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Flashes of a city burning on a black night.
Screams echoing off the stones and rattling against her eardrums.
Her grandmother’s ashen face, slick with sweat, staring up at her with quiet, firm resolve.
It was nothing new, she’d seen it a dozen times before. Before the fires and the screams were happening in front of her eyes. Sour guilt churned in Ciri’s gut, and the scene shifted.
“How long can it hold?”
“As long as I hold.”
Cirilla backed away from the gaping window as dark figures below attempted to swarm the castle’s front gates. They collided one after the other into an unseen forcefield, sparks scattering through the air with each impact. Her breath felt tight in her chest as she realized that it was only a matter of time. Life was changing for them all tonight, one way or another.
Backward steps carried her through the doorway, and thick billows of smoke gathered in her vision, black and churning like her gut, before giving way to the sting of wind in her face. She was just barely aboard a galloping horse, clamoring through the city to the gate. The Cintran guard seated behind her suddenly went limp with a strangled cry, and began to topple off to one side behind her. A glance over her shoulder revealed an arrow piercing the skin of his neck. Blood spattered wildly in her face and he wailed as he fell, “You knew!”
The smoke once again clouded her eyes and filled her nostrils with a bitter, acrid stench. It faded slowly this time, and Ciri found herself staring up at the tower, where a single doorway glowed in the darkness. A slender figure limped into the light high above, trembling with the effort and gazing down at the girl in open disdain. Her grandmother stared down at her with a sneer that ran a shiver down Ciri’s spine.
“You knew, and you said nothing,” Calanthe seethed, dark eyes boring into Ciri’s from her high perch. “This city burns because of you. Our people suffer at your hands, Cirilla.” The girl’s chest constricted and she heaved a shuddering gasp. The cruelty that twisted her beloved grandmother’s face made her stomach lurch and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from wretching at the sight.
“This is your doing!” Calanthe bellowed from the doorway. With a final lilt of her head, she toppled over the edge, lifeless like a doll, and hit the ground with a hollow thud that shattered Ciri’s heart.
The girl cautiously approached her grandmother’s mangled body, shrieking in horror when the queen’s head twisted around to stare at her with a grimace. “Ciri!” she screamed, but her voice was deep and guttural. “CIRI!”
She awoke choking and sputtering, swiping wildly at her eyes. Large hands caught her shoulders but she wrenched away with a cry and crawled wildly towards the nearby bushes. Once there, she vomited pitifully out of view. The hands returned, fluttering over her back with uncertainty before gathering her tangled blonde hair back with a gentleness that surprised her.
“Deep breaths,” a low voice urged over her shoulder. “Easy now.” Ciri gasped, sweat beading over her brow, and swallowed back a sob once she realized who was speaking with her.
Geralt was crouched behind her, one hand holding her messy hair and the other tracing tentative circles over her back. The witcher was always kind, even if he was a bit gruff, but she sensed at times that he felt completely lost when it came to caring for her. He often seemed stressed on her behalf, even though she thought she’d made it clear that she could take care of herself for the most part. Now he was watching her sick up behind a bush because of some silly nightmare.
Surely now he can see now how capable you clearly are, she thought with a wave of shame. Steeling herself, Ciri shrugged off his hands, stood and walked back to her pile of rumpled blankets. Geralt knelt in place, watching her closely as she moved, and heaved a sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Ciri could see him debating with himself for a long moment before standing and walking to his pack. She could hear him rustling about before evidently finding whatever he was pawing through their items for; the satisfied “hmmpf” gave it away. He stood, walked into the night, and Ciri felt tears well in her eyes.
Now she’d fucking done it. He’d had enough of her attitude, enough of her drama, enough of her waking him with her screaming each and every night in the woods where any manner of foul creatures would be alerted to their presence. She was selfish, subjecting him to this horseshit. He’d walked off to cool down and in the morning he’d drop her at the nearest village like an old rucksack. She sniffled loudly and sobbed into her hands. The last few months had been the most difficult times she had ever endured, but she had no clue how to be any other way than what she was. And what she was was annoying, broken, damaged---
“Here, drink someth--are you all right?” Geralt’s low voice was suddenly in her ear and she startled, lurching back and blinking at him with bleary, tear-filled eyes. In his hand, from what she could tell, was a cup. All at once, she felt incredibly foolish. He’s gone to get you water, idiot. She nodded unconvincingly and took the offered cup with trembling hands. The witcher sat on his heels, watching as she drank with an uncharacteristic tenderness in his golden eyes.
“You can talk to me, Cirilla,” he intoned softly, ducking to try and meet her gaze. She avoided him, breath hitching as she tried desperately to get herself back under control.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she challenged, though the fight in her voice was all but gone. He huffed a laugh and she fixed him with an irritated glare. “Like hell there’s not,” he chuckled. His amusement seemed to fade the longer he looked at her however, and he spent a long moment in thought before sliding closer and placing a warm hand over her back. “You cannot go on like this on your own anymore, Ciri.” He was right, and she knew it, but hearing it said aloud wrenched a sob from her chest.
“I did it b-before,” she offered in a choked voice, picking at a loose thread on her worn blanket. Geralt sighed next to her and Ciri thought for a moment that he almost sounded sad.
“I know you did,” he said gently, “But you don’t have to anymore.” The softness that was so unlike his usual gruff demeanor broke down the last of her resolve and Ciri turned to practically throw herself into the witcher’s embrace. Her bony arms wrapped around his neck and yanked him as close as she could muster before the flood began to steadily pour down her cheeks. For a long moment, he was still, and Ciri was terrified that she’d done the wrong thing. Then one thick arm pulled her close, tucking her head beneath his chin, and the other lifted the rest of her into his lap.
One of Geralt’s hands came up to cradle the back of her head and he began to sway lazily where they sat. In her right mind, Ciri would’ve been horrified at the thought of the witcher soothing her like a toddler, and she guessed that Geralt might’ve been too at any other time, but the strength of his grip over her back in this moment told her all she needed to know.
“Talk to me, Ciri,” he urged her, squeezing her small frame closer still, “I’m here to help you.” The girl gripped his tunic in her hands until her knuckles blanched white. What would he say when he learned the sacking of Cintra was all her fault?
“I-I had dreams f-for months b-before the attack,” Ciri sputtered into his shirt, the truth tasting bitter and heavy on her tongue. “I kn-knew everything that w-would happen and I d-did nothing!” Geralt was silent above her, chin still resting over her hair. Ciri almost couldn’t stand his tenderness now that her confession hung in the space between them. She wept freely, so distracted in her distress that she never noticed that the witcher had ceased rocking them there in the dirt, his hand paused mid-stroke over her hair in shock.
“I’m--I’m a fucking monster!” she wailed, horrified at the sounds that poured from her throat. She nuzzled farther into Geralt’s embrace, wanting to savor the last few moments of it before he cast her aside and left her alone. When he spoke at last, Ciri was stunned into a dazed silence.
“Oh, Ciri,” he breathed, like the wind had been sucked from his lungs, “Such a great burden to place on your own shoulders.” He was quiet for a beat before running a large hand over her back and heaved a deep sigh. “If anyone is to blame for anything it should be me. I should’ve come for you sooner and insisted on protecting you. None of what happened was your fault.” Ciri shook her head against his chest and leaned out of his embrace to look him in the eye, blue meeting gold in the dim firelight.
“B-But maybe I could’ve saved th-them,” she argued, swiping a hand down her wet cheeks. “M-Maybe grandmother would have m-made a different choice--” Geralt held a hand up at that, surprising her into silence.
“People’s choices are theirs and theirs alone, Ciri,” he said firmly, squeezing her shoulder for emphasis. “Your grandmother made hers, whether right or wrong, and what has happened as a result has happened.” He tucked an errant lock of hair back behind her ear. “It was not your fault.” Ciri sniffled and dropped her gaze to her lap, wondering if she should just keep this next bit to herself.
“I h-hurt people though,” she confessed shakily, thinking of that dewy morning when she awoke in the field to find her former playmates skewered on the trees, a mutilated horse and the telltale signs of her chaos burned into the grass. “Killed them too. Wasn’t that one of my choices?” Her guardian leaned in closer, and he seemed surprised, but gave her enough space to keep talking. “When those b-boys started r-ripping at my clothes I-I was so angry. I w-wanted to hurt them, and I did even w-worse than that!” Geralt’s face was practically murderous in the dying glow of the fire, and Ciri couldn’t bear to see it. Fresh tears welling in her eyes, she turned away intending to return to her bedroll. Geralt’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. She risked a glance up at him and his golden eyes flashed in the dark.
“Did they harm you?” he snarled, making the girl flinch. Ciri, expecting a much different reaction, hesitated. A second hand placed itself on her other shoulder and her guardian shook her lightly. His eyebrows were knit together high in his forehead now; concern looked so odd on his stoic face. “Ciri, I need you to tell me if you’ve been hurt. This is important.” She shook her head in reply, and Geralt released a breath she suspected he’d been holding for a time. One pale hand left her shoulder to gently cup her face, and he thumbed the stray tears away.
“You have no idea how brave you are, do you?” he chuckled, something odd glimmering in his eyes as his lips quirked up into a smile. “Ciri, you did what you had to do to survive. You did not make the choice to do harm or to kill for any meaningless reason. You did what sometimes must be done to make it out alive. Not one piece of this is your burden to bear, none at all.” The girl offered a soft, watery smile and allowed the witcher to pull her into a tight embrace once more. She thought her tears had been spent, but they still flowed freely down her face. Although this felt different than before. Relief rather than anguish.
“It’s all right, I have you,” Geralt hushed her, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now.” They sat together for a long while, swaying together in the dirt until a great yawn nearly split Ciri’s fair face in two. Geralt ‘hmmpfed’ down at her fondly and maneuvered the two of them backwards to rest against a towering tree. Ciri rested against his chest, positively limp with exhaustion, and didn’t bother to ask him what he was doing when he leaned over to snatch a blanket and his cloak from his bedroll.
He spread the blanket over his charge, tucking it carefully around her small frame and ensuring that she was well covered, and then tossed his cloak over them both. Ciri cuddled in close, feeling weary and incredibly small tucked against the witcher’s side. A few days ago, she would’ve felt humiliated at tonight’s display but now she was too tired to feel anything but content. Geralt’s hand passed over her tangled hair in long strokes until her eyelids drooped shut on their own. Something had changed between the two of them, she thought to herself as she faded away. The last thing she heard before the world went black again was Geralt’s low voice in her ear.
“Get some rest, child. I’m right here.” he soothed, and the girl tipped over the edge into a blissful sleep.