Chapter Text
"It was a dark and stormy night."
"That's not how you start a story."
Geralt looked up from the book he was holding to see his husband, Jaskier, lying his head on Geralt's lap. "Oh really," Geralt said with a smirk. "I think that's what the book says," he added, trying to keep a straight face.
Jaskier shook his head slowly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he considered the information in front of him. "I'm afraid the book must be mistaken," he said, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of disbelief.
A low chuckle escaped from Geralt's lips. "I think I know what it says," he said, grinning at Jaskier's mock seriousness.
The sound of a baby crying suddenly cut them off, adding an unexpected twist that made Jaskier roll his eyes and Geralt chuckle even more.
"I'll get her," Jaskier said, standing up, and he walked towards the baby crib. "There you are, Crillia," Jaskier's voice sang the softest of llubay
From his spot on the worn leather couch, Geralt watched Jaskier tenderly cradle baby Crillia, candlelight casting a warm glow on their faces and highlighting their gentle intimacy. Jaskier's voice was a soft melody as he looked down at the little one, his tone playful yet soothing. "Do you want Daddy to tell the story properly?" he asked, a smile tugging at his lips, as Crillia blinked up at him, wide-eyed and curious.
"That's not far," Geralt said. "Using my daughter to win an argument."
Crillia happily gurrled.
"She agrees with me," Jaskier smiled, his face bright and cheerful, even making the sun seem jealous of his radiant happiness.
Geralt let out a heavy sigh. This was a fight he couldn't win. "Fine"
Since the dawn of time, people have been telling stories. But some of the more special talents, one that comes from reading the written words out loud.
"Once upon a time."
A bell rang as a door was pushed. The small bookstore smelled like hopes and dreams, or as Geralt would call it, mildew and dust, with occasionally the hint of coffee.
Ciri walked into the store, like she owned her place. Her fingers traced each cover, wondering what stories waited for her to read them.
"Careful," Geralt said, walking up behind his daughter.
The sixteen-year-old girl turned to face her Dad. "I am being careful," Ciri said, then instantly went back to the books. Geralt looked unsure for a second. "I'm sixteen, Dad, not Four"
Geralt sighed. "I know, but I worry," he replied. He leaned in closer to hug Ciri. The teen girl, of course, attempts to act like she doesn't believe in intimacy.
Naturally, it took only a second before she relaxed into her Father's arms. Finally, after a minute, Ciri backed away from the hug.
"Are you going to look for that book again?" Ciri asked. She didn't know all the details about the book; she knew it was something Geralt kept asking about.
"You knew about that?" Geralt asked, and a small bit of surprise appeared on his face.
"You ask about the same book at every single shop we vist" Ciri replied. "Why is it even so important?"
Geralt scanned the surroundings, and for the briefest moment, Ciri caught a glimpse of something flicker in his eyes. This unsettling glint suggested the rigid armour he wore around his emotions was beginning to shatter. It was as if the tough exterior he had built over the years was finally showing signs of wear. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that glimpse of vulnerability vanished, and he resumed his usual composed demeanour, the protective facade firmly back in place.
"You'll learn when you're older," Geralt said.
"You always say that," Ciri sighed, her voice tinged with frustration and longing. They had been having the same argument, with different words and at different times. Still, her desire to understand and be trusted was clear. "And I'm older now," she added, her eyes searching his face for reassurance.
"One day" was Geralt's final answer. He gave Ciri that look, which was so familiar to anyone with parents. That look meant this argument is over.
"Fine," Ciri said with a sigh, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The frustration in her voice was evident as she looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the dusty shelves lined with old, worn books. "Well then, can I at least get some new books?" she asked, her tone softening a bit, a hint of hope shining through her annoyance.
"What happened to the books you already own?" Geralt asked. This conversation was easier, less emotional.
"I've already read that," Ciri said. "That's alright," she replied. "You always encourage me to be more selective in my reading." Ciri argued, "I just need about six new books."
Geralt responded, "Let's have a discussion. That's quite a large number. How about just one new book instead?"
"One," Ciri said with a dramatic sigh. "I'll finish that in under a week; let's call it even and say three."
Geralt looked at his daughter for a second; he saw something so familiar to him that it nearly ached. "You drive a hard bargain, Crillia. But fine"
A smile crossed Ciri's face. "Thanks, Dad."
She darted between the towering shelves, each one a gateway to countless worlds waiting to be explored. The spines of the books, adorned with vibrant titles and intricate designs, beckoned to her like secret doors.
As she passed, she let her fingers glide along the cool covers, tapping them lightly to create a rhythmic beat, reminiscent of a metronome's ticking. Ciri paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the titles, each one whispering promises of adventure and intrigue. She pondered deeply, contemplating which book would transport her to a new realm of imagination.
She always liked a good adventure story, one with a daring female protagonist who must use her wits to gain the upper hand.
She could read a romance, true love against the world.
There were to manny choice for Ciri to make just one. The bell rang again. Ciri looked over in curiosity. Getting the better of her, she needed to see who else was entering the bookstore.
It was a tall, well-built man with scars across his face. Ciri wondered what kind of books a man like that would want to read. Her eyes followed the man's gaze as they seemed to stare at something with such intensity that Ciri swore it could light this whole building a flame.
"Slivertougne," The man said, looking at Geralt.
Ciri's eyes went to her Father, and she swore for the first time in her life. Geralt looked truly scared of whatever this man was saying.
"We need to go," Geralt said, grabbing Ciri's arms and pulling her out of the store.
Ciri looked back at the careful pile of books she had been making. "But what about-" she tried to argue.
Geralt didn't look back; he just kept walking. "I'll buy you more, another time."