Chapter Text
"A witcher is nothing when stripped of his swords." That's what the old man Vesemir used to say all the time. But he had forgotten to teach the girl that it's of vital importance to don proper armour too, especially one that doesn't leave gaps and open spaces for an easy attack.
Geralt started showing concern over his daughter's well-being after she started wintering with him and her mother in his humble estate. He knows that she's more than capable of at least avoiding death; she after all can quite literally jump through the very fabric of space and time. It's just the fact that monsters in the south are completely unpredictable and even more dangerous than he has ever seen them be in his professional career. Yennefer theorized that it's probably because of the hotter and humid weather that made them unfamiliarly agile and aggressive, there's also the other hypothesis that he's getting way too old and slow to handle them. Which obviously was followed by a throaty laugh and assurances that even if he was old, fat and full of wrinkles: she'd still love him no matter what.
No number of distractions or banters calmed his mind about his Cirilla though, especially when she came home with new scars every day. Her vital organs right there on display, in the face of danger. The thought of something happening to her is making his already snowy head feel like it's greying with anxiety. As he kept losing his mind over the endless scenarios in his head, his wife strongly kept her opinions neutral. At first, she was going to give him a load of shit for his unsolicited opinions, thinking he's trying to control how she dressed rather than something else entirely. But, after many conversations at the end of the night, she confirmed that he's just a concerned father trying to protect his child. She empathized with his feelings but never had a say in it, "you know exactly why she presents herself like that, it'll be almost impossible to change her mind now."
This made Geralt try and shove his concerns away, thinking he's just making everyone's life difficult, again. Yennefer tried her best to uplift his spirit but he just seems to be in his own head a lot of times. But what they didn't know is that they raised a sharp girl into a smart, attentive woman. Cirilla caught up on the sad glances Geralt sends her way every time she returns home, loudly demanding wine to numb the pain, and the knowing stares her mother throws her way when she's trying to tell her something.
It all went down when the three were laying on the grassy hill south of the house, next to the longue chaise Yennefer lays on reading her books during the day. They were laying retelling stories about work and whatnot, enjoying the wine and the company. The anxious aura coming from Geralt every time Ciri talked about her picking up injuries in her contracts got Yennefer almost chocking. She had enough if this and she knew she had to do something about it now.
She pretended to stretch her back and knocked the remaining wine bottle midway, "oh silly me," she picked up the bottle and shook it, "it looks like it's empty now." And shot a glance towards Ciri, who was already raising her eyebrow at her. Smart girl, it almost made Yen break her play and smile.
Geralt kept looking between them, confused and intrigued "Don't worry, love. I'll head to the cellar and get more Est Est. I need to walk a little bit anyways." with that, Geralt drove to his feet with a huff and excused himself to go back. As soon as he was far away enough, Ciri was taken out of her trance of zoning out at the retreating figure of her father by a sudden burst of pain shooting from her arm and a squeal. "Ow! what the hell was that for?" She rubbed the spot where Yennefer pinched her and pouted at her chosen mother.
"Go talk to him." Yennefer suppressed her teasing comment about taking her daughter off-guard but kept a stern face and folded her arms on her chest.
"You know…you could've like, I don't know," said the young woman as she got to her knees then to her feet and shook off the tiny shards of grass from her clothes "ask me to get up."
"Would that be of my nature?" responded the sorceress, pure entertainment laced in her voice. Ciri gave a low chuckle and started walking "yeah, you're right. I'll be right back."
Cirilla took off after Geralt, anxiously dragging her feet and prologuing their inevitable ‘talk’. She was not stupid or oblivious, she knew when things were off with him. And they’ve been that way for some time now, especially after she’s gotten a nasty gash to the stomach from a big ugly fiend that she’d been tracking for days. She feels pretty great about it, as it is a sign that she’s learning more and more as the days go by. But Geralt was very….hesitant? she couldn’t put a word to it.
It took her some time enjoying the very slow short walk to the cellar until the voice of the source of her agony popped in her head, telling her that she knew she was stalling and that she needs to get going right now else she’s telling Geralt about that embarrassing magical tragedy she had in melitele’s temple when she was younger. She cringed at the memory and for the first time in that night, she couldn’t wait until she worked this out with her father.
She went down the quiet, dimly lit cellar and took to the right to find him sitting on one of the barrels rolled by the servants, intended for fermentation. She had the sudden urge to giggle at the imagery; the legendary White Wolf, playing with the rim of a wine bottle in the corner of the fermentation room, like a rebellious child on time out. He was in deep thought and wouldn’t raise his head until she’s gotten close enough by the metal bars of the gate, ”You’re getting good at sneaking up on me, kid. You almost got me there.”
“Oh, please” she waved him off and got herself busy tracing the bold ink letters on the barrel that was next to the one he was perched on “You’re just inflating my person at this point.” She smiled, Loup-Blanc: 1272. ”Your ego is your worst enemy.” She tried putting the best Vesemir impression she could muster without sounding at the verge of crying. It’s good that Geralt gave a small chuckle in return, his laughter made her a bit more optimistic. “So, are you going to tell me why have you been sulking around me for like, 3-4 weeks now? I thought that I won’t see you this upset anymore now that you don’t have to be all broody because you don’t have Yennefer around.”
She finally looked up from where she was fumbling with the ink on the sealed barrel, she found him tight-lipped and looking at her with an expression she was all too familiar with. She never wanted that look on his face, it made her remember the past.
“Ciri, I’m just worried sick about you.” He begins after letting out a breath she was sure he was holding in, his shoulders dropped and his posture more comfortable now that he knows that she knows. “We already had this talk before we faced the Wild Hunt. Remember?” And of course, she remembers, she’d never forget those days. It didn’t stop her from feeling a surge of anger bubbling up in a way that made Geralt realize that the glint in her emerald greens is learned. Thanks, Yen.
“Is this about my Gods damned equipment again, Geralt?” Geralt jumped back slightly at the acidic tone coming from his daughter. “I told you already, I’m not opting to a more constricting attire ‘just to be sure’. I survived until now, haven’t I?” Ciri is glaring daggers into his face at this point, and a voice in her head yells at her to stop this immediately, he’s just concerned about your safety.
Geralt sighs and tries to stay calm through the raging fire that Cirilla keeps incinerating him with through her gaze and annoyed stance. “Ciri, this isn’t just about surviving. It’s about staying on your feet enough to escape in case you needed to survive. You need proper armour pieces covering at least your erm, weak spots. It is non-negotiable.” Geralt kicked his own ass mentally when the words left his mouth, because it seemed to piss her off even more.
“Oh, really now?” The sparks flying from her eyes, he noticed the angry flush creeping up her face, she straightened up and crossed her arms on her chest. Lips scrunched and jaw flexing “I have fought the Crowns in the ‘improper’ armour, and I guess I needn’t tell you about how I killed them all.” She gripped the chain around her neck and pulled out the wolf medallion from her shirt and held it to his face, the same one she and Geralt got back after the last Crone escaped.
Before he even said anything back, she threw her arms in the air in frustration and groaned, “I almost got that fucking bastard Caranthir in the measly outfit I was in, for fuck’s sake!” She turned away from him and walked to the opposite side of the room, as if the mere sight of him made her burn in flames of rage, “I don’t want…. I will not change my equipment for the small chance I might be nicked somewhere. Because I won’t.”
He could almost see the fumes coming off her head, he felt uncomfortable at the note she was speaking with him at. It made him hate himself for putting her in this position in the first place. He hopped off the barrel as quietly and slowly as possible, as if he’s attempting not to frighten a deer he’s trying to capture. The only thing his superhuman hearing could tell him from the outside, is the croaking of frogs and the gentle stream from the nearby river. Good, he wanted Ciri to let out her frustrations, because this isn’t just about the armour.
He slowly approached his daughter, who was just standing with her back to him, motionless. He could see she was gripping Vesemir’s medallion with the way her arm didn’t move from its original position. What really took him by surprise was her shaky shoulders and the smell of salt mixed in with the oak and musk from the grapes wafting in the cellar.
He slowly raised his hand to squeeze her shoulder, and whispered in a small voice hard for even him to hear. “I’m sorry.” And as if on cue, Cirilla turned around and immediately buried her wet scrunched up face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her ashen head, squeezing her to him. If he could, he would burst open his ribcage and welcome her in, shielding her from any form of danger that might come her way.
“I’m sorry, Geralt.” She said in a muffled voice, her tears soaking his shirt and probably staining it with her Kohl. He just kept rubbing the back of her neck and back. “I know you’re just trying to protect me, to teach me to be prepared for everything on the Path. I’m sorry I raised my voice on you, you don’t deserve it.”
He just kept rubbing her back, holding her while she cried away near his bleeding heart. ”I shouldn’t have made it such a big deal; I hate to make you cry.” He took a deep breath in before he continued,” I’m just scared that you might get severely injured, injured enough to not ask for our help. It’s a terrifying thought to lose you, you and Yen are all I got. My raison d’être.”
With that, his daughter slowly pulled away from his embrace and looked up at him, her tears starting to fade away and to his ease of mind, a small smile plastered on her face. “I know, old man. I love you, too.” She laughed at the look of faux-hurt he put on at the nickname, finally separating and wiping her face and starting to scrub away her Kohl from his shirt. Definitely trying to distract herself again, he thought. He stood still and as silent as a statue, watching her closely and giving her enough space to find the will to talk again.
After attempts at getting the grey stain off, she gave away a heavy sigh and walked pass Geralt to take his place over the Loup-Blanc stash that was fermenting since last year. He came closer to her but kept a respectful distance and leaned back on the wooden shelves overflown from the bottles sent by the Duchess. She was fumbling with her fingers and looking down at her lap when she started talking,” Remember on the ship in Ard Skellig, when you asked me about that weird mark that was left on your face?” She looked up at him to find him looking at her, intently. “I know I threw you off with that loose button comment, but my scar has always been a reminder of the worst time of my life.”
The witcher kept silent, he wanted to reach out and comfort her but he knew he’d only embarrass her more than she probably is right now. He chose to step a bit closer and let her know that he’s there for her no matter what.
“Back then, after Thanedd, I had no where to go. No friends, no family and no where to belong to,” She kept looking at her lap, wiping her nose with her arm and sniffling, “I found myself surrounded by people whom I considered to be my second family, I did things and said stuff I’m never, ever going to repeat again. Because I thought you and Yennefer abandoned me.” Her chest heaved with a long breath, like she’s been holding it in for far too long. “I know, I’m stupid to think that. But I was just a kid, and kids do stupid shit all the time. Well, I was like that until that monster of a man Bonhart tracked me down like some hare.” At the mention of that name Geralt perked up, looking for signs of discomfort, ready to put an end to the discussion if she felt as if she was forced to talk. But he found nothing but a sad aura coming off her like waves from throwing fish bait in a calm lake on a spring day.
“He made feel less than a dog, made me entertain his lecherous friends and wiped the floor with my dignity.” Her trembly voice finally regained its raging fire he was hearing earlier. “And then remembered he was just a rogue paid by important people to find me, so he took me to the one that gave me this hideous scar and his minions. Coroner Skellen made sure he cut deep when I escaped from their clutches.”
“I barely escaped the lot; I owe my life to an old man that lives in the swamps nearby, he bandaged, fed and sheltered me when I was an obvious danger. Although I’m sure I eventually brought him his death.” With that, she looked up at her father who was now squeezing her shoulder again, his grip gentle yet firm, it made her give a weak smile and lay her own hand on his.
“I hate the stupid scar, Geralt. I hate seeing it and I hate when people stare at it. So, I just gave them something else to stare at.”
The White Wolf all but kept staring at his daughter’s big green eyes, looking for words to say. He already knew her story, she made sure he knew how much her losing him made her spiral down, but he also understood why she’d feel this way.
“Cirilla, I would rather die than leave you again…” He started, lips parted and strange cat eyes empathetic. But something about her demeanour changed what he was going to say.
“You know, when I underwent those extra Trials the school made me sit through, I was almost the same age as you were when we first met.” Cirilla finally shed some of the sadness plaguing her usually bright eyes, to let some youthful wonder shine through her gaze. “I had to sit through so many excruciating mutagenic trances, the mages there thought they lost another ‘potential’ by the time I was too delusional to respond properly to my masters. They almost threw me in the pit until they noticed that I was just in my third coma by the time the seizures stopped.”
Geralt felt relief when Ciri’s body relaxed, her head leaning towards him as he continued to tell her his story. ”They got me off Sad Albert and threw me in the infirmary, they only gave a shit about me because I was just a lab rat that was a successful experiment. But, you wouldn’t believe the state I’ve found myself in when I woke up.”
Ciri raised her eyebrow, now full on smiling towards her father’s fake flabbergasted statement. “What? You grew another leg?” Cirilla teased.
Geralt gave her a shit eating grin, eyes glinting, “Worse; I was completely, utterly, irrevocably and properly bald. I didn’t even have hair on my eyebrows!”
As soon as he finished, Ciri went from confused, to surprised, to clenching her stomach and laughing until her sides hurt. The sound of her belly laughter pulling on the strings of his very soul. “What? You thought my hair just magically whitened? It regrew.” That made her laugh even harder, which made him chuckle along with her until she calmed down a little. Wiping away at the tears on the corner of her eyes, she looked up at him, still smiling “What was your reaction?”
“Oh, I was pissed.” Geralt tried to keep up the joyful atmosphere, but these memories aren’t anywhere near good. “ I was malnourished and I was at the weakest point of my life. I was angry at the world for the way my life was looking. The other boys at the training grounds saw me as the easiest target so I got tossed around a lot during my recovery time.” There was a shift in the air, now. With Geralt trying hard not to close off and pretend he didn’t say anything, and with Ciri keeping a close eye on him, respectfully waiting for him to finish.
“I absolutely loathed it; I was always furious at myself and others. They stopped talking to me, avoiding me like the plague. Only Eskel and little Lambert were keeping some kind of connection with me, but I knew they still didn’t trust me enough. You know what changed those feelings?” Ciri, in a quiet voice asked, “what?”
“This.” He pulled his own medallion in front of his chest to show her, “After the Trial of the Medallion, I finally felt secure enough in the things I wanted to be. People’s opinions be damned, it’s not like they’re the ones living my life.” They stared at each other until Geralt squeezed her shoulder one more time, “My daughter, don’t let your subconscious mind control how you view yourself. If you live under shadows of others, you will never know the warmth of the sun.”
Cirilla gave a look in which he knew she was stifling the floodgates from opening, he just took in her hug again as she got off and thanked him. Her next words had him grinning from ear to ear.
“Okay, fine. I’ll get a new armour, gods damn it. Oh, don’t look at me like that! You’re going to pay for a new set of witcher armour, custom made too.” She tucked the medallion under her shirt and smiled up at her father, the usual electric fire to her eyes is back.
“You know which witcher school set you want? I can take you to Lafargue to get your measurements.”
“Can you suggest one? You have the entire collection in your dining room.” Geralt catches her rolling her eyes, chuckling as she straightens her shirt and wipes the stray Kohl lines running down her cheeks, she definitely doesn’t want Yen to see those.
“Can a man spend his hard-earned money on things in peace?” He said playfully as he picked up the forgotten Est Est he had his hands on before the conversation. “I suggest Cat school for Toussaint, Wolf school for the North and Ursine for Skellige.”
Cirilla whistled as he showed off his expertise, standing next to her at the mouth to the stairs of the cellar. “ Yeah, I’m going to bankrupt you that way. I’d prefer the Cat school set; I like the hood.” Geralt lets out a groan as he holds his arm for her to hang onto, which she does. “Of course, it’s the hood that interest you.”
His daughter laughs lightly, he feels like a huge boulder was moved from on top of his shoulders. “Thanks gods, now I don’t feel like I’m about to have a cardiac arrest every time you say you have a new contract up.”
They continue bantering until they reach the chaise on the grassy hill, Yennefer with a candelabra and her “A Widower For Half A Year” Spread out on her lap.
“Ah, finally.” She looked up at them from the ground, a charming smile donning her beautiful face. “I was getting thirsty.”