Duchess Anna Henrietta dismissed the court, nobles filed out, their chatter fading. Guillaume lingered briefly, as though he might speak, but with a huff of frustration, he turned and left.

"Geralt," Anna Henrietta called, stopping him as he moved to leave. "Remain a moment, if you would."

He approached the dais as the last courtiers exited, leaving the chamber hushed. The duchess sat on her ornate throne, framed by sunlight streaming through stained glass.

"How fares Vivienne?" she asked, softening into a gentle smile.

"She's well, Your Grace," Geralt replied. "The pregnancy's been smooth, and Barnabas Basil has been a great help."

Anna Henrietta's smile deepened, her eyes warm. "That brings me joy. She was always dear to me, even when she hid behind her reserve. She deserved freedom, and now she has more than that. She has a family. Thanks to you."

Geralt dipped his head modestly. "She gave me something too. A chance to be more than I thought I could be."

Anna Henrietta gazed at him for a moment before drifting to the grand window overlooking Toussaint's sunlit vineyards and rolling hills. Her expression grew distant.

"There is something I envy in her," she said softly. "She will know the joy of holding her child. Of looking into a tiny face and seeing her legacy carried forward."

"Your Grace?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Toussaint has always been my child, Geralt. My joy, my responsibility. But… I have no heir."

Geralt stayed silent, letting her speak.

"Raymund, my late husband, was many things. Cruel, manipulative… He left scars, some visible, some not. Children were never part of our life together, and perhaps for the best. What kind of father would he have been?" She turned back to him, her face composed but her eyes betraying the turmoil within.

Geralt recalled Raymund's harsh demeanor, the way he had mistreated Anna Henrietta. He remained quiet, knowing she needed no affirmation.

"And Syanna…" Her voice faltered. "She betrayed me. Betrayed Toussaint. Nearly destroyed everything I've spent my life protecting. There is no redemption for her, not after what she did with Dettlaff."

Her gaze returned to the vineyards. "When I think of the future, I see uncertainty. Toussaint has no clear successor. Should anything happen to me…"

Geralt frowned as the gravity of her confession settled in. Without an heir, the stability Anna Henrietta had built could unravel, leaving Toussaint vulnerable.

"Your Grace, you've done it well. Toussaint is what it is because of you."

Anna Henrietta smiled faintly, though sadness lingered in her eyes. "Kind words, Geralt, but words do not solve the problem. I wonder, more often than I care to admit, what might have been. If Raymund had been a kinder man, or if…" She shook her head. "No. It is foolish to dwell on what cannot be changed."

A silence stretched between them with unspoken thoughts. Geralt, a man accustomed to solving problems with his swords, found himself at a loss for what to say. He had faced countless monsters, but the struggles of legacy were battles he could not fight.

Anna Henrietta rose from her throne, her movements graceful despite the weight she carried. She stepped closer to the window, her hands clasped in front of her as she looked out at the land she loved so dearly.

"Promise me something, Geralt," she said without turning.

"What's that, Your Grace?"

"Promise me that if you ever see an opportunity to help Toussaint—truly help it—you will not hesitate. Whether that means protecting its people, its vineyards… or its future."

Geralt stepped forward, his boots echoing softly on the marble floor. "You have my word."

Anna Henrietta turned to him then, her eyes searching his for a moment before she nodded, satisfied. "Thank you."

As she dismissed him, Geralt bowed respectfully and made his way toward the door. The duchess's vulnerability, her sorrow, stayed with him as he left the throne chamber and stepped out into the sunlight.

Geralt's life had taken a turn he never expected—becoming a husband, soon a father, and a count—he knew the duchess's concerns would not leave him.

As he mounted his horse and rode back to Corvo Bianco, the vineyards passing in a blur, his mind returned to Vivienne. She was his anchor now, the one constant in a world that seemed to shift and change with every passing day. And as he approached the estate, the sight of her waiting for him, her hand resting on her growing belly, reminded him of what truly mattered: the family they were building together, one moment at a time.

Geralt stood near the bedside, his gaze fixed on the tiny bundle cradled in his arms. Anya, their daughter, no bigger than his forearm, blinked up at him with unfocused eyes, her small hand reaching out instinctively. When her delicate fingers wrapped around his scarred, calloused finger, a lump formed in his throat.

"She's perfect," Geralt murmured, his voice uncharacteristically tender. He glanced at Vivienne, lying pale but radiant in their bed. Her golden hair clung to her damp forehead, and her usually vibrant features were drawn with exhaustion.

Vivienne chuckled weakly, a sound that made Geralt's chest tighten with both relief and gratitude.

He promised himself in that moment—he would protect them both, no matter the cost. He had already fought the Wild Hunt, slain Dettlaff, and endured countless battles, but for them, he would do more. If necessary, he would give his life to keep them safe.

If only Vesemir were here. His old mentor, the closest thing he had to a father, would have known what to say or do. Vesemir would have smiled at the sight of Anya, would have marveled at the irony of a witcher holding his child.

The joyful news of Anya's birth spread quickly through Toussaint. Within days, Zoltan and Dandelion arrived at Corvo Bianco to celebrate with Geralt and Vivienne. The pair brought laughter and warmth to the estate, their antics lifting the spirits of the new parents.

"She's a tiny thing, isn't she?" Zoltan said with a grin as he peered down at Anya, snugly wrapped in a blanket in Vivienne's arms. "Almost makes me wish I'd settled down and had a brood of my own. Almost."

Dandelion, ever the dramatist, leaned closer, looking at Anya intently. "Look at her! She's already more charming than you, Geralt. Though, admittedly, that's not a high bar."

Geralt shot Dandelion a mock glare but couldn't hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. "You two here to meet my daughter or to roast me?"

"Both," Zoltan said with a hearty laugh.

As the evening deepened, Anya was put to bed, and Vivienne retired to rest. Geralt joined Zoltan and Dandelion on the balcony, where the gentle murmur of a nearby stream blended with the cool night breeze. Bottles of Sangreal, the finest wine in Toussaint, rested on the table, retrieved from the cellars of Corvo Bianco.

The three sat in easy silence for a while, the night sky above them a sprawling tapestry of stars.

Dandelion eventually broke the quiet, swirling his glass thoughtfully. "I must say, Geralt, I'm still struggling to wrap my head around this. You… a father. And a count, no less. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Neither did I," Geralt admitted.

Dandelion leaned back, resting his arms on the chair's wooden frame. "But… aren't witchers sterile? How in the world—"

"It wasn't supposed to be possible," Geralt said simply.

Dandelion furrowed his brow, pressing. "But… if you're not sterile, then—did the djinn have something to do with it?"

Geralt shook his head. "No. Not the djinn."

Zoltan, sensing the tension, placed a firm hand on Dandelion's arm. "Let it be, bard," he said gruffly.

Dandelion hesitated, then sighed. "Fine, fine. I shan't push further. But you can't blame me for being curious. This is a monumental event, Geralt! The White Wolf, a father! It's the stuff of ballads."

Geralt smirked faintly. "Just don't write anything too dramatic."

"Dramatic? Me? Perish the thought."

Zoltan raised his glass, breaking the moment of levity with a toast. "To you, Geralt. And to Vivienne. May the two of you find more joy than you ever thought possible."

Geralt lifted his glass in silent acknowledgment.

"And to Anya," Dandelion added, his tone sincere for once. "May she grow up strong, clever, and as sharp-tongued as her father."

The three men drank, the silence between them filled with unspoken camaraderie.

As the night deepened, the bottles of Sangreal emptied, and the three old friends lingered on the balcony, gazing up at the stars. For Geralt, it was a rare moment of peace—a reminder that, after all the struggles, there was still something worth fighting for.

Thinking of Vivienne and Anya, safe within the walls of Corvo Bianco, he felt a quiet fulfillment that no monster-slaying contract or pouch of coin had ever brought. For the first time, Geralt of Rivia was beginning to understand what it meant to be at peace.

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