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“Uncle Eskel?” Ciri’s voice chimes across the table, empty save for the aforementioned Witcher. Geralt and Lambert left this morning to rid the surrounding area of a family of draconids that have settled in, and Vesemir has gone to the lake to catch some supper for everyone. “Can I ask you about sex?”
Eskel’s spoon clatters to the table as he blinks at the girl- no , the young woman. Cirilla is growing into a young woman, and it makes sense that she should ask someone about that part of life. However, Eskel is not sure that he’s the best person for that. “Shouldn’t you ask Geralt?”
Ciri scoffs, shoveling another generous portion of jerky into her mouth. “Well, I did. He got all pale and he kept just shaking his head, whispering “ Fuck” as he fled the room. And before you can say it, I did ask Lambert too-”
“Well, there’s a mistake.”
“But he just doubled over laughing and told me to ask you. Yennefer won’t be back until winter, and I can’t ask Vesemir, that would be weird…”
“And this isn’t?” Eskel grumbles, trying to figure out where exactly in his life he fucked up so royally to lead to this moment of having to teach someone else’s damn kid about sex.
“Not really, you’re the sanest person here,” Ciri says nonchalantly. She is a summer child, having just turned fourteen around the solstice. Eskel finds himself thinking that, if they were here under different circumstances, she would be undergoing the first of the Trials soon.
He shakes that line of thought away, focusing back on Ciri. He sighs, resigned to a very long afternoon. “Can we go sit in the library?”
Ciri nods, finishing up her lunch at a relaxed pace. She still has some tendencies of being raised in a royal family, such as eating as slowly as she pleases, thank you very much. Eskel stands, depositing his empty bowl and spoon into the washbasin for later. He trudges towards the library as if he were headed to the gallows, his steps echoing through the empty halls.
The scent of old books and abandoned alchemical experiments greets Eskel as he shoulders open the great wooden door to the library. He sits in a comfy chair by the fireplace, casting Igni to help warm the room. Autumn is approaching, leaving some of the larger areas in the decrepit castle a bit drafty. Eskel finds a copy of Half a Century of Poetry, or as Geralt calls it, A Load of Horse Shit. Eskel opens it up to a random page, reading through the tales of his brother as he waits for the Princess.
He doesn’t have to wait long, for she soon tips open the door in and peeks inside. When Ciri finds Eskel just as he said he would be she sags with palpable relief, stepping fully into the room and sitting in a seat directly across from him.
“Right,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I have a few questions.”
Eskel hums, closing the book and setting it on the ground next to him. Should’ve grabbed the copy of the Beastiary that’s hollowed out with a flask of wine…
“So, I know about a woman’s cycles,” Eskel flushes, remembering that debacle of a few years prior. How they all missed that Ciri had hit that part of womanhood was beyond him, and he had vowed to do better by her. I guess this is where I do that, huh?
“But I just want to understand the mechanics of it all, I just don’t see what the big deal of it is.” Eskel watches as Ciri messes with a stray thread on the hem of her shirt, apparently a habit picked up from himself. He smiles to himself, pondering how to start what will be the beginning of a bit of an uncomfortable conversation.
“Well,” Eskel clears his throat, attempting to soften his voice. It doesn’t work, it never does. “When a man and a woman...enjoy each other’s company…well, it doesn’t have to be that way, it can be two men, or two women too, or just people together, oh Melitele…” He runs his hand down the scarred side of his face, attempting to get his thoughts together. Ciri only looks at him, waiting for him to go on.
“You know how Lambert goes all rigid whenever something touches him by accident?” Ciri’s brows scrunch up in confusion with the sudden change of direction, but she nods along anyways. “Well, that’s because he’s very sensitive to touch. Ever since he went through the Trials, and probably even before that. People touched Lambert without his permission, and they hurt him. I’m sure you’ve heard how his father treated him?”
“Of course, I still can’t understand how a parent could do such cruel things to their own child, or any child for that matter.”
Eskel shakes his head, knowing just how far some people’s ruthlessness can go. “Well, sometimes that happens to adults too, with sex. If someone isn’t interested in someone else, or they do something that they don’t like, or anything to make them uncomfortable, it’s not okay. It’s rape.”
Ciri’s eyes widen at the word, having heard it before in discussions eavesdropped upon in court. She never understood the connotation, but she knew the pain that it could cause for those affected. “So, if someone wants to have sex with me, and I say no, but they do it anyway, that’s rape?”
Eskel nods before adding, “Even if you don’t exactly say “no,” but definitely not “yes,” it’s still rape. And you can change your mind, too. You can be right in the middle of something with a person and decide that you don’t want that anymore. Just say the word, and they should leave you alone. And if they don’t, you fight like hell. No one should take that choice away from you, ever.”
Ciri sits quietly for a few moments, clearly thinking about what was said. “Okay, and what about when they do want to have sex, what then?”
Eskel’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water, unsure of exactly where to start. He mentally curses every single gods-forsaken person that is supposed to be in the keep before launching into a very awkward discussion about different kinds of sex, how it can fit into relationships, always reiterating on the importance of consent. Ciri interjects with questions and further discussion from time to time, and if Eskel didn’t know any better, he would think that she was just trying to prolong his torture. But he does know better, that Ciri is really just trying to understand this part of life.
“Hey Uncle Eskel,” Ciri says, standing with a confidence gained from years at court and a sureity gained from her training in Kaer Morhen, “thanks for this. I appreciate it.”
Eskel only grunts as she takes her leave, peering out the window to watch the sun begin to dip below the horizon. He heaves himself out of the chair and walks to the courtyard, finding the three missing Witchers all arriving through the gates. Vesemir tosses him a bag of fish, which Eskel promptly sets to the side. He puts his hands on his hips in his best impression of the older Witcher as he watches Geralt dismount Roach.
“You have a nice day?” Geralt asks, raising an eyebrow at Eskel’s stance.
“Fucking marvelous, thanks.” Eskel’s voice is a low growl, his lips pursed in annoyance. “Apparently, Ciri’s father has been ignoring her questions about sex, and left her to ask me instead.”
Geralt’s eyes widen comically, and Eskel can’t help the way his lips turn up at the corners. “And what did you tell her?”
“The truth, you moron. Nothing salacious, but she needs to learn about this stuff Geralt. Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”
Geralt sighs, running his hand through his silver hair. “You’re right. She already so grown up. I don’t want her to grow up…”
Eskel moves to stand before Geralt, pulling his brother into an embrace. He pointedly ignores Lambert’s faux gagging before patting Geralt on the back a few times as he steps back. “You owe me so much alcohol.”
Geralt chuckles, nodding as they all walk off towards the keep, ready to tuck into a night of rest and relaxation, or at least as much as a bunch of Witchers can get.