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#eskel x oc
xenovoxx · 9 months
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BIGGEST WISH №28450:
~To hold Eskel on my hands ~
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thesleepy1 · 2 years
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One Djinn's Answer
A/N: @estrogen on AO3 and @suomi932654 on Tumblr wanted another part to One Dijnn Wish. They fell in love with Amelia just as much as I did. I’m sorry it took so long for this fic to get out. I’m trying to learn how to accept that I’m writing for the fun of it. Not out of obligation. I do this for fun, not as a job. I just have to get that inside of my little ol’ noggin. I could call it quits any day and feel no guilt because I don’t owe anyone anything. (I also wrote this fic listening to sad Taylor Swift songs so you have that to blame for the outcome of this fic) 
Pairings: Eskel x Mom/Healer!Reader
Summary: After a long year on the Path on his own, Eskel is supposed to return to you for the winter. The thing is he’s late. Or not coming at all. You regret putting your trust in someone despite all the signs telling you not too. The worst part is Amelia is still sitting by the door waiting for the day he comes home.  
Or, “honestly i am here for the father-daughter bonding so maybe something like spending time with the reader and adjusting to the role as a father and just that good domestic fluff :] or maybe something like eskel doing his best to prove that he’s not going to up and leave bc i would imagine the reader would still have some doubts as to whether he really meant what he said or not but honestly these are just my ideas!
i immediately pictured amelia stealing the reader’s things and then giving them back as a birthday present like something off extreme cheapskates 😭 and no worries! if you don’t make one, that’s totally okay whatever you pump out next will be an absolute masterpiece i’m 100% certain and you can’t change my mind 😤😤 if you ever need a beta reader or smth hmu
i’m sure she could pick pocket from strangers, get caught, and they’d probably give her an extra few just because she’s cute like this girl really has a shot as a criminal and i am here for it ✊😤 do what i cannot because unfortunately i am not 6 and laws on planet earth forbid me from stealing from others and no problem!”
Word count: 7,149
Warnings: miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, 
Part 1
It should have been simple. After Amelia had claimed Eskel for a father, you struck a deal with the witcher. He would spend the year on the path as he had always done. But during the winter, instead of heading up to the Keep, he would spend the winter with you and Amelia. This conclusion was not an easy one to come to. On one hand, you felt guilty that you would be taking Eskel from his Keep. On the other hand, you thought it was unfair that he spend nine whole months away from Amelia. 
From you. 
Guilt, nervous, and admittedly fear clung to your skin when you bid Eskel farewell for the year. Amelia hid her emotions poorly. She outright cried at the prospect that Eskel would be leaving. It took much reassurance on your part and many comforting hugs on Eskel’s for her to allow him to go. “I’ll be back in the winter,” Eskel had said with a lump in his throat. Unbeknownst to you until that moment, Eskel felt just as many conflicting emotions at having to leave his loves. “I promise.” 
*****
The first few days Eskel was gone, Amelia would not speak to you. You were not sure if it was because she blamed you for Eskel’s leaving or she needed time on her own. You would leave for the village during the day as you’ve always done. Amelia would be left home alone with strict instructions to keep herself fed and safe. When you returned with sore feet and an empty basket, she would be out in the fields behind your house. 
Your own mind fought with yourself. You never knew whether to approach her or give her time to mull over her own thoughts. She would seek you out if she needed you. However, what if she did not admit to herself that she wanted you? To push forward or to wait behind. You were glad you were not a fisher or a hunter. A healer’s profession was much more straightforward. 
“Ma?” Amelia called for you a week after Eskel had left for the Path. 
You paused in your potion fixing. The herbs could be crushed at a later time. Turning, you wiped your hands clean with a linen cloth and placed it on your work table. Amelia stood before you. Her year old boots were caked with field mud as always. Her dark, disorderly hair stabbed at her big molten brown eyes. She peered up at you through her fawnish eyelashes. She had grown so much in the past few months but she was still your baby. 
“Yes, darling?” you replied, giving her your full attention. 
“When…” She glanced down at her boots, hands fisted in the skirt of her dress. None of her clothes ever stayed clean for long. “When is Da coming back? Is he coming back?” 
You could not help but kneel then. Your knees found purchase on your floorboards, your arms outstretched for your daughter’s comfort. “Oh, come here,” you urged softly. Amelia ran into your arms as fast as her little legs could carry her. The only reason you did not fall back backwards was because of your sturdy wood table. Your arms went around Amelia’s small frame, hands brushing back her unruly hair so you could see her face clearly. “We agreed he’ll be back in winter. He has to work during the year, darling.” 
“How long is it until winter?” she whined into your chest, breathes coming in heaves. Her little fists grabbed hold on your tunic, tugging on the fabric hard enough to rip. “I want Da back. I-I miss him.” 
You kissed the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of wheat, flax, and rice. Your hand went down to her back to rub in circles. With one quick lift with your free hand, she sat on your lap with her face tucked into your chest. “I miss him too,” you admitted for the first time in days. “I wish he was here every day, but I can’t ask him to give up what he loves.” You gently pushed Amelia back so she could look at you. Her brown cheeks still had the remnants of baby fat, doughy and tear stained. 
Unable to help yourself, you brushed away her tears with your thumb. She shook your hand away like you knew she would. “Think about it this way. You would not like giving up your trips to the village would you?” Amelia hesitated but nodded her agreement. “Da wouldn’t like giving up his work and I won’t make him. It would be very mean and unfair of me to ask that of him, wouldn’t it.” 
“I guess,” Amelia shrugged before returning to her place on your chest. She laid her head over where your heart would rest. “I still miss Da, though.” 
“And you have every right to. Winter will be here before you know it.” You kissed her again before she could complain that she was too old for such affection. “He did promise after all.” 
*****
Winter came slowly that year. It took a while for the seasons to change. It was days until the harsh winds of autumn turned into the snowfall of winter. Harvest season came and went without much hassle. Amelia assisted in the village with you during that time. She was quick on her feet running little errands whenever the need arose.
During the day when the drooping sun decided to show itself, you would walk with Amelia bundled from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. The extra layers and lowering temperatures did not seem to make her falter. If anything, it seemed to invigorate her. She knew what the first snowfall of the season meant. Amelia had been waiting months for it. 
When night came after a day of tending to the village, Amelia was always insistent about returning home. She did not have much empathy for the sick postmaster who needed someone by his side or the nun with trouble sleeping at night. Amelia did not care for the messengers who struggled with delivering letters and worrying about their superior. Nor did she pay much mind to the grumpy nun who needed sleep like frogs needed water. Amelia wanted to go home once the sun set. 
“What if Da’s returned and didn’t see us? What if he thought we left him?” Amelia urged, your basket already in hand. “He would be heartbroken, Ma. Heartbroken.” Your patients were typically charmed by Amelia’s ability to speak unabatingly but the nun had not had a wink of sleep in several days. “He might be home already!” 
“Amelia,” you stated firmly, hands trying to placate the irritated nun. “If you are unwilling to help then you may wait outside.”
“Could I run home first? I promise to be careful.” 
“When the sun has already set? Da would be terribly cross with me if I allowed that,” you tried to reason with your six, almost seven year old daughter. “He worries for your safety just as much as I do. You wouldn’t want him cross with you, do you, darling?” 
That was the final hit on the nail’s head. Amelia sat fidgeting, yet patient by the door until you were finished. An hour passed but she waited just as you had asked. When you were done, giving the nun a sleeping draught that would not interfere with her existing mediation, Amelia grabbed your hand and pulled you through the door. 
She ran ahead of you, making sure to stay where you could still see her as were the terms. Her footfalls on snow covered ground were music to your ears. You had kept it to yourself, but anticipation curled in your stomach like a night of drinking strong mead. You ached for Eskel’s safe return as much as your daughter did. It was not easy caring for Amelia over the months when you had gotten used to Eskel’s help. His gentle reassurances and strong, yet comforting touches kept you going on the most stressful of days. 
Amelia reached home before you did. You had, foolishly, expected a horse to be tied to a fencepost and a witcher to be at your door front. All you were met with was a lone, small child on a cold stone pathway. She appeared so minuscule on the path that her biological father had helped build. He too was unable to keep his promises, honeyed words nothing but fantastical lies. 
“Do you think he went to the village to look for us?” She shifted on her heel as if to make a run for the village. You grabbed a hold of her shoulder before she could make the sprint. Regretfully, you urged her into the fireless, dark house. “Maybe he’s running late. Da’ll be here soon, right? Let's keep the door unlocked for him.” 
“Come, Amelia.” 
“I’m good at finding liars, Ma. He promised he’ll be back at winter.”
You would regret saying it for days. You would wish with everything that you had to take back your words. “Your ability must have worn over time. You’re almost old enough to realize what’s fantasy and what’s reality.” 
*****
Amelia waited by the door. She wanted to wait outside so that Eskel would know they were home, but to that you would not yield to. She sat herself in front of the door with her hands clenched around her toys. The fish and doll that Eskel had fixed for her. You had never seen her so still, so patient for something that would never arrive. She spent the whole night there, refused dinner, and fought with you about sleep. She had been worse than the nun. 
The next day was the same. Waiting. Sat on the floor with her toys and her eyes set on the door. She shook her head to your offer of going to the village. Ignored your repeated words of faith and trust and the worst place to put them. Her stubbornness was as unfaltering as her strides while sprinting. 
She was there by the door when you returned that night. The fire had gone out untouched and the cooking pot was as clean as you had left it that night after supper. Her determination was still fiery despite all the signs.  Amelia would not listen to your words, she would not head to the warnings. She merely waited by the door. Day…after day. 
“Amelia, please eat,” you pleaded with her. Knees on the floor once more, you sat with a plate of roasted carrots, beef, and collard greens to your side.
“He’s coming.” 
“Please, Amelia. You haven’t eaten all day. I’m worried about you.” 
“He’s coming…right?” There. That moment of doubt. Her gaze left the door for the first time in ages. Her will had been strong. Stronger than yours ever was. But she was not dumb. Foolish perhaps, as all children and heart stricken fools were, but never dumb. She, like you, will merely have to face the truth sometime. 
“You’re awfully good at finding liars,” you began, setting your spoon down on your plate. You addressed Amelia, your sweet, little girl. “You’ll know what you want to hear would be a lie.” 
“Is—is it because of me? Is he not coming because of me?” 
You pulled her close to you on the floor. You heard her bones pop at the moment from disuse. “Why would you think that? What could possibly possess you to think it's your fault?” Your hand went to her back as you felt the telltale uneven breaths. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” 
“I have…I’ve done something bad. That’s why, Eskel—” Not Da. “Doesn’t want to come back to us. To me...” She cried, though it was not the right word, felt the most immense pain imaginable was a tad closer. “I-I stole this from him.” Amelia pulled out a metal spike that had been hidden in the twine of her doll. The doll she held close and embraced at night. At first, you did not know what she had in her hand. Then the metal glinted off the light of the fireplace and you suddenly recognized it as a spike from Eskel’s tunic. 
“I’m really sorry, Ma,” Amelia sobbed, words so slurred you could hardly make them out. Dark bags circled her eyes from nights she stayed awake waiting. “I only wanted a part of him. I-I never meant to make him not want to come back to you. I’m sorry I ruined everything.” 
You tucked her into the crook of your neck as Eskel had done all those months ago. The weight on her was heavy in your arms but you held her regardless. Amelia clutched at you as she had done her toys, nails digging into your skin, hand unwilling to let go. “No, no, darling. You haven’t ruined anything. None of this is your fault. You did something any child would. Only a monster would find fault with what you did.” 
“I wanted him as a Da so bad, but he doesn’t want me as a daughter.” 
*****
Amelia cried for hours before she was too exhausted to continue. Your knees ached and your muscles screamed for you to move but you did not dare stop Amelia from letting out her emotions. You stayed on the floor with her in your arms until her sobs stopped. Even then you waited for her to fall asleep before daring to move. Her arms went lax and her breaths evened out.
You carried her to bed and pulled the covers over her so she was nice and snug. It was the least that you could do. This small bit of comfort for the days to come. You still remembered what it felt like when her biological father had left. This was going to feel a hundred times worse. Amelia remembered Eskel unlike her biological father. Eskel was a good man unlike the other. You hardly expected this pain to go away the next morning. It would linger for ages to come. You could only hope you were strong enough to help Amelia through it. 
*****
With the morning came a snow storm that forced you to stay home. Amelia slept with minimal stirring. The fire roared, flames making the logs crackle. Furs and blankets were piled high on beds. Stores of cheese and cocoa powder were brought out for hot chocolate when Amelia woke. Until then, you went about tidying your home. Anything to keep you busy until Amelia emerged and another conversation was needed. 
Despite the snow coming down hard, window panes completely frosted over, a weighted knock sounded at the door. Your broom was quickly put away in case there was a patient you needed to tend to. Years ago, Petros, a little boy in the village that Amelia would play with, fell terribly ill in the first days of winter. His poor mother had braved the cold to come calling for aid. You would rather not make the woman wait, swinging the door open. 
Eskel stood in front of you. 
His shoulders were hunched over to protect the rest of his body from the winds. His bags were swung over his back, his sword a gray rod of ice. He looked at you as if you were a crackling bonfire in the middle of a freezing mountain range. There was hope, and more importantly guilt and worry in his amber eyes. He stood alone on the cold stone pathway. He appeared minuscule in the snowfall. 
“I’m sorry.” Amelia’s ability to find liars must have come from her biological father because you almost believed Eskel. “I do not deserve your forgiveness but please, I beg of you, know that I am sorry.” 
Neither of you spoke for a moment. The rush of snow, dusts, and whatever else the snow carried covered you both in a fine layer of grayish white. Your body ached to shiver from the cold but you did not want Eskel to see even an ounce of weakness from you. The fire hissed and popped, the wind carrying inside of your home. 
“Do you realize the damage that you have done?” 
Eskel looked down, eyes brimming with sorrow. He did not shiver from the cold. His witcher mutagens would allow him to stand in the storm for hours. You were tempted to send him away without another word, force him to trudge away with his tail tucked between his legs. You did not like the sight of him there, but alas, some part of your heart urged you to speak to him. 
“I could only imagine but I will never begin to fathom.” 
“She waited for you for days.” I waited for you. “Day in and day out she waited by the door, Eskel. She didn’t eat, didn’t move from her place on the floor. All because she was waiting for the day you would stumble through the door.” You clenched your hands into fists until your nails dug into your palm. You could feel the sting of pain when you drew blood. You knew Eskel could smell it. The furrow of his brow and his hesitant step forward was telling. 
“I promise you, I did everything in my power to be here on time,” his voice came in rough rumbles. It took a moment for you to realize he was on the verge of crying. “My horse was stolen. My trek here was on foot.” He sucked in a shallow breath, body trembling with the action. “I sent word that I would be late. I’m sorry that I am.” 
“Sent word?” you asked, flabbergasted at his words, at his person. “I don’t want your flimsy excuses. I don’t want your sugar coated apologies. I am the one who has to deal with the aftermath of your actions while you can up and leave any time you want.” You sneered at him. He might have been a witcher but the look on your face was enough to scare anyone. The wind howled in your aid. 
“I’m so, so sorry, my dear. Truly I am. Please give me the chance to—” 
You cut off his words with a hand. Out of the storm a lone figure approached your home. You could see them at the fence posts, a figure who moved with haste. Eskel peered at them and stepped to the side of the path, having deemed them innocent. You recognized the figure then, close yet still coated with snow. He was one of the postmaster’s messengers. 
“I apologize for the delay, Healer,” the messenger, Szczepan said while trying to catch his breath. Despite the cold, sweat formed on his brow from his run. “The message was marked urgent but I couldn’t get it to you what with the postmaster being sick. Thank you again for saving him.” Szczepan smiled with missing teeth and handed you a small, cloth wrapped note. “Good day, Healer. Try to stay warm,” he jested, waving you farewell and nodding politely to Eskel as he left. 
You watched Szczepan leave. Ignoring Eskel, you opened the cloth wrapped message. You may not have seen the writing often but even you could recognize who it belonged to. It was short, sweet, and to the point. It, unfortunately to your terrifying act, made tears form at the corner of your eyes. You allowed your body to shiver from the cold, from the note in your hand. 
Dear Loves,
I’m so sorry but I will not be able to make it on the first day of winter. I got into some trouble with some bandits. I no longer have my horse. I will be making the rest of the trip on foot, but know that I am coming. Please wait for me. I should be there in a week’s time. Know that I am not there with you right now because of something outside of my control. If I had it my way I would already be home with you two. I love you two dearly.
Please wait for Da, Amelia.
You looked up at Eskel. His gaze was no longer on the frozen ground. He looked at you with the same, desperate, warm seeking eyes. Wiping the stray water from your eyes, you tried your hand at firmness. Your eyes harden on the missing spike on his tunic. Eventually you landed on his amber eyes. “How do you expect me to console Amelia still? This delay, this letter doesn’t fix the fact that she waited for you for days. Did you really think you could appear from thin air and expect her to forgive you so easily? She’s almost seven, Eskel. Instead of spending the days leading up to her birthday spending time with her Da, she spent them blaming herself for you not coming.” 
“Please give me the chance to remedy my mistakes. I honestly tried to be here in time. Let me speak to her.” He took a step closer. You allowed him to because you were helplessly a bleeding heart. “Let me prove to you that this was a one time mistake. I wouldn’t abandon you and Amelia.” 
You held the note tightly, a deep sigh leaving your lungs. “I’m not the one you should be begging for forgiveness, Eskel. We both know how stubborn Amelia is. She won’t be happy with you.” You could pinpoint the moment where Eskel’s eyes hardened with determination. It was a similar expression to the one Amelia wore waiting for him. “Know that it will take time for her to trust you again.” 
“I understand—.” 
You were rudely shoved to the side as a quick body push passed you to run and jump into Eskel’s arms. Despite his heightened senses, you could tell that he was not expecting the small body that was suddenly clinging onto him like a lifeline. His arms immediately went around her so as to not drop her, to not cause her anymore unnecessary pain. 
“Da! You’re home. You’re home!” Amelia squealed, a smile painted across her face. The few in days. She shivered at the snowstorm but refused to let go of Eskel. Of her Da.
“I’m home, Amelia,” Eskel cried, tears streaming down his scarred face. “I’m so sorry I was late. I tried to send word but I’m sorry you did not get it in time. Please forgive me for not being here like I said I would,” the great, intimidating witcher begged for the mercy of an almost seven year old. 
“I’m not sorry that you’re here.” Amelia pushed back from Eskel so she could look at him. Even from a distance you could feel the scrutinizing look that Amelia gave the witcher. She took note of all of his new scars, at the frost burn on his skin, the purplish mark near his brow. You knew she thought he looked incredible. “I’m not sorry that you’re late either. You’re here. My Da’s home because he loves us.” 
“I love you both so much.” 
*****
While you were still unsure about Eskel, Amelia had no such qualms. She was wholly and truly glad that her Da was home. The two were sewn together at the hips with the loose ends tied with a pretty knot. Where Eskel went, one could expect to see Amelia not far away. You pushed down the pang of jealousy only because you had Amelia’s attention the rest of the year. You could put up with three months of Amelia’s attention on Eskel.
Hopefully. 
“Can I open it now?” Amelia begged for the nth time that day. The box wrapped with parchment and ribbon was clenched tightly in her hands. It was no bigger than the size of her head but she acted as if it contained a dragon’s hoard. Amelia pleaded with Eskel with big, joyous eyes. Her lips were curved with a big pout. You knew that it took everything within Eskel not to give in. You knew that if it had been you, you would have given in the moment her lips began to quiver. 
“Not until after dinner,” Eskel replied, playfully teasing her hair. 
“Da! That’s ages away. Can I just please open it now? It is my birthday.” 
Eskel kneeled down so he was level with Amelia. His expression was free of irritation or annoyance at Amelia’s constant begging. There was just amusement at the antics of his daughter. At this point, that was what Amelia was. Eskel’s daughter just as much as your own. If the way she looked at him didn’t give it away, it was the way he peered at her little brown eyes. “Don’t you want any honey cake? We spent all morning on it. Won’t you like to give it a try first?”
“Before dinner?” Amelia asked, side eyeing Eskel as if she did not care of his answer. You hid a chuckle in the sleeve of your—Eskel’s tunic—because she was fooling no one. 
“After,” Eskel stated, assertively. 
“Ma?” 
“After,” you echoed, trying to hide your grin at her defeated expression. She graciously returned the box wrapped with parchment to Eskel’s hand with a lowered head. 
“Can I at least know what’s in there?” 
This time Eskel did not even attempt to hide the laughter that burst from deep within his chest. His laugh was contagious, a booming sound that would catch anyone’s attention. His scars stretched as a grin overtook his face. “That would defeat the purpose of it being wrapped, wouldn’t it?” 
*****
It was a complete coincidence that yours and Amelia’s birthdays were both in winter. Amelia’s was near the beginning and yours was at the end of the first month. You were not as excited about your birthday as the now seven year old was. Your birthdays were always just another day, another reminder that a year had gone by. 
Amelia on the other hand had been ecstatic. Spending her birthday with Eskel was perhaps the best in her life. He had gifted her two handcrafted, Oxenfurtian dolls that must have cost him a fortune. One was of a silver wolf with the softest fur you had ever felt and the prettiest tail. The other was of a little goat with brown markings on her face and little horns. Eskel had explained he asked the dollmaker to make the horns out of velvet so Amelia would not hurt herself. 
You had gifted her a pair of new boots and a dress you had sewn, but it was clear which she favorited.  
“What kind of cake would you prefer for your birthday?” Eskel asked you the morning of yours. The dusty, decrepit cookbook of yours was placed in front of the witcher. You had not personally touched the thing in years, but it still somehow managed to have loose pages. He turned the pages with the tips of his rough fingers, his callouses getting caught on the edges. “Honey cake seems to be Amelia’s favorite, but Sernik might be good with the cheese from the market.” 
“What are you doing Eskel?” you asked the witcher with an apron on. You were not so similarly dressed in your winter coat, skirts, extra layers, and boots. For some reason you weren’t able to find your fur lined gloves and you had looked everywhere for them. Your healer’s basket hung on the crook of your arm filled with medicine for the village and an extra coat. Eskel on the other hand had barely tied his tunic that morning. You could see his dark chest hair sticking out of the opening on his torso. 
“Making a cake for your birthday.” 
You narrowed your eyes in slight confusion. He must have recognized the look because he quickly went on, “Would you rather I make a different pastry? Amelia said you didn’t mind cake, but that could have been a ploy for her to get more.” Eskel chuckled, gently turning yet another page. “I could try my hand at pączki if you’d prefer.” 
“But why?” you asked honestly. 
“A little selfish on my part but I quite like pączki. I’ve never made them before but my father used to make them when I was younger.” Eskel shrugged, “I thought perhaps you might like them as well.” 
“Not the pączki, Eskel,” you rolled your eyes, setting down your basket to approach the monster hunter. “Why are you going through the trouble for this? It's just another day.” 
“It’s not just another day. It’s the day you were born and we should celebrate the fact that you’re here and alive.” Eskel stepped away from the cookbook with a fraying spine. He took your face in his large hands. You let him, curious to see what sweet words left his tongue. “I want to honor one of the strongest, bravest, and most compassionate people I know. I’ve known many people in my life but none as unwavering as you.”
“Must I wait till dinner to open my presents as well?” you teased, brushing away the wetness at your eyes. Eskel seemed to take you in for a moment longer than necessary. Your heart beated quickly and he must have been taking note of it. 
“After cake. Or pączki. If you don’t decide on something, we’ll have to settle for krupnik.” You laughed at Eskel’s mock exasperation. The sound was more common now that Eskel had come back. The thought should have been unnerving but you could not bring yourself to care. You found yourself chuckling more. 
“Pączki. Please.” You laid a hand over the one on your cheek. Your hand was miniscule in comparison to Eskel’s but it seemed to bring warmth all the same. His scarred face heated with the faintest of blushes. You leaned forward and pressed a hesitant kiss to his cheek, the side with rigid, uneven scars. “I’m sure Amelia would love to try them.”
“Try what?” came Amelia’s voice from behind you. “What are you making Da?” You turned, not stepping away from Eskel to see your daughter rubbing the sleep from her eyes. With winter came longer, colder nights and more sleep. Amelia still wore her nightdress, the blanket from her bed draped over her shoulders. 
“Good morning, Amelia,” Eskel greeted with a smile. Just as hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around your waist. His hand did not stray, it merely settled where he placed it. I’m making Pączki for your Ma’s birthday. Would you like to help me?” 
Amelia’s eyes lit up like a fireplace. A mirrored smile painted Amelia’s face and she raced back to her bedroom. She returned as quickly as she had left. In her little hands was a wad of clothes. She happily held them up to you, urging you to…unravel it to find what was inside. “Happy birthday, Ma!” 
Eskel watched over your shoulder as you slowly made work of the wad of clothes. Amelia really did not want anyone to know what was inside. A big knot in the middle of the work required an extra set of hands that Eskel was more than happy to provide. Eventually, the knot was dealt with and your present was revealed. 
It was the fur lined gloves you spent an unholy amount of time trying to look for. 
“I was wondering why you were going out without them,” Eskel smirked, a smug laugh in his tone in response to your side-eye. 
*****
Amelia held Eskel’s hand in the marketplace. The spike on Eskel’s armor was returned to its proper place with many reassuring words and quite a few warm hugs. Amelia was inseparable from her gifts from Eskel. It took much pleading from both you and Eskel for her to leave wolf and goat at home while the three of you went out to run errands.  
In actuality, you needed to go to the marketplace for supplies but Eskel had wanted to tag along. If Eskel was going somewhere, Amelia wanted to follow. That was how the three of you ended up in the middle of the bustling market. Some traders from the neighboring city were visiting and the whole town was out to see what goods they could bargain for. You, yourself could not miss the opportunity to get your hands on rarities. 
“I hope I don’t have to remind you two to be careful,” you said to the father and daughter, hand in hand. Amelia looked up at you with the most innocent face she could muster. You knew better. “I have errands I must run and I am trusting you to stay out of trouble while I am busy. Have we come to an understanding?” This was directed at the pair but your eyes were locked onto Eskel’s. He gave you a soft smile and lightly squeezed Amelia’s hand. 
“No trouble, ma’am,” he said in mock formality. His smile made the cleft in his lip stretch. Internally you scolded yourself for how much you wished to kiss it. You were in public for saint’s sake. 
“Amelia?” 
“No trouble, ma’am,” Amelia echoed. 
*****
“Da, Da!” Amelia beckoned to Eskel, a finger pointed at the stand with steaming pastries with berry fillings. It was difficult to see her through the swarm of people passing but Eskel’s heightened senses could pick out the sound of her voice anywhere. His large body also helped with wading through the throng of townsfolk. 
“Can we please get some?” She bounced up and down with excitement, grinning at the ones with a lemon custard filling. The patreis seemed to have her name written all over them. 
The man behind the stand smiled down at Amelia’s eagerness. His long dark hair was tightly braided and wrapped with a cloth embroidered with lilies and lilacs. He was already wrapping a couple pastries with beeswax paper before Eskel even made it to the stand. “How much for the two?” Eskel asked with what he hoped was a friendly expression. There was little he could do about the appearance of his face. 
“For your little girl? Free of charge. Just make sure she doesn’t eat them both too quickly or she’ll end up with a stomach ache.” The man handed the wrapped pastries to Amelia’s waiting hands. 
“I can’t ask that of you.” Eskel reached into his pouch to pull out a few coins but they were immediately rejected. 
“I have two of my own.” The man smiled at Amelia, whose face was already coated with jam filling. The red of the raspberry jam made her appear like a rabid beast digging into her kill. Eskel reached for the linen cloth you had made him pack just for this occasion. “I know how they can get when they haven’t had their morning pastries.” The man chuckled, grabbing a flask of water to wet Eskel’s cloth. 
Eskel thanked him, grateful for the help. Once Amelia was relatively clean of any carnage, he tore a piece of flaky confection. The buttery layers melted in his mouth. The jam filling had just the right amount of lemon juice to cut through the sweetness. He had wanted to try the lemon custard one as well, but Amelia had taken care of it. 
“Is it good?” Eskel asked, the beginning of a laugh in his mouth. 
Amelia nodded through a mouthful of pastry. “Thank you, sir!” Amelia said to the vendor once she had finished chewing. 
“Seeing how much you enjoyed my baked goods was payment enough. Thank you.” 
Once Amelia had had her fill, she handed Eskel the beeswax paper and wandered with a promise to not go too far. Despite Amelia’s quick feet, Eskel had his heightened senses to keep an eye on things. He trusted her word. Amelia knew better to go off on her own in such a busy crowd. 
“How old is she?” the vendor asked Eskel. He was also keeping an eye on Amelia. Eskel did not need to know the beat of his heart to know he was a father as well. The man’s hands were busy making sure his stand was clean but he always had sights on things around him. If Eskel had to bet, he’d say the man’s children were also running about. 
“She just turned seven,” Eskel said with pride. “Yours?” 
“My eldest is eight. Youngest will be five in a month.” 
“I know she’s barely turned seven, but I can’t help but feel like she’s going up so fast,” Eskel admitted honestly. “I still remember when she was just six and playing in the rice fields.” 
The vendor chuckled, a laugh that came from somewhere deep and old. “If I had a coin for every time I heard that.” He gave Eskel a knowing look. “They just can’t help it. One day they’re learning how to walk and the next they’re already helping you at the market. Before you know it, they’re off to start their own life.” 
The fear must have been evident on Eskel’s face because the vendor’s expression softened. “They might be growing quickly but that doesn’t mean they’ll immediately forget you. Sure, they might have new interests the older they get. Some good interests, some not so much.” The vendor shrugged. “Yet they always remember you.” 
“How can you be so sure?” 
“My brother had a little boy a decade or two ago. He was always busy with work, now with another mouth to feed he wasn’t home very often. I had to spend the majority of my nephew’s life caring for him. Then my brother got a new job that paid a hell of a lot better. He was home more often, more involved with his boy’s life.” The vendor’s hands stilled. “I always thought once the boy grew up, he’ll forget about me. Who cares about some uncle who's a baker when your father was a wealthy trader?” The man’s eyes lost their focus. A memory seemed to take him, regardless of Eskel’s presence. “But just the other day, my nephew came to visit. He has a family of his own. A kind husband and a farm all to himself. He came to thank me for what I did for him as a boy. Brought along goods from his farm, toys for the cousins, and enough stories to last me until his next visit.” 
“Trust me when I say, they won’t forget you. As long as you do them well.”   
Eskel did not realize a weight was on his shoulders until it was lifted. “Thank you,” was all he could think of to say. “Thank you.” 
“No need.” The vendor brushed him off. “Us fathers have to stick together. Raising children is no laughing matter. It's better if we work to—”
Eskel’s head whipped around at the sound of Amelia’s abrupt stop. He had been keeping his ears opened, listening to the sound of her footsteps darting between stands. The pause in her dash had him taking long strides into the crowd. A handful of people bumped into him but once they saw the look in his eyes, they quickly darted out of his way. Soon, a path through the crowd was made for him. 
Eskel listened hard and he listened close to find his daughter. The sound of her heartbeat was different from the rest. It was as familiar as his own. The quick flutter of it had his senses kicked into high gear. “I’m very sorry, ma’am.” The sound of her voice was distant but once Eskel heard it, there was nothing that could have stopped him from going to it. 
Amelia was in a conversation with a well dressed woman. Two coins were in Amelia’s hands. Eskel could only guess how they ended up there. “You dropped these,” Amelia said with the most polite tone. The skip of her heart beat gave her away. 
Eskel was about to step in when he saw the look on the woman’s face. “Oh my, thank you, dear,” the woman said with the biggest grin. “How sweet of you. I have quite a few coins to spare, why don’t you keep those?” 
“Are you sure, ma’am. It would be very rude of me to take it. They’re yours,” Amelia thrusted her handful of coins back to the woman, urging her to take them back. Eskel did not know when Amelia had the time to become such a convincing liar. For all her talk about finding lairs, she was an expert at the craft herself. Eskel did not know whether to be impressed or disappointed. 
“Oh gracious me, what saint did I please to have such a sweet girl such as you come to my aid?” The woman reached into her pouch of coins and pulled out a couple more. “Here, dear. Take these as a token of my gratitude.” 
“But I couldn’t,” Amelia insisted, her expression of worry enough to convince Eskel. 
“I must insist. Why don’t you go buy some sweets?” The woman turned away the hand of coins that Amelia offered. “Thank you again, dear. Have a wonderful day.” 
The woman walked off just as Amelia spotted Eskel in the crowd. She at least had the decency to look sheepish at having been caught. “Hello, Da,” Amelia greeted with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.
“Hello, Amelia,” Eskel greeted in turn, raising a brow in question. “Would you please care to explain what I just witnessed?” 
“She said it was a token of gratitude.” 
“Must I lecture you that stealing is immoral?” 
Amelia looked down, the scent of shame soon filling the crowded streets. It was acidic to Eskel’s nose. The smell was one of Eskel’s least favorites. “Are you mad with me? A-are you going to leave?” 
Eskel kneeled so he was at Amelia’s level. He did not care for the dusty streets or the crowd that kept bumping into him. “Not mad, no. I’m not going to leave either.” He sighed, placing a hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “I just thought you knew better than this.” 
“Are you going to tell Ma?” 
“What do you think?” 
“Let’s make a deal,” Amelia tired instead. Eskel did not know where she got this trait from. “Don’t tell Ma and I’ll buy you a pastry.” 
“Amelia.” 
“...and I’ll stop…” 
“Promise?” 
She nodded. 
“Promise?” 
“Promise,” she echoed. 
Eskel raised himself onto his feet. He held out his hand as Amelia tucked the coins into a pouch he did not notice was tied around her neck. Concern made his brow furrow. There was hardly any way of stopping Amelia once she had her mind set on something. She was much like her Ma in that way. Eskel could only hope she stayed safe while doing it. That usually meant he would have to teach her how to stay safe. 
“I want the lemon custard one,” he said in place of the thoughts swimming in his mind. 
“I’ll get you two.” 
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witcherscrane · 2 years
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Eskel had been travelling with the Owl Witcher on and off for four years, both of them finding a pattern that worked perfectly when hunting together, the both of them even finding comfort with one another. Finally, the Wolf takes a deep breath and invites his heart's desire to Kear Morhen for the winter. The first time he's invited someone to join him, the first time he's loved someone so much... he just hopes his family will love Aleksei as much as he does.
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tigerlyla-of-metinna · 10 months
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Three Years. No other games/mediums/ books made me create so many than The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt, and specifically Emhyr and his Nilfgaardian Empire.
Eventually I will branch out and create portraits outside of Nilfgaard. But I will always return to the empire. It's what created this channel.
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wynterjai · 1 year
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PSA: minors DNI! Mature Audience ONLY!! +18!
Inamorata(1)
>next chapter(2)
summary: Luna thought she'd be able to watch her favorite show and relax after work, until an entity shows up in her home to kidnap her. Deep in the North, at Kaer Morhen follow Luna as she tries to make her new home feel like home. Even if her favorites Witcher’s are her mates! (OFC/Lambert, Eskel, Geralt)
warnings: poly relationship, angst, smut, GeraltxLambertxEskel x black female OC, mates
A late September night in New York City, was normal like any other day. The busy streets flowed non stop, and neither did business at the bakery. I paused at my front door and stuck my key in, relieved to finally be home.
I sighed, dropping my bags near the door and immediately making my way to the room to shower. The bakery might've smelted good, but I didn't. I lived alone, which was nice.
I never had to worry about feeding anyone besides myself.
You don't have a choice when the Foster Care system kicks you out at the tender age of eighteen.
I had no one but myself, which at the time wasn't great. But I held my own and pushed through. Now being twenty two and living alone had its benefits sometimes. Having no roommates, no responsibilities, well, other then this high rent.
Life was simple and pretty peaceful by myself. I'm not conceited but I know I'm a beautiful woman. Almost every man/woman pinned after me, of course always being turned down. I never have time for relationships, never seemed important at the time.
I guess being alone so long taught me so...
While I let the shower water warm up a bit, I took a look in the mirror at my figure. I never went to the gym, but a a run around the parks from time to time. I barley had free time, but I don't like to laze around too much either.
Being a black woman with a curvy body and shoulder length locs, along with my sharp facial features and a size D chest. I never had a problem with men or woman, but I didn't find myself needing anyone, just my shows and manga.
But tonight was a day of relaxation, no work tomorrow and any time I got off from the bakery I'd take in a heart beat. I finally made my way in the shower letting the water run over me.
I knew the first thing that was on my to-do list.
THE WITCHER.
I loved the show to bunches, it always made my day every time I watched it. I read all the books, and played all the games. I can't count how many play throughs I did on both hands, especially Witcher 3.
Cutting off the water, I dried off and went over to my dresser putting on a pair of shorts and a green tee shirt.
Making my way to the living room, I quickly turned on the TV with my take out in hand that I left at my door. The room soon filled with Jaskier antics bothering Geralt. A few hours passed, being good and full.
I noticed something rather strange in my kitchen, my apartment was only so big. I pulled my head back to couch to peak into the kitchen around the double walls.
A very dim glowing light, it almost seemed translucent.
Sighing I got up from my couch not bothering to pause the show I know so well and made my way to the kitchen. I must've left the fridge open, dummy. I stuck my tongue out to myself and made my way to the kitchen.
Coming around the corner the first thing I noticed was my closed fridge. And a very tall armory humanoid monster in front of it. I quickly held my breath and hid behind my wall.
'What the hell!'
My gun was in the drawer in my room, but if I ran pass the kitchen right now it would definitely see me. My breathing now felt erratic, as I tried to steady my self about what I was about to do. Preparing myself about what to do, my heart quickly dropped from the deep erie voice.
"Caemm 'ere".
It shook me to my core when it spoke, I'm so fucked right now. It knew I was here, dammit. There was no way that was a person, if they wanted to steal something they would've done it while I was working right?! Unless they or if wanted something else, my mouth started to get dry.
And it was getting harder and harder to keep my composure.
I remained silent, not breathing in waiting. Neither of us made a move, silence other then Geralts battle grunts are heard in the back ground on the TV.
I don't want to sprint to my room if it sees me, but it's looking like I don't have a choice now. Throwing leg in front of the other I quickly made my way towards my bedroom door.
Slamming it open, I quickly made my way to close it and licking it behind me. I rushed to my gun in my dresser, quickly turning around to my door ready to face my intruder.
Slow but menacing stumps made its way to my room. His shadow and that translucent light shown under the door. I stood up ready to stand my ground with my gun pointed at the door.
"Stay away from me, go away please".
I stood shock as my door was frozen and smashed in. I covered my face with my arm as sharp pieces of ice scattered across my room. It stood at least 8 feet tall with a staff in its left hand.
"What is your name child?".
Silent and surprised it spoke English, but I remained silent in shock. I continued to hold my gun aimed at it. I quickly backed up when it began to walk towards me. Shooting three times only too duck when the bullets ricocheted from his armor, but even a dent. It quickly made its way to me, no longer waiting for a reply. And picked me up by my arm and tossed me over its shoulder like I was today's kill.
I coughed almost violently as the air was knocked out of me from the quick movement. I thrashed and kneed his armored face, which only made my knee bleed. It begin to mumble and a circle of a golden hue appeared in front of him. He then proceed to walk through the golden circle, with me on his shoulders.
I screamed and flailed at it to let me go, within seconds I saw tinge of blue swirl between us, almost as if my body was on fire for a split second.
'This feeling, it's familiar. It's warm'.
It dropped me and held its head in anguish screaming. It tore of its helmet and dragged its hands over its face. I backed up, my back to the strange circle as it reached out to me needly as it screamed in agonizing pain.
Quickly standing I attempted to jump over it. Only for it to grab my leg and drag me towards the golden hue, despite his grunts of the torment of his pain.
I Quickly grabbed unto my bed post, my body half way through. Crying, my body begin to get warmer. Heat radiantly off my body, I saw the golden hue turn to the same blue from earlier.
The rough ironclad that was wrapped around my leg suddenly let go, and so did I.
authors note: If your too impatient and want to read more go to my page and click the link 🫶🏾
Caemm 'ere : Come here.
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eskelwolfed · 9 months
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canon divergent, independent, highly selective, mutuals and adults only portrayal of:
𝖊𝖘𝖐𝖊𝖑 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔯.
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based strongly on headcanons, tv and games.
AU & crossover & OC & ship & nsfw friendly.
loved by 𝒇𝒂𝒆 (30+, she/they) since January 21nd, 2022.
please read the rules before following !!
𝒇𝒂𝒆'𝒔 army: ⚔ @witcherkissed ⚔ @forthewitches ⚔ @passionateways ⚔
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cas-kingdom · 2 years
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'Geralt was beginning to think he should never have introduced Akela to the other witchers'. xx
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Geralt was beginning to think he should never have introduced Akela to the other witchers. Of course, he was three years, a lot of love, and a slight case of separation anxiety too late in remaking that decision, but the thought regularly crossed his mind when he returned to Kaer Morhen for the winter each year.
“What’s that bitter look on your face for?” Lambert asked. He sounded genuine, seemingly disregarding the fact he was holding a pocket knife in one hand and a fistful of blonde curls in the other as he stared at Geralt in utter confusion.
Geralt stared between his brother and the little girl sat on the floor, chewing on a medallion, surrounded by more hair than was left on her head, not that she looked to care at all.
“She had curls,” Geralt said slowly, eyes lingering a little reminiscently on the child before snapping back up to glower at Lambert.
Lambert frowned darkly. He wouldn’t let anyone criticise his work, and he proved so with the clicking of his jaw and the hand—scissor included—that came to sit against his hip. “Your point?”
“Now she doesn’t,” Geralt stated the obvious. He bit his tongue to refrain from provoking Lambert and took one large step forward until he could kneel beside Akela and sift his hand through her hair...or lack thereof. 
Lambert scoffed. “She has loads of hair. Don’t be fucking dramatic.”
"I thought we agreed to lower the profanities when the baby’s around,” Eskel said matter-of-factly once he’d entered the room. There was an irking grin on his face as Lambert stuck a middle finger in his direction.
“Fuck off. Geralt thinks I haven’t done a good job with her hair.”
Eskel stopped beside Lambert and looked at Akela, still munching on the medallion. True to Lambert’s words, Geralt did seem to be as distressed as his witcher-persona would let on, ruffling the child’s hair this way and that, brushing off cut pieces on her shoulders and shaking the stray strands that had escaped into her tunic.
Lambert had...done an interesting job. They’d all agreed that Akela had needed a haircut, her beautiful curls growing to such a vision-obscuring length that she’d toddled into a wall just yesterday, but Geralt had unwaveringly insisted that it be a trim. Nothing more, nothing less. Just enough to return her eyesight.
The witcher was far too attached to Akela’s mighty mane, having heard from someone once that most babies’ curls lost their bounce and strength as they grew older. Even with Lambert’s barber skills, Akela still had a good amount atop her head, but apparently that was not enough to tide Geralt over.
“It looks fine,” Eskel said with a small shrug, assuring both Lambert and Geralt.
Lambert grinned. “See! I’m wasted at Kaer Morhen. Should be going around charging people to cut their hair. Isn’t that right, brat, huh?” He dropped the scissors and bent down, swinging the giggling girl up into his arms and leaving Geralt stooped below. 
Once Lambert had left, proclaiming he was going to show the others his handiwork, Eskel put a hand between Geralt’s shoulder blades, the both of them silent for a mere second before—
“Would you like a moment to mourn, brother?”
Geralt scowled and batted Eskel’s hand away as he stood to his feet. He pressed his lips into a thin line at the sight of the hairy massacre below, breaking his gaze only when Eskel laughed and clapped him on the back, pulling him away in the direction Lambert had gone.
“It’s just hair, Geralt,” he said, “it’ll grow back.”
Geralt hummed. “Let’s hope Lambert has the same optimism when I cut his off while he sleeps tonight.”
Witcher Masterpost
send me the first sentence of a fanfic and i’ll write the next five, except i don’t know when to stop writing so i guarantee there’ll be more than five
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akins-art · 6 months
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I found this photo and I was Just overwhelmed and had to draw Světlana and Eskel. I Just want them to be happy...
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llorithaine · 1 year
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my 2022 art summary! you can really tell when the mgs brainrot took over (again)
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rileytwenty · 8 months
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Fandom: The Witcher   Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geralt of Rivia / OC Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Eskel, Triss Merigold, Vesemir, Original Female Character(s), Coën, Lambert
Summary: Geralt finds Calypso unconscious outside of Kaer Morhen. Calypso is from our universe, which quickly presents a problem: how she will return home? Geralt must take her with him on the journey to search for a way to transport her back to her own world. Though, in the end, will she want to return home? Will he be able to let her leave?
Repost cause I had to fix a bunch of things!!
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victoria-daydreams · 2 years
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A Close Call
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AN: I can’t believe I did it, but I wrote a story for The Witcher universe. I always had this idea floating around in my head, but I didn’t feel confident writing for The Witcher and I still don’t really, but I had to get this plot bunny out before it drove me insane. This is mostly based off Netflix’s The Witcher and I’m hoping I got the personalities right. So yeah, here you go, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.
Word Count: 5.9k
Rievone stirred from her slumber, her eyes fluttering open. Golden light streamed through the small window of her bedroom. The sign of a new day dawning in the countryside of Redania. She could feel the warmth of each ray seeping through her blankets. Blinking a little for her eyes adjust to the sunlight, Rievone exhaled heavily before rolling onto her other side. However, instead of the usual empty space she had been used to for many months now, she was greeted by the sleeping face of a man. Her Witcher.
Rievone’s gaze became more alert, her eyes resting on the figure beside her in bed. Lambert’s hair was a mess of unruly red waves and his pale, muscular body stretched nearly off her bed. She reached out to him, using the back of her finger to stroke his cheek. Lambert unconsciously tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. His body was warm against hers, generating more than enough heat to knock off the morning chill.
Lambert buried his nose in her hair, making Rievone smile to herself. When first meeting the stony Witcher, she would have never took him as someone who cuddled. Moving an arm around his waist, Rievone laid her head on his chest and looked up at him. He looked so much younger asleep, more carefree, more vulnerable. His strong jaw was relaxed and the usual worry lines etched into his forehead along with the furrowed brow, nowhere to be found.
Rievone saw him as soon as he rode into the backwater village on a gorgeous, black mare. She had just barely shut the door to her patient’s home. He was a big man with wide shoulders and thick, muscled arms that were noticeable even underneath the black leather armor he was clad in. Her eyes weren’t the only one watching the ginger haired stranger as every pair of eyes was fixed on him. Two swords dangled from the scabbard strapped on his back. One silver for monsters, one metal, for humans.
Rievone knew exactly what he was.
“Witcher,” she thought.
The monster hunter strode stiffly down the muddy road, a glower set in his face. Some villagers averted their stare, others wore a look of disgust. He ignored the leering and maneuvered his horse towards the tavern.
“Right,” Rievone whispered to herself, and pulled the hood of her cloak over head.
She finally stepped away from the door and made her way back to her cottage which happened to be in the same direction of the tavern. Rievone passed a two men lingering outside the inn, making her grip the basket in her hand tighter. She didn’t need any trouble, she just wanted to get home.
"I need a mage or a healer,"
The voice was gruff and unfamiliar, it made her pointed ears perk up slightly. Rievone glanced in the direction it came from. It was the Witcher that had spoken, and to those two men, no less.
“No witches here,” the farmer scowled. “Or their foul magic,” he added.
"We have a healer, but I doubt the half-breed would treat a monster like you,” the other man sneered, and spat on the ground. “Even she has her limits I suppose,” he commented snidely.
"Where is she?" the Witcher asked, seemingly ignoring the insult.
Suddenly, a high pitched whistle rang out in the air.
“Hey, pointy!” the farmer shouted, stopping Rievone in her tracks. “Your services are needed!” he yelled.
She turned to the group of men, “Whistle at me again like I’m some dog and I’ll cut your tongue out,” she threatened, glaring at the old farmer.
Rievone’s defiant gaze met the Witcher’s unflinchingly stare for just a split second before continuing on her path home. She had barely made it down the road when she heard a horse slowly trotting behind her.
"I don't treat Witchers—” Rievone began.
He scoffed, “Of course, you don’t,” he cut in. “You’re going to treat me just as the villagers treat you,” he continued, now riding alongside her. “You finally get someone to look down on,” he finished, with a sardonic chuckle.
“Very often” she finished, looking up at him pointedly.
The man scoffed again, but Rievone could see his lips curve into the barest hint of a grin.
Thus, began an unlikely friendship between a hedge mage and a Witcher. After all, it was only Rievone who saw right through him. The real him, beneath the tough exterior which was the only way he knew how to present himself to the world. Lambert would never admit it out loud, but there lay a soft hearted, lonely man who simply wanted to be with kindness. In kind, Lambert learned that Rievone’s perceived demureness was an act; she could've easily graduated from Aretuza. She was as ambitious and cunning as those sorceresses are renowned for.
Lambert, who was not famous for his chivalry and manners, but instead his quick temper and snarky comments. Any trace of the tough Witcher persona he carried himself by had been stripped away as he dozed. All that remained was Lambert, a man, molded into a seemingly untouchable monster hunter due to a series of traumatic events. If it were possible, Rievone would always want Lambert to always be this serene. Without all those walls in place to hide who he really was. It looked good on him.
"Like what you see, love?"
Rievone was jerked out of her thoughts. Dark brown irises blinked lazily down at her, still glazed over from sleep. A small smile formed on her lips and she lifted her head from his chest.
“Oh Lambert, don't be so cocky,” Rievone said, with a scoff. “Something I know that’s hard for you not to do,” she addded, rolling her eyes.
“You certainly weren’t complaining about my cockiness last night,” he quipped. “Or hardness,” he recalled smugly.
Rievone scrunched her nose in disgust, “You’re a pig, Lambert,” she responded.
They stared at each other for a beat, both completely silent until both their faces split into smiles. Leaning down, Rievone placed a light kiss to Lambert’s lips that was short and sweet.
“Good morning,” she whispered, as if it was a secret between the two of them.
“A good morning indeed,” he hummed, tucking loose strands of red hair behind her ear.
“Did you sleep well?”
“The best in months,”
“Good,” she said, and gave a peck on his cheek.
Rievone pushed herself up from the bed and sat up. Stretching her muscles, they burned with a familiar and pleasant ache and caused her grin to herself, images from yesterday activities flashed through her mind. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and went to stand up, but didn't get far. Strong arms had wrapped themselves around her waist.
"Don't go," Lambert groaned. “It’s too early,” he added, tightening his grip on her abdomen.
“The sun begs to differ,” Rievone replied, with a chuckle.
“No one in this godsdamned village needs a healer at the crack of fucking dawn, Rievone,” he complained, halfway to exasperation.
Her smile turned into a smirk, “I don’t know Lambert, there’s potions to be made, balms and salves, poultices, tinctures—”
Rievone let out a yelp as she felt herself being tugged backwards onto her bed. Lambert pulled her on top of him, his arms curled around her. Her chest pressed against his, and only the thin fabric of Lambert’s shirt that she wore was between them.
"Plenty of time to do that…" he trailed off, bringing a finger up to run across the light dusting of freckles along the bridge of her nose. "Later," he emphasized, now smirking himself.
Bringing her head down to meet his, their lips connected once more. This kiss was slow and passionate, more than sharing just a light peck. Rievone was pressed up against him, her body molding itself to his. Lambert’s hand found itself at the small of her back where her shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing the smooth skin that was soft and warm under his palm. Their lips continued to move over each other’s lazily and Lambert’s hands shifted to tightly gripping her hips, taking a handful of her backside as he did. He coaxed her to grind against him making Rievone inhale sharply, the action igniting the pits of her stomach with butterflies.
Rievone could feel the lightest of pressure pushing against her thigh. The evidence of his desire for her was unmistakable; he was hard and aching with need. She cupped his cheek in her hand, his beard tickling the palm of her hands and slid her tongue over his bottom lip. His hips involuntarily bucked upwards.
“Fuck!” Lambert hissed, abruptly pulling away from the kiss. He turned his head away, gasping for control. “Gods damn woman, you don’t know what you do to me,” he said, in between huffs.
“I could say the same for you, Witcher,” Rievone said, sitting up and straddling his waist.
She ran her fingers up and down his well muscled torso riddled with scars twisting around his body like white vines. Her her hands came to a rest on his chiseled chest, directly above his heart. Lambert tucked an arm behind his head before intertwining his fingers with Rievone’s.
“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” he said suddenly.
“What?” Rievone asked, her eyebrow quirking up.
“Kaer Morhen,” Lambert repeated. “The keep I travel to every winter,” he reminded.
“Why do you want me to go?” she asked curiously, absentmindedly tracing his scars.
“I worry about your safety, Rievone,” Lambert answered, squeezing her hand which got her attention.
She chuckled, “My safety?” she echoed. “Are there monsters in the woods that the village is not aware of?” she questioned, tilting her head.
Lambert untangled his fingers from hers and let his hand slide along her thigh up to her hip.
“Not all monsters dwell in deep, dark woods,” he stated, rubbing a circular pattern on her skin.
Rievone’s eyebrow raised itself again, this time in half amusement. Dipping her head down, she trailed kisses up his sternum to his throat. He closed his eyes and she knew he was enjoying the attention she gave him. Her kisses were light and mischievous, warm on his skin.
“Tell me,” she began, peppering kisses on the corners of his mouth. “What has my Witcher so concerned?”
“Man,” Lambert answered simply.
“If this is about the barkeep’s boy, I told you already you have nothing to fear,” Rievone said playfully.
“Rievone, I’m serious,” Lambert stated, a frown lining his features.
“And I’m being serious too, Lambert,” she replied, sitting up again. “The villagers can be absolute asses, but they haven’t harmed me,” she commented.
“Yet,” Lambert retorted. “Tensions are running high between humans and elves, and in case you’ve forgotten, you’re a half elf,” he informed. “Not to mention you’re a sorceress, and these people hate magic,”
“You truly think the villagers are stupid enough to kill the only healer around?” She questioned, raising a brow.
“Yes,” he answered bluntly. “Humans are fickle and irrational,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.
“Lambert, I’ll be fine, I promise,” Rievone reassured, bending down to place a kiss on his forehead.
She rested her forehead against his and he curled his fingers into her auburn curls.
“Rievone-“
She put her finger on his lips, “If all fails, I will come to Kaer Morhen at the first sign of trouble,” she interrupted. “I know where it is, you showed me on a map before, remember?” Rievone asked, a small smile on her lips. “I’ll be out of this village before you can say kikimora,” she joked.
Lambert shifted underneath her and before she knew it, Rievone’s back was against the mattress and Lambert was hovering above her.
“If so much of a hair is harmed on your head…” he warned lowly.
“You’ll kill them, yes, I know,” she said, finishing his sentence. “I prefer you don’t,” Rievone said, releasing a breathy laugh. “How else would I get my crowns and coppers?” she joked.
“You’re incredible,”
Lambert grinned at her lovingly and Rievone giggled softly, a giggle that was swallowed by Lambert capturing her lips with his. Immediately, she melted into the kiss feeling her body tingle and course with warmth. Rievone leaned up and returned the kiss with vigor, wrapping her arms around his neck. She clung onto Lambert as their kiss deepened. His mouth moved over hers, stealing away her breath in deep, desperate kisses. Lambert slid his hand from her hip to her thigh, grinding against her as he pulled her leg up to wrap around his waist.
Rievone’s eyes roll back ever so slightly as breathy gasps that left her throat, muffled by his lips against hers.
“Still need to make your potions and poultices?” Lambert murmured, against her mouth before trailing down her neck.
“No,” she breathed, Rievone could not help but smile at his jest. “This is much more important,” she stated, nodding her head.
Lambert let out a satisfied grunt into her neck. His beard tickled her jawline, while his lips and hot breath fanned over collar bone. Everything felt so peaceful, so perfect. Rievone didn't know what time it was, nor did she really care. She would gladly stay in bed all day if it meant more tender and loving moments like this.
~~~x~~~
Two months later
Rievone’s feet hit the frozen ground hard and she immediately stumbled, falling hard onto her hands and knees. The portal behind her spluttered close, the last of its energy spent dying with one final crackle. Heavy, ragged breathing was just barely audible over the howling wind around her. Rievone’s skin was slick with sweat, mixing with blood trailing down her forehead and onto her cheeks. The cold, dampness of the snow soaking the skirt of her dress barely registered with her, not when there was pain lancing through her body. Sharpness in her back, a throbbing slash on her side.
Rievone glanced at her surroundings, her portal had taken to a dark, dense forest. The moon was the only light that shone upon the forest floor, filtering its way through the branches that already lost their leaves. Suddenly, a freezing gust swept through the air like an agonized howl and Rievone stiffened. The biting wind lapped at her newly acquired tender, raw cuts on her right cheek and forehead. The stinging pain hurt, but kept her focused on her mission.
“I need to reach him,” she wheezed, pushing herself up from the ground.
On shaky legs, snow crunched underneath her boots as she made her way through the thick forest. Rievone could barely see where she was going. Her vision blurry both from fatigue and the little white flecks falling from the sky. She held her palm against her side moving as fast as she could, gasping for the frigid air. Blood was seeping from her wound on her waist making it even harder for her to continue at her current pace. Her lungs burned and her legs ached and the snow blanketing the forest floor surely wasn’t making it any easier on her body.
Panting heavily, Rievone finally stepped out into a clearing. Before her eyes, the full moon shined down on the remaining standing walls of Kaer Mohren, snowflakes slowly descending onto the decrepit structure. Tall mountains rose high behind the castle, blocking out the horizon from its vast height. The towers jetted up towards the sky disappearing into the clouds. The ruins was the most peaceful thing she had laid eyes on in hours.
Rievone vision was beginning to swim and each breath she took was more difficult than the last. Briefly, her eyes shut as a shudder racked through her body. She was so tired. Rievone forced her eyes to reopen, wanting her rapidly fogging vision to assess the damage at her side. It only took a quick glance for her to clasp her hand back over her wound again. It was bad. No worse than bad, it was fatal.
Thick, crimson liquid began to pool profusely between her fingers almost instantly. The sudden flow of blood spilling from out of her made her hands slick. Trembling, numb fingers pressed harder against the torn layer of the soaking wet clothes. A rasping moan of pain drew from her throat at the increase in pressure.
Soundlessly, the warm liquid trickled down to the ground in droplets, staining the freshly laid snow red. In the moonlight, her blood almost looked black instead of red, as if she was bleeding tar or ink. Rievone knew wasn’t going to last much longer.
She furrowed her brow in concentration, tugging at the remnants of her magic, ready to cast a spell to freeze the blood in her wound in a desperate bid to staunch the flow. Time, she needed to buy herself time…time to get help, but she realized that trying it would only wear her down further.
“Fuck!” she hissed, her breath steaming in the air in front of her.
Her breaths were coming in short gasps while heart pounded like a drum in her ears. With one bloody palm, Rievone flexed her fingers and the heavy gates flung open. She trudged through the snowy courtyard, the pain in her side increasing with every step she took, but she wasn’t going to allow herself to give up. Not when she was so close.
Rievone outstretched her hand and the wooden doors leading to the Great Hall flung open with a loud bang, causing every head inside the room to whip towards the entrance. Even with clouding vision, she could see the main hall was lit up with candles, a fire roaring in the large fireplace. Gripping her cloak tighter around her body, she didn’t think that it was possible for the hall to feel far colder than the snow storm raging outside. Or maybe it was due to the unknown amount of blood she’s lost? Rievone leaned against the frame of the door, leaving a bloody handprint on the wood.
An older man with white hair that dusted his shoulders and a receding hairline was the first to spring to his feet, a wolf medallion dangling from his neck.
He stared at her warily, “Anything I can help you with?" the man asked, his composure cool.
She didn’t answer, instead she used the door to steady herself, feeling her legs tremble beneath her. Red smeared itself all the along surface as she entered the hall. A loud scraping noise eerily echoed in the hall as Rievone’s feet dragged across the stone floor.
“Lambert,” she uttered weakly.
She swayed, black dots peppering her vision. Rievone took a step forward into the hall and immediately wavered, her knees buckling as they refuse to carry her weight for another moment. Gravity slammed her onto the cold, stone floor. For a few seconds, she was blissfully numb as her brain tried to process what was happening. She couldn't move, couldn't feel. The only sensation she could feel was the dull, icy cold seeping into her body.
“Oh, I’m dying,” she realized.
She knows it by the dull, numbness spreading up from the agonizing throbbing in her side. By the strength she didn't have the to get up, by the will to not keep fighting. A warm puddle of liquid pooling beneath her. It coated her fingers and her arm. It drenched her hip and her side. It spread across her stomach. Above her, she could faintly hear voices and hurried footsteps.
“Rievone!”
Someone had screamed her name. They sounded frantic.
“Strange…I-I don’t remember stating my name,” she thought.
The corners of her eyes darkened, her mind beginning to fog. Suddenly, a pair of hands fumbled over her body in a panic, turning her over to look at them. The last thing Rievone saw was the face of a man framed by curly, ginger hair full of shock and terror, before finally slipping under and feeling her head loll to the side as darkness took her.
~~~x~~~
The first thing Rievone woke to was a splintering pain in her skull causing a soft groan to pass from her lips. She opened her eyes, or rather, she tried to open them. Her eyes felt like they were glued shut, the pressure in her head building like a tea kettle coming to boil. She forced her eyes open just a slit and for a moment there was a piercing, blinding ray of light. Instantly, she shut them again, wincing against the pain.
It took a moment for the fog of slumber to lift from her mind, before lifting her hand to rub her forehead. When moving her hand, the softness of fur blankets under her fingertips was both welcoming and puzzling. How did she get under fur covers? When did she get under covers? Rievone’s confusion only grew as she sensed herself drifting between the hazy state of consciousness and unconsciousness. Blurred Images and muffled sounds began flashing through her mind.
"Rievone, please! Open your eyes for me love!"
The feeling of intense heat and a cool cloth on her head. The taste of bitter medicine. The sound of a door opening and closing, hushed voices outside. Hearing a familiar voice and the thought of opening her eyes crossed her mind, but she was unable to move a muscle. The only thing she felt was a comfortable warmth. A much larger hand tenderly holding hers.
She tried once more to pry her eyes open and with every blink, the pain of the sunlight light began to fade as her eyes slowly adjusted to the poorly lit space. A wooden empty chair beside the bed was the first thing her eyes had landed on. Her eyes darted towards the center of the room, a stone fireplace lined with black ash and soot heated the room to a warm, nearly sleep-inducing temperature. Rievone had to force herself to ignore the urge to fall asleep again.
She pushed herself up in the bed slightly and felt lightheaded from the sudden motion. Every muscle in Rievone’s arms groaned, her bones seemingly letting out a few creaks themselves. This was the exact opposite surroundings she was accustomed to. It was a far cry from the coziness of her cottage. It’s then, the events of the night before came flooding back to Rievone. Jumbled at first, but her brain slowly pieced it back together into cohesion. The villagers. Her cottage. A fire. Running. Blood.
"Half-breed!”
“Filthy elf!"
“She-elf!”
“Nilfgaardian spy!”
The volley of insults hurled her way was relentless, but she held her head high, refusing to allow the insults to get under skin. All she needed to do was collect some herbs from the forest and leave the village when night fell. A rock suddenly hit Rievone on the side of her forehead just below her right eye. Momentarily, she was dazed by the unexpected blow, but then came the sensation of something warm running down her face. Dropping her reins, Rievone lifted her hand to her face. Blood.
Another flurry of rocks soared her way, this time missing their mark. Rievone picked up her reins and kicked the sides of horse.
“Yah!“ she shouted, ordering her horse to sprint.
More rocks were tossed at her, but with the speed she was riding at, she avoided most of the jagged projectiles. Rievone flinched as one struck her cheek, slicing the tender skin. She had spoken too soon.
Rievone lifted her fingers to her cheek expecting to feel the open wound on her cheek, instead she felt nothing, just the smoothness of her skin. The harsh wind whipping loudly against Kaer Morhen shook her from her daze. A shiver ran down her spine, the wintery air getting through the cracks of the walls, whistling through them and giving the room a slight chill. Luckily, the heat from the fire burning in the fireplace kept most of it away. Quietly, faint voices echoed in the corridor outside the door and Rievone’s head snapped in that direction.
The hushed voices became louder and louder as the sound of footsteps simultaneously grew closer. Rievone couldn’t explain it, but she suddenly felt afraid. A subtle click echoed in the room as the door opened to reveal a man and woman as light from the corridor spilled into the semi-dark room. The woman was dressed elegantly, in dark velvets, her hair braided around her head to resemble a crown.
Rievone shifted her gaze to the man and her eyes froze at his appearance. Deep scars ran down the right side of his face distorting his features, reaching from his temple to his lips. Despite the scarring, she could tell he was handsome; brunet hair pulled back into a half bun with wavy strands falling over his face.
“It’s good to see you awake,” the woman greeted softly. “You had us all worried, Lambert most of all,” she said, stepping into the room.
“Had Lambert going half out his mind,” the man commented.
“Not helpful,” the woman admonished, lightly hitting his stomach. “I’m Leyna,” she introduced, placing her hand on her chest. “And this is Eskel, who is going to tell Lambert that he comes bearing good news,” Leyna said, looking up at him.
“Er-hi,” Rievone croaked out, her throat raspy from dehydration.
He frowned, “Why do I—”
“Go,” Leyna ordered, lightly pushing him out the room and closing the door in his face.
She turned around and faced Rievone with a grin on her face.
“I suppose I have you to thank for healing me,” Rievone stated, picking up the cup of water from the small wooden table next to her.
“I cannot take all the credit, it was a combined effort,” Leyna answered, moving over to the fireplace. “My friend Triss helped as well, we made sure to leave no scars,” she added, smiling over her shoulder.
Rievone wiped her top lip of excess water and watched as Leyna kindled the flames that crackled and spit, the flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls.
“You’re both mages, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and from what I heard from Lambert you’re one too,” Leyna replied, placing the poker down and spinning around. “Says you’re quite powerful yourself,” she continued, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. “I saw some of your handiwork, you tried to heal yourself just enough before you portaled,” she recalled, nodding her head.
“A hedge mage,” Rievone corrected quickly. “I wouldn’t dare call myself a mage since I never received formal training at Aretuza,” she said sarcastically, curling her fingers and watched as the extinguished candle sprung back to life.
An ache inside Rievone’s skull throbbed making her wince and hold her head in pain.
“Too early to try and cast magic,” she thought.
Leyna grabbed the pitcher off the table, “He wasn’t wrong, Lambert that is. I can feel the power radiating from you,” she stated, refilling the cup.
Rievone laughed bitterly, “It’s funny, the Rectoress of Aretuza, Tissaia de Vries, said she could sense my power as well,” she recalled, shaking her head.
She placed the pitcher back down, “You know Tissaia? Oh, how lovely,” Leyna said, her face lighting up.
“I suppose she had plans to whisk me from my father’s farm, but then she realized what I was,” Rievone said, before pulling her hair over one shoulder.
“A half-elf,”
“My father and I knew that such a day would come,” Rievone explained, picking up the cup again. “My mother was a sorceress, it was only matter of time before I manifested my powers,” she said quietly, raising the cup to her lips.
“I’m sorry, I cannot accept your daughter into Aretuza. Upon further inspection, she doesn’t meet our standards,” the Rectoress informed, a stoic expression on her face.
“Your ‘standards’ being ‘humans only’, right?” her father retorted, holding Rievone closer to him. “She’s better off without you lot,” he stated, his eyes narrowing at the woman. “Come on dear, let’s get back inside and finish our breakfast,” he said, looking down at her warmly and rubbing her arm.
“I-” Leyna began.
Suddenly, the door to Rievone room was thrown open, loudly slamming against the stone wall and startling both women. There in the doorway, stood an out of breath Lambert immediately seeking out her eyes. His face was paler than normal, causing the dark rings under his eyes to stand in stark contrast of his skin. The mighty Witcher looked haggard, his unruly hair and clothes were more disheveled than she could ever recall. It pained Rievone to see him in such a state.
“Gods, Lambert!” Leyna exclaimed, rising to her feet. “You nearly made of us die of fright,” she scolded lightly, as he slowly walked in the room.
Quick footfalls echoed in the corridor and sliding behind Lambert was Eskel’s slightly panting form.
“Barely had time to finish her name before he went sprinting,” Eskel said, breathing heavily looking at the sorceress. “Fastest I‘ve ever seen him,” he quipped, glancing at Lambert who was not paying to him at all. His eyes were solely focused on Rievone. “Leyna, let’s give them some privacy,” Eskel suggested, holding out his hand for her to take.
“Of course,” she agreed.
Passing Lambert, Leyna gave his bicep a reassuring squeeze before leaving and pulling the door close. Just before the door completely shut, Rievone could see Eskel rest his hand on Leyna’s lower back before sliding down and grabbing her backside. Promptly, she swatted it away, but not before letting out a giggle as the door shut with a click.
Rievone shifted her gaze back to Lambert, observing the slight shaking of his form and the white-knuckled grip the ginger had from his fists being balled up. He stood there, not saying anything.
“Lambert, I-”
“What was it that you promised me?” he asked lowly, cutting her off. “The first sign of trouble and ‘I’ll be out of this village before you can say kikimora,’” he echoed, and Rievone opened her mouth to explain herself but found that her throat suddenly felt dry. “Tell me Rievone, what was the first sign? Was it the stab wound to your side? The slash to your back? The cuts on your forehead?” Lambert questioned.
Rievone could taste the anger in his voice, the fear in his words, and yet his face was gentle, eyes soft. Lambert began to pace back and forth in front of her and ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the curls in frustration.
His pacing suddenly stopped, “The moment you heard the elves aligned themselves with Nilfgaard, you should’ve left that backwater village!” Lambert said, his eyes boring into hers.
Rievone swallowed deeply, “I was going to leave at nightfall, but the barkeep’s son h-he-” she stammered.
Lambert’s eyes darkened, “What did that bastard do to you?” he growled, walking to the bed.
“H-He followed me into the woods,” she answered, as Lambert lowered himself next to her. “You knew how he could be Lambert, always making advances at me,” Rievone continued, noticing his jaw tighten. “When he followed me, I thought it was out of the kindness of his heart this time. You see, I just had rocks thrown at me,” she informed. “That’s why my face was cut up,” she explained, running her fingers across her cheek.
“At first he did try to comfort me, he helped clean my face off,” Rievone said, with a soft sigh. “I closed my eyes for one second, and he took that as an invitation to kiss me,” she went on, as Lambert narrowed his eyes. “I shoved him away…” she said, trailing off.
“What the hells is wrong you?” Rievone shouted.
“I turned my back on him, it was a terrible mistake,” she remembered, her breath slightly faltering. “My rejection of him had consequences,” she said, her eyes never leaving Lambert’s.
“Elven bitch!”
“He stabbed me in the side first,” Rievone began, and Lambert warily reached his hand out to where the wound should have been. “Then, he slashed my back. Only reason he didn’t kill me was because I fought him off with my magic,” she said, letting the heat of his palm anchor her as the warmth permeated through the thin material of her dress.
The man fell back onto the ground, “Y-You’re a witch,” he stated, his knife slipping from his fingers. “You’re a filthy witch!” he yelled, pointing fearfully at her.
“He ran back to the village and told everyone what I was,” Rievone recounted. “There was going to be a manhunt for me, they were going to kill me,” she whispered. “I tried to go back to my home, but…” she trailed off again.
Camouflaging herself behind a bush, Rievone carefully pushed away leaves that blocked her view to her cottage. She gasped at the crowd amassed at her door.
"Burn the witch!" the mob cried, as they surrounded her home.
Rievone looked on in horror as they broke the windows in and tossed their torches inside, setting her once cozy home aflame.
"Let’s get the she-elf witch and kill her!"
Her head snapped in the direction of the voice as they walked in the direction where she had been left for dead. Rievone held her side and slowly backed away from the burning cottage, her breathing uneven. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from the fiery blaze and turned around, limping off into the dark woods.
“They burnt it down. My cottage, everything inside, gone,”
Lambert’s fingertips traced along her jaw, his thumb ghosting over her cheek like she was made of glass.
“I don’t give a damn about your cottage,” he stated, his voice low.
Rievone frowned, “Lambert-”
“No!” he snapped, his tone hardening as his eyes fervently searched hers. “I warned you that something like this could happen,” Lambert said, followed by a shaky exhale. “Rievone, seeing you bleed out on the floor of the Great Hall—to see you motionless on this bed—” he paused, taking a breath. “My worst fear very nearly came true, I could’ve lost you,” Lambert whispered, his voice cracking as his thumb gently ghosted her lips.
Lambert’s fingers began to tremble against her skin. Immediately, Rievone placed her hand on top of his stilling the tremors and rubbed her thumb against his skin, moving in small circles. His eyes were glassy and a single tear slipped down his face.
“Don’t cry Lambert,” Rievone said softly, wiping the tear away before pulling him in for a hug. “I’m right here,” she reassured. “And I'm not going anywhere,” she added, kissing his hair.
Rievone felt as his body began to shake violently as he cried silently. Her arms tighten around his him, his tears dampening her dress. A shiver ran through her as Lambert’s breath fanned across her neck and collarbone. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly, to the point that it was almost crushing, but she didn't mind.
“For as long as I draw breath, I shall never leave you,” Rievone whispered, running her fingers through ginger locks.
Lambert raised his head, “Life without you Rievone, would be unbearable, everything would become meaningless. You are the tether that keeps me going in this godforsaken world,” he confessed brokenly.
Rievone leaned forward, their foreheads resting against each other. She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek feeling Lambert press into her hand.
“My dear Lambert,” she began, her smile small and warm. “Aé minne taedh,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his.
“What was that you just said?”
“I love you, my dearest Lambert,”
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mangaka-devotee · 7 months
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mystickingstuff · 8 months
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Fic Idea that I won't really use so whatever, I'll share it.
The Witcher setting. More game like than book and show, but whatever suits you.
"Eskel is not like his more famous brother, the White Wolf. Even with all the skill and a more attuned talent for Chaos than his other fellow witchers, he still is shunned for his looks. Apparently, humans feel really uncomfortable around a witcher with such visible scars.
That is, of course, until he meets Ivar, a sorcerer gone rogue. Not only that, but also a half-elf with very strong opinions about how the humans treat people like him. Even though they are complete opposites, a bond is formed and they start going together on the Path, backing each other up and facing monsters together.
But would Eskel still follow Ivar, even when the sorcerer's goal is to give a lair to his mother's people, no matter the cost?"
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luteandsword · 2 years
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fluffiest fics for march (geraskier, mostly!)
 I didn’t read a lot of fics this past March, so I asked some wonderful friends for help! We found some lovely ones together, and I’m pleased to rec some of their works x.  If there’s smut it will be tagged with a ★. 
GERASKIER
Mine by EyesUpMarksman (1.6k, I really love their Sentinel/Guard AU, but haven’t had the chance to rec it, so please enjoy the fluff). 
Summary: “You’re wearing my shirt.” It’s not entirely a statement, but not a question either. And glancing down at himself, yeah, Jaskier thinks, he is wearing Geralt’s shirt. It was the first thing he grabbed from the floor. He didn’t notice before, but the shirt smells like the Witcher.  “I suppose I am,” he says quietly, looking up at the man.
You've no clue how to sew by @flowercrown-bard (2.1k, Geralt teaching Jaskier, simply adorable). 
Summary: "Geralt," he began slowly, running his fingers over the filigrane figure stitched with black thread into the shirt. The thread was almost unnoticeable on the black fabric, blending into it perfectly, unless you were actively looking for it. "What is this?" Geralt's brows furrowed and he leaned closer to inspect what Jaskier was talking about. The faintest hint of a blush crept over Geralt's cheeks and he turned away quickly. "It's nothing. Just tore the shirt during a hunt and had to stitch it back together." Stitch it - Geralt, this isn't just fixing a shirt. There's an entire griffin embroidered on it." Or: Geralt teaches Jaskier how to do embroidery
Dandelion's Gift by @officerjennie (7.7k, very tender, gerlion from the books. It’s touching and adorable and I want to live in it.)
Summary: '“My sweet, darling wolf,” Dandelion finally said, his voice a little tight, his eyes still sparkling blue when he leaned to the side just enough to look up at Geralt through wet lashes. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” “Existed,” Geralt said, and though his smile might have suggested a tease he’d never whispered a word more true.' Geralt gets Dandelion a gift, and it's one Dandelion will treasure close to his heart - but there's one he treasures even more.
★ When The Heart Grows Fond by Hallianna (75k, I just finished this and it’s just pure fluff, with some smut, and it’s absolutely heart rending, it’s that sweet!)
Summary: The house next door to Jaskier’s hadn’t sold in almost two years, but now a gorgeous man and his adorable daughter have just moved in. Jaskier’s been alone a long time after a terrible relationship that nearly ruined him, but the handsome new neighbor is making things better. As Geralt and Jaskier get to know one another, sparks fly, but love is never without complications. A fluffy, slow burn modern AU where Geralt and Ciri move in next door to Jaskier and these two adorable idiot men slowly fall in love. And Jaskier has a dog and Geralt works on motorcycles and everything is pretty tooth-rottingly sweet and it all ends happily for everyone. There's also a threesome between Eskel, Lambert, and Jaskier's best friend, an OC (who commenters seem to genuinely love!). Those chapters are optional though they be spicy spicy.
you'll darn me back together by @witchersgoldenbard (2.1k, honestly just adorable, more handy work, and Geralt is so cute!)
Summary: Geralt loves watching Jaskier work on his clothes - embellishing, mending, redesigning. It's mesmerising. It's beautiful. It makes him yearn for soft things and pretty flowers on his own shirts. --- In which secretly Geralt wants nice things and in the end gets more than he dared to dream.
The Tickler’s Conundrum by @samstree (1.9k, I love a good established relationship fic and this made me yearn!)
Summary: “Sweet Melitele, I have no clue then. If I didn’t know you better, I’d guess you are too ticklish to be touched.” Geralt freezes, and the next second stretches into eternity. All Jaskier hears is his own heartbeat in his ear and the subtle hitch in his witcher’s breath. Oh. “Wait.” Jaskier pulls back, placing a hand on Geralt’s arm. “Are you?”
When you kiss me heaven sighs by @dapandapod (1.2k, OKAYYY PANDA LET’S GOOO. As if I’m not crying at how cute this is. I love a good proposal fic). 
Summary: Out of the two of them, Jaskier is the musician. Rather obviously so, as they actually met the first time on a street corner where Jaskier was singing his heart out and Geralt was unable to tear his eyes away. That first time, it was a guitar, the next a flute, lute, and a loop pedal. His eyes were twinkling, his smile warm and inviting, and Geralt was completely smitten. Is completely smitten. Or; Panda has been listening to La vie en Rose on repeat for days and just want Geralt to propose already
Now You're In The World by @kingeomer (1.8k, another delicious proposal fic from Amanda! Gorgeous work lovey.)
Summary: “What is it now?” he asked, wiping his hands on a tea towel as he padded across the kitchen, leaning against the counter across from the musician. Jaskier let out another sigh, putting down his phone to slide it across the surface to Geralt, showing him his mother’s oh so perfect Christmas morning without her failure of a son present to ruin things. “Ah,” Geralt responded, swiping up on the screen to close the cursed app for Jaskier, saving him from looking at the offending picture and caption much longer. Or, in which Geralt gives Jaskier his last name.
Tremble For My Beloved by Bouncey (3.2k, soulmate au! hey author your works are lovely!)
Summary: It seemed to be a fair trade for average people. If someone was hurt enough to be scarred, a mark appeared in the same place on the body of their Beloved. If your scars matched another person's marks, it was a sign from the universe that you were meant to be together. Which is why Julian’s parents were so concerned. Down his tiny chest, across his legs, and all over his arms were minuscule yellow flowers. Dandelions littered his fragile body from head to toe in various clumps and lines, places where teeth had pierced or swords had sliced into his Beloved. Places where talons had broken through skin and left raised tissue behind. On the day of his birth, Julian Alfred Pankratz was already covered in another's marks.
Remind Me What Kindness Is by Bedalk05 (21k, modern au, adorable, well written.)
Summary: Jaskier was baffled. This giant figure was a man of legend, inspiring words of terror and admiration both. And yet facing him Jaskier only saw a lost and lonely man who acted more like an injured wolf than a butcher. AKA the modern AU no one asked for where Geralt is a vigilante and owns a flower shop, Jaskier is a tattooist and singer, and they both have lots and lots of feelings.
A Fake Boyfriend Christmas by LovelyRita1967 (6.9k, really wonderful, fake dating au! suck it, valdo!) 
Summary: Jaskier has just found out—via Instagram, for fuck's sake—that his ex, Valdo Marx, is now dating his sister. And it is the day before the huge Pankratz family Christmas party. He knows it's cheesy and ridiculous, but he convinces his roommate Geralt to come to the party as his fake boyfriend. Turns out, they are REALLY good at fake dating. A little too good.
navigation (and lack thereof) by @penandinkprincess (7.7k. incredible work!)
Summary: He huffs a frustrated breath that shudders slightly on its way out with his shivering before he turns a corner and finds yet another hallway that looks like every other hallway. As he’s about to slide to the floor and fall back to his tried and true method of shouting for Geralt at the top of his lungs to fix the problem, he catches sight of a flicker of light under a doorway. Salvation. (Jaskier’s Kaer Morhen navigational skills are lacking, but his puppy eyes are top notch, which helps even things out.)
Oh Witcher, Bard Mine by Hallianna (2.3k). 
Summary: Geralt’s head rang with their laughter, his eyes too full of the sight of a soaked Jaskier and Coen spluttering to the surface, throwing water and insults like they’d done it for years. But Jaskier had fit in here immediately, hadn’t he? Like he’d always been here, his footsteps echoing down the bare halls, his ink-stained fingers leaving marks on the old, scarred tables. Hadn’t his coat and boots always been by the fire to dry out, his lute in the corner waiting patiently.
Hadn’t he always been here, in some way? Ever since Geralt had met him, impertinent and stupidly brave and firing off clever little things like heroics and heartbreak and you smell of death and destiny. Clever, but empty, Geralt had thought at the time. Until he learned. He learned over the years how much Jaskier listened, how much he absorbed. More than the facts and history and poems he loved, but the way he watched. And the things that stuck with the bard, the man. Not his bard. His friend. aka "Everyone wants to borrow the bard and keeps asking Geralt for permission"
But Your Heart Is Where Mine Lies by Tarkovsky(1.6k, proposal au, this one is mine <3)
Summary: “Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, and Geralt turned to him, his eyes full of love. It always took Jaskier’s breath away. “Um… Geralt, darling,” Jaskier said again, his heart pounding against his ribs, and Geralt huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes, Jaskier, my dove?” He replied, his smile full of mirth and mischief.
Or, Jaskier attempts to propose but ends up hurting himself. No matter, he can propose in the ER.
GERASKEFER
When I Watch You Sleep (I Dream)JaskierOfRivia (4.6k, adorable, so cute)
Summary: 'I wonder if she’s dreaming about me and Jaskier', Geralt thought to himself. 'Dreaming about how much she loves us, how much we love her. How happy we make each other. That we make each other’s lives better and whole.' “Gods, she’s beautiful when she’s sleeping, isn’t she?” Jaskier sighed wistfully. “She’s beautiful all the time, of course. But there’s something almost… ethereal about Yen when she’s sleeping. Otherworldly. Like she’s a goddess in some faraway world and we’re the mere ordinary folk who have been given the opportunity to gaze upon her.” OR After Yennefer saves Geralt's life once again with her magic, Jaskier and Geralt watch her sleep it off, thinking about how much they love each other and how godsdamn lucky all three of them are.
You've Been Deprived, Haven't You My Dear? by Bedalk05 ( EVENTUALLY BECOMES GERASKFER? I think. This is a series, and it looks to be mostly fluffy and adorable, but just read the tags!)
Summary: The thing is, Witchers aren’t supposed to be affectionate. Geralt, in his own particular way, undoubtedly is however. Unfortunately, the Witcher is truly inept when it comes to handling affection and processing emotion. All of this is to say that Jaskier could have predicted this. “This” being Geralt standing helplessly as he holds a cat currently purring in his arms.
Geralt deserves to touch something soft.
As always, I am Tarkovsky on A03 (DD content on there), and this is Lou, signing off.
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lokibuswrites · 4 months
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my writing (The Witcher)
My fic (Devilish_lokibus on ao3)
Multichapter
To keep you (Masterpost) — ace!Geralt, the fic of my heart
31 Days of Decembert 2021 [Masterpost / ao3]
Rawrkinjd’s Bingo [ao3]
Vines of Ivy / ao3 Geralt’s thinking of home.
Of stars and seas / ao3 — Geralt/Lambert, G "What's keeping you up, pretty boy?" Everything and nothing, Geralt thought, but he knew that if he said that out loud, Lambert would only scoff at him.
Animus te portabit / ao3 — Eskel/Lambert, T “Go ahead, I’ll scatter the ashes.” “Let’s do it together.
You are enough / ao3 — Eskel/Geralt/Lambert, G Lambert loves Eskel and Geralt’s warmth. Still, the fear of being unworthy of it persists.
I do / ao3 — Eskel/Lambert, M (for suicide attempt and ideation) “Who cares if I’m gone?” [Lambert attempts suicide and ends up in hospital. Eskel is there when he wakes, heartbroken.]
Series: Angry kisses (losing myself) [two parts] — Geralt/Jaskier
Blood and sleep (Part 1) / ao3 — T When Jaskier gets hurt on a hunt, Geralt worries. Jaskier has an issue with that.
Fury and woodsmoke (Part 2) / ao3 — G Geralt gets back from a hunt and is confronted with Jaskier, who is upset.
Series: Singing along (’cause I’m in love) [three parts] — Geralt/Jaskier
learn to sing alone (Part 1) / ao3 —  G Jaskier's feeling down when Geralt comes home and comforts him.
you’ve become my home (Part 2) / ao3 — T Jaskier dances like a madman and Geralt loves it.
when my love’s away (Part 3) / ao3 — G After an argument, Jaskier storms off.
One-shots (anti-chronological)
ghosts / ao3 — Geralt & Ciri, G They cuddle :3
cliffside / ao3 — Eskel x Geralt, M fuckbuddies but in love (gift for Nel)
potion migraine / ao3 — Geralt & Jaskier, G Geralt has a migraine attack when he comes down from his potions.
see you right back here tomorrow — Lambert x mentioned male OC, T Keep this scene inside your head, as the bruises turn to yellow, the swelling goes down.
the only certitude in life / ao3 — Eskel x Geralt, T Life isn’t a fair thing, it’s dark and often twisted, is something old Barmin says when the nights get long, but it’s no consolation.
whispers / ao3 — Eskel x Geralt, G Eskel sees his scars. (Written for Rawr)
Grooves in the snow (guide me home) / ao3 — pre-Geralt/Jaskier, G Geralt is on his way to Kaer Morhen when he thinks about the bard he left behind.
fears and friends / ao3 — pre-Geraskier, G Geralt has a panic attack and Jaskier helps him calm down.
Do you even realise I love you? / ao3 — onesided Geralt/Jaskier, G Jaskier thinks about his relationship with Geralt. (Written for Grey)
Undeserving / ao3 — G the mountain scene, but with a bit more hurt
Every Breath / ao3 — G Geralt is overwhelmed by how much love he’s feeling. He tries to explain it to Jaskier.
Tired (but never tired of you) / ao3 — Geralt/Jaskier, G Geralt is very exhausted and doesn’t necessarily think before doing something.
My comments on fics from someone else
If These Scars Could Speak (rawrkinjd)
No reason to run (yoursummerfrost)
My Escape (rawrkinjd)
Good As Gold (witcher-and-his-bard)
Not Broken (round--robin)
Cabinet of Curiosities (rawrkinjd and round--robin)
Your Scent Calls Me, Bids Me Home (anarchycox)
Arnica and Clove for Rosemary and Thyme (sometimesiwrite)
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wynterjai · 1 year
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thinking about also posting my witcher mates series here 🙂 should I ?
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masterlist
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