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She was feeling a bit sick.
Nausea, combined with aching joints and coughing fits, had her bedridden the whole night, unable to call for help. The howling blizzard outside did nothing but send extra shivers down her spine, causing her to curl up under her covers in misery until morning.
And yet, she needed to get up. Despite her pain, Vesemir had assigned her to read and review the bestiaries. He would scold her for lagging behind.
Ciri tried to rise, forcing all her energy into her arms and legs only to fail miserably. Her whole body felt stiff as if she were nailed onto a wooden board. Once again, she tried to get up, but to no avail. Her joints were locked, and her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe. Inhaling and exhaling rapidly, she began to panic.
“Geralt.” She gasped in desperation, thinking that no one could hear her. “Geralt!”
“Geralt!"
He was sharpening swords within the main hall and paused. Something was off. Ciri was usually up by this time, yet she was nowhere to be seen.
“Geralt!”
It was a quiet cry, muffled by the thick walls of the fortress and the howling snowstorm outside. Yet, his sense of hearing was acute, as well as his intuition. He quickly stood, ignoring the loud clatter of his swords hitting the floor, and began to run up the steps towards her room.
He burst through the door, and the first thing he noticed was her breathing--fast-paced, irregular, and unsteady. She was usually good at controlling her breath, but her wheezes and coughs made him anxious.
“Ciri?”
She exhaled shakily and tried to sit up, only to burst into a coughing fit. He quickly strode over and sat on the bed. Their eyes met, and she saw that his face was wrought with concern.
“What’s wrong?”
Her bones ached, and her voice failed to form words. Her weariness was apparent throughout her whole body, and she whimpered.
“I don’t know. I don’t feel very well.”
The back of his hand tentatively touched her forehead, and his fingers felt as if they brushed against newly forged steel from a fire. She was burning.
He withdrew his hand, already damp with her sweat, and he quickly walked over to the wardrobe to pull out a cloth rag.
“I’ll be right back. Promise,” He said and grabbed a few more rags from the chest beside her bed. Ciri nodded and watched him leave, hearing his footsteps echo down the stairs.
---
“Ciri has a fever. It might be pneumonia.”
Vesemir watched as Geralt quickly filled up a bucket and warm the water with Igni. Back then, during his days of training, he had to aid his mentor in caring for other injured boys. Eskel once had two broken legs, but Geralt had never worked this fast for him.
In fact, Vesemir had never seen him work this frantically for anyone. Despite the many times Geralt has had to aid in healing someone, he had never seen him look this worried.
“She’ll be alright.” The old witcher said reassuringly and was surprised at the cold look Geralt gave him in return.
“She’ll be alright once I take care of her.”
The old man raised his hands up in surrender. “My apologies, wolf.”
Geralt’s defensiveness had caught him off guard, and yet Vesemir understood.
It had only been two months since they had taken Ciri in, and he had heard her screams at night, heard Geralt’s footsteps running up the stairs, listened to his voice soothing her to sleep. They were not just linked by destiny. There was something more.
Geralt squeezed the rags dry and placed them on a tray next to a small vial of elixir. “It’s fine. I need to get this medicine to her.”
“Do you need any help?”
Geralt shook his head and made his way up the stairs.
---
She heard a soft knock on her door and saw him come in with a tray.
“Geralt?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m here.” He answered.
She felt a warm rag being placed on her forehead, and she sighed, only to be attacked once again by a fit of coughs. Strong arms wrapped around her and helped her sit up.
“Easy. Easy,” He said gently, and her coughs subsided. He grabbed the small vial from the tray and handed it to her.
“Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Medicine. For your cough and fever.”
She sniffed and looked at the slightly red liquid within the vial.
“Do I have to?” She asked.
He sighed and sat down on the bed next to her.
“You have to.”
Ciri slowly tipped the contents into her mouth and swallowed. The elixir left a bitter aftertaste on her tongue, but her chest immediately started to feel less heavy.
Finally letting out a steady breath, she lay her head on his chest and nestled next to him. Geralt felt her shiver and curl up, searching for more warmth. The snowstorm howled outside, and he noticed that the windows were frosted over.
“C-cold.” She whispered.
He sighed, Kaer Morhen was cold. Always cold. Despite the warmth, her small frame was shaking terribly next to his side. He pulled Ciri closer into his embrace, and he quickly ignited the braziers with Igni.
“I know. Wind’s howling, but I’m here now. You’ll be okay.”
She looked up at him, emerald eyes wide, reflecting the depths of her soul. He gazed back at her and brushed a few stray strands of hair from her face, and she sighed. She was safe. She was warm. And she could breathe.
Because Geralt was at her side, holding her tight.
“Okay.”
A few minutes passed, and her coughs and shivers subsided. He heard her breathing steady and looked down to find her sound asleep.
He closed his eyes as well and was comforted by the soft, even rhythms of her breathing.
---
Vesemir found them together, sleeping soundly as the blizzard raged outside. Geralt had his arms wrapped around Ciri, whose small frame lay curled against his chest.
He smiled softly. Indeed, she was something more than destiny to him. She was his child, his daughter. And to her, he was her destiny, her savior
And her father.