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viking-raider · 1 year

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A WITCHER’S LEGACY - PART THREE: BONDS

Summary: You travel to Kaer Morhen with Lycus and Jaskier, while Geralt hunts down who's behind the Mage attack. Starting with Nenneke, in the Temple of Melitele.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Parts: I II

Warning: PG - Witcher!AU, Dad!Geralt, Soft & Protective!Geralt, Sassy!Reader, Language, Hurt/Comfort, Protective!Jaskier, Uncle!Jaskier, Confession, Separation, Nicknames, Memories, Unrequited Love, Rude Behavior, Fluff

Inspiration: A subject from my story, A Witcher’s Destiny, Season Two of Netflix’s the Witcher and a Quest in The Witcher 3!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to be added A Witcher’s Legacy Tag List, please message me!

I also have the story on my AO3

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“I don't want to leave you.” You whimpered, tugging on the hem of Geralt's cloak, while trying to stifle back tears.

Geralt smiled softly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulled you in, closing Lycus in between you. “I know you don't, my firefly.” He whispered, pressing his lips to your forehead. “But it's for the best.” He told you, looking down at Lycus, nestled inside your own cloak. “For you and our son.”

“We've never been apart for more than a day or two, since we've met, you know that?” You said, looking up, and trying to smile for him.

“I do.” He chuckled, golden eyes sparkling. “What is it that married couples say?” He quipped at you. “The ol' ball and chain.”

That drew a genuine laugh out of you. “Is this you suggesting we legitimately marry?” You teased back, nudging him with your shoulder.

“I've told you before, you've been my wife for a very long time.” Geralt answered, catching your chin in his fingers. “I don't need an alderman to tell me that.” He whispered, his forehead brushing yours.

“Unless, you want it?” He mumbled, softly.

“I don't need one either.” You assured him, sweetly. “Besides, I think this sweet guy bonds us together far more than a marriage contract ever could.” You said, glancing into Lycus's face, seeing so much of Geralt in his teeny features.

“That's more than true.” He nodded, smiling at his beautiful son. “Now, hop up on Bell. It's a four day ride from Asheberg to Kaer Morhen.” He told you, grabbing a hold of the rose gray horse's reins to hold it still, while you maneuvered Lycus in his sling and pulled yourself up into the saddle.

“Hey.” Geralt called quietly, squeezing your calf as he looked up at you.

You looked down, lifting a creased brow.

“I'll miss you and I love you.” He assured you, giving you a reassuring expression.

“Same, my wolf.” You rasped back, your voice cracking around the lump in your throat.

Patting your thigh, Geralt turned away from you and Lycus. Taking a deep breath, as he tried to ignore the raging storm inside his body that wanted to keep him from walking away, knowing the danger the two of you were in. Stiffening his jaw and squaring his shoulders, he set his right boot forward in the slimy mud, before approaching Jaskier, who was fussing with the buckles to his own horse's saddle.

“I'm entrusting their safety to you, Julian.” Geralt said, giving the Bard a stony, golden glare.

“Come now, Geralt, I will protect them as if they were my own wife and child.” Jaskier replied, clicking his tongue at the Witcher, in an attempt to sound confidently dismissive. “As if they were my lute!” He added, with a melodic laugh, glancing at his long-time friend.

“That's another thing I want from you.” Geralt said, turning an eye over his shoulder to you. “She probably won't hear of it, but should anyone ask on the journey to Kaer Morhen, they are your wife and child.”

“What, why?” The Bard frowned, shaking his head.

“Because, people are clearly trying to find a woman and her child that she had with a Witcher.” He replied, cocking his head at him, amused by his friend's airheadedness. “While it won't fool the people specifically looking for them, it'll keep word of their location from being spread.”

“Ri-ight.” Jaskier nodded, finally understanding. “If it comes up, I'll claim them.” He promised Geralt, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. “I'll get them to Kaer Morhen and Vesemir safely.”

“I trust you, my friend.” Geralt sighed, returning the gesture. “Until then, I'll be looking for the bastards that are up to this.”

“How are you going to do that?” Jaskier asked, curiously.

“When I took her to the Temple of Melitele, to give birth to Lycus, there was an incident.” He replied, eyes narrowing, as he recalled the moment. “I didn't think much of it, at the time. One of the visitors snooped on a conversation between Nenneke and I. It's a suspicion and my only lead currently.” He explained, biting his lip.

“Other than heading to Aretuza and demanding the name of the Mage, by the description I give them.”

“Well, Hell Hounds know no fury, like a father and a Witcher on a warpath to protect his wife and child.” Jaskier laughed, slotting his expensive boot into one of his saddle's stirrups, but paused, looking back at Geralt. “Oh, this is going to make a great song.” He chuckled, the wheels already turning in his mind.

“No, it won't, Jaskier.” Geralt warned, giving him a knowing look.

“I said, it would make a great song.” Jaskier huffed, rolling his eyes and heaving himself into the saddle, but leaned down. “I never said anything about singing it to the Continent, you muse killer.” He grinned, winking, and straightening up.

Geralt shook his head and moved out of the way, catching your eye as you nudge your horse northward, out of Asheberg and in the direction of Kaer Morhen. His slow heart clenched, seeing your reddened eyes, his brow drew together as he nodded his head at you. Doing his best to instill one last bit of hope and strength into you, before you lost each other around the bend in the road. Letting out a heavy sigh, Geralt turned and grabbed the horn of Roach's saddle and swung into it, turning the Chestnut towards the west, where the revered Temple of Melitele was situated, just outside the Duchy of Ellander.

He hoped that Nenneke would remember the man that interrupted their conversation the night he had brought you to her.

“She's resting now.” Geralt said, meeting Nenneke just outside her office. “It was a hard journey from Smallton. We could only ride Roach a quarter of the way, before it became too much for her and the babe.”

“Well, from the examination I gave her, she is quite far along.” Nenneke replied, her expression troubled. “I would expect her to give birth within the next two weeks or so. It was wise you brought her to me, when you did, Geralt.”

“I was worried about more than her just giving birth.” He whispered, pressing his lips together, exhausted from the long travel, as well as the concern about you and the pregnancy.

“I don't want to sound—odious, Geralt.” The Priestess started, trying to pick her words carefully, for the Witcher's sake. “I know you love her and the two of you have been together for a very long time. But-” She gulped, regarding him with a measured eye. “Are you sure that this child is yours?”

Geralt sighed and rubbed his face.

“I am sure that the babe is mine, Nenneke.” He nodded, meeting her gaze. “Without a shadow of a doubt, it's mine.” He said, his voice wrapped with conviction. “I know she would never betray me, and I can hear its heartbeat, it's slow. Just like mine is.”

“But how, Geralt?” Nenneke pressed, shaking her head, surprised and confused. “You are a Witcher! Witchers are sterile. You can not have children, because of your training!”

“I know that, Nenneke. Trust me, she and I both had that conversation.” Geralt grunted back at her. “But she's adamant. She's never lain with someone that can get her with a child.” He huffed, agitated in your defense. “Besides, I know when she's lying to me. Her heart speeds up and her eyebrow twitches. Neither of these things happen, when she's asked about her fidelity.”

“But I have my suspicion about what it could be, that made it possible.” He added, pushing his jaw forward.

“What is your--”

A loud crash filled the stone hallway, startling Nenneke and putting Geralt further on edge. They turned and discovered one of the brass candle holders had been knocked over, spilling the thankfully unlit candles to the floor. Frowning, Nenneke strode forward, discovering the perpetrator of the disruption, a man hiding behind a pillar, like a gecko attached to a wall.

“What is the meaning of this?” Nenneke demanded of him, angered to find him spying.

“I-I--” He floundered, mouth flapping like a caught fish.

“Leave my Temple at once!” Nenneke hissed at him. “I will not have such disrespect to Melitele and her visitors.” She barked, jabbing a finger towards the double doors of the great Temple.

“Begone with you, at once, before I call the city guards upon you!”

Hesitating for a second longer, the man bolted from the Temple and out into the pouring night.

With any luck, Nenneke would remember who the man was, enabling Geralt to track him down, and through him lead the Witcher to those that were now hunting you and Lycus.

You saw the city of Ban Gleán come into view as you rode over the ridge, Lycus snuggled inside your cloak, babbling to himself as he tugged at the neck of your bodice, while Jaskier hummed to himself just behind you; the trail too narrow for you to ride abreast.

“We should stop here for the night.” You called over your shoulder to the Bard. “Restock whatever items we'll need for the last leg of our journey to Kaer Morhen.” You told him, gently pulling on the reins as the trail sloped downwards.

“It's the last trading post we'll see until we get there.”

“What about Ard Carraigh?” Jaskier yelled back to you.

“High Rock is too far out of our way.” You replied, shaking your head. “We'd have to go all the way north, then east to make it to Kaer Morhen. It adds at least a day to our journey, and I don't want Lycus out in the open any longer than I have to.”

“Fair enough, my fair lady.” The Bard twittered, pulling up alongside you as the road widened. “What are we in need of at Lower Village?” He asked, pursing his lips and crossing his eyes as Lycus popped his head out of your cloak, making him giggle.

“Winter is three months away, but judging by the mountain range,” You said, jerking your chin in the direction of the Blue Mountains. “The snow has already fallen in that region.” You guessed, chewing on your lip, wishing Geralt was there to confirm your suspicion. “I'll have to get Lycus something warmer to wear. Since his other warm clothes were from when he was a newborn. But I'm sure Geralt will bring me things to knit him more warm clothing.” You sighed, looking down at the little boy, and smiled softly.

“That's if grand-papa Vesemir hasn't beaten me to that.” You chuckled, amused at the idea of the oldest, surviving Witcher on the Continent knitting baby clothes as he wiled away his time in the Witcher stronghold. You still had the little cap Vesemir had made for Lycus's first winter at the Keep, when he was just a few weeks old.

“We'll have to replenish our food satchel as well.” Jaskier added, patting the bag attached to his saddle.

“Yeah.” You nodded, narrowing your eyes at him. “If someone had re-framed from munching on it, it should have been enough to make it all the way.” You quipped at him, eyes gleaming.

“Madam, are you implying something?” Jaskier gasped, touching a hand to his breast.

“Oh, not at all.” You chuckled, fluttering your lashes at him. “I'm just saying we have some sort of ghoul amongst our party, that's nibbling the food supply.”

Jaskier leaned over in his saddle, bringing his face close to Lycus's. “You sir, need to keep your wee ghoul hands out of the food satchel. You hear your mother, you're eating us to starvation!” He gasped with dramatic outrage.

Lycus stared at Jaskier, froze in place, it made you laugh, seeing the blank, but intent look in his eyes. How you loved them, with the small flake of warm amber at the bottom corner of his left eye, like a coin dropped in a calm sea, of their otherwise cerulean blue. It makes your heart both sore and light at the same time. Your sweet little boy. He was a wonder to the world, both in how he was created and to how the world worked to him.

But your wonder was short lived catching wind of something vile.

“Ugh!” You winced, nose wrinkling and face twisting in disgust.

“What's the matter?” Jaskier asked, pulling back to look at you.

“Someone has soiled his nappy, big time.” You said, shaking your head at your son.

“The ghoul has struck again!” Jaskier howled with laughter, rocking back in his saddle.

You and Jaskier hastily made it to Ban Gleán and you quickly changed Lycus's pamper, before going down to the grocer's stall with the Bard.

“Why are you using your own coin?” You asked, watching Jaskier pull out a coin pouch to buy the two loaves of bread and other food items that would last you until reaching Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier's cheeks colored as he dropped the orens into the grocer's hand, nodding his head to the man, before moving away with you. “It's not really my coin.” He admitted to you, reluctantly.

“Oh?” You replied, cocking a brow at him.

“Geralt gave me the coin, in case you needed any extra, along the way.” He confessed, unable to take the expression you were giving him.

“Why would he give it to you, and not me?” You asked, frowning. “I'm the one he gives our coin to, when he wants to save it.”

“I guess, he wanted to do the same thing, just extending it to me.” Jaskier replied, biting his lip. “You know Geralt trusts you in all things.” He said, trying to soothe whatever worries or concerns you had. “But you also know he's a bit overprotective, especially over you and Lycus. Just wanting to make extra sure you were prepared and taken care of.”

You sighed heavily and gently touched your shoulder to Jaskier's. “I know that, Julian. I'm just--” You trailed off, unable to find the words.

“You miss him and would rather be with that sour puss, than this charmer.” Jaskier chuckled, putting his arm around your shoulders, hugging you against him. “Honestly, I thought you were crazy when you and Geralt got together.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I really had it pegged, you and I would have been a couple.” He said, voice softening and his eyes darting to Lycus for a moment, a hint of something guarded in them, before it vanished behind another laugh.

“But now, I see the two of you have truly been made for one another, and because of that, I found the Countess!”

You cleared your throat, surprised at Jaskier's confession that he had felt something for you. “How is Lara, by the way?” You asked, having met the Countess de Stael on several occasions over the years.

“She's magnanimous!” Jaskier grinned, smiling up at the blue sky.

“You angered her again, didn't you?” You asked, lifting a knowing brow at him.

“I may have, unknowingly, insulted a beneficial member of her circle, in one of my latest songs.” He winced, looking back at you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “How do you unknowingly insult someone, in a song, Julian?” You asked, pausing by a stall selling yarn and other knitting goods. “You had to use their name or a general depiction of them for it to be perceived as an insult.”

“Ah, yes! Well-” He laughed, flashing that charming smile at you. “I did happen to attend a banquet, where this Earl was also an invited guest. But word got to me that he made a tactless remark about one of my songs...”

“Oh?” You giggled as he trailed off, picking up a thick ball of black wool, indicating to the seller of your interest in buying it. “What song, if I dare ask?” You shot a look over your shoulder at the Bard.

“One of your own favorites!” Jaskier replied, up playing his outrage. “The Stars Above The Path!”

You gasped, turning towards him. “That's blasphemous!” You huffed, half playfully offended and half actually angered by someone having the gall to say anything negative about Jaskier's music. Jaskier was many things, but a bad song writer wasn't one of them.

He wasn't a multi-hit wonder across the Continent for nothing!

“That's what I'm saying!” He replied, his blue eyes wide with indignation. “That puffed up, misanthrope!” He growled, brows drawing together as he pictured the man in his mind. “Anyway! He said the song wasn't, and I quote, catchy enough.”

“Not catchy enough!” You retorted, your face contorting with your confused exasperation. “I've watched grown men cry by the second verse of that song!” You huffed, ready to track this mediocre critic down and give him a piece of your mind.

“Geralt's tapping his foot to that song!”

Jaskier's head jerked back with surprise. “Geralt...Geralt taps his foot to 'The Stars Above The Path'?” He asked, his voice shaking with disbelief.

“He does.” You nodded at him, smiling at the shock on the Songster's face. “If you ever tell Geralt I told you this, I will deny it on my son's name.” You told him, chuckling softly at him. “But Geralt of Rivia, infamous White Wolf, proclaimed Butcher of Blaviken and supposed emotionless Witcher, loves your music.”

“Well,” He sighed quietly, planting his hands on his hips. “That little shit.” He huffed, rolling his eyes.

You snorted at him, shifting Lycus as he moved restlessly against you. “I'm still your number one fan though.” You added in, paying the stall worker for your yarn and stuffed it into the satchel that rested against your hip. “Yes, I know my son.” You cooed, feeling Lycus tug at your bodice and grunted. “I'm going to the inn to find a room, I need to feed this little rascal.” You told Jaskier, then glanced at the vendor.

“Where's your inn?”

“The Clover Hunter is just down the road, the first building you come to, after the bend.” He explained to you, pointing the way.

“Thank you.” You smiled, nodding your head.

“I'll see you there, just going to finish getting a few more things here.” Jaskier said, waving a hand around the stalls.

“All right.” You replied, then set off for the inn, softly humming the Stars Above the Path as you went. “Your eyes, like the stars above the road, Your lips like a cup of delight!”

You could smell a sharpness of imminent snowfall in the air. Despite how good the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun felt on your back, walking down the cobblestone street, mindful of the horse and donkey piles that dotted it. Turning the corner and glancing up, you found the town's inn. A brass sign of a Hunter drawing an arrow, its glinting tip shaped like a clover, swaying softly from its walnut beam.

Up the creaking steps, that led to a small porch shading the main entrance, you could hear the ruckus inside. Even for it being so early in the day. Situating Lycus, you shoved the door open and the rush of sound filled your ears. People filled the tap room, mostly men and soldiers, sharing mugs of ale and mead, while leaning against the bar top or crowding the long tables. Serving women sailed through the thicket of sweaty and unwashed bodies with ease. Ignoring, swatting at or shooting a look at any of the males that made a grab at them or offered an ungentlemanly remark.

With a quick scan of the room, you found the innkeeper, a rail thin man, in such a state of balding, you might have mistaken him for a monk for a moment, had it not been for the apron and no nonsense look on his face. He only had a ring of salt and pepper hair around his head and a smooth dome on top, that shined in the light of the sconce, he stood beside.

“Pardon me.” You called to a Dun Banner, a Kaedweni light cavalry soldier, who was local to the city of Ban Gleán, and stood in your way to the innkeeper.

The cavalryman turned at the sound of your voice, and lifted a dark brow at you. You stared back at him. The smell of his stained, gold and black tunic, bearing the Kaedwen Unicorn, his lank and greasy, shoulder length black hair, coupled with his unwashed body was a powerful bubble around you and Lycus. You stopped breathing through your nose shortly after entering the inn, to help combat the assault of the smell that permeated in the air. But, it no longer helped.

Making your brow wrinkle, as you took a deep breath as quickly as you could and blew it out, just as fast.

“Excuse me, I'd like to get to the innkeeper, please.” You elaborated, as politely as you could, when he continued to just stand there, his ale thick breath wafting on your face, making your eye twitch.

“Would you now, darling?” He finally spoke, cracking a smile at you to show his one chipped front tooth and its missing partner.

“Yes.” You replied, putting some authority in your tone. “My son and I would like to rest.” You huffed at him, but tightened your hold on Lycus, should the soldier try anything.

The cavalryman's beady eye cocked downwards to see the top of Lycus's white head peeking out of your cloak. The little boy had stopped fussing about you feeding him during the walk from the stalls to the inn. Sufficing himself with sucking on the combination of his fist and the hem of your bodice as he grabbed onto it, steadily soaking the fabric with his saliva.

You didn't mind, he was quiet and content.

But now you were faced with the brute, who decided to test your patience. If Geralt had been here, the Kaedwenian would have gotten out of your way with a hard golden glare and a growl, despite being a soldier for the Kingdom of Kaedwen and Geralt being an evil Witcher. But, you were just a lowly woman with a baby, who would most likely lose interest in his fist soon and start screaming for lunch, if you didn't get this single brain celled, brute to get out of your way.

“Croso!” A voice roared from the thicket of people.

The cavalryman looked away from you, his black eyes lighting on the caller, his smile growing wider, at the woman. She had a hard face. But you had a feeling it was deceiving and she may have been younger than she actually looked in her burgundy and black, buskless, plain fronted corset gown.

“Morana!” He called back to her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her.

“Stop pestering that lady and buy me a drink, you hound!” Morana scolded him, holding up her empty tankard. “Perhaps, I'll let you play with my toes later on.” She added an impish look in her gray eyes.

At that invitation, the Dun Banner was stumbling over his own feet, as well as into everyone, to get to the bar for a fresh mug of mead for her.

You looked across to Morana and gave her a gentle nod of thanks, which she returned with a kind smile. Now with your path less obstructed, you weaved through the crowd to the innkeeper, just as he finished a transaction with someone else.

“I would like a room, please.” You told him, once you had his attention.

“That'll be twenty Ducats, then.” He replied, hardly looking at you as he grabbed a tankard that was thrust at him, from someone behind you, and started to fill it up.

“That's fine.” You answered, taking the gold coins out of your money pouch and dropped them on the nicked up bar top.

Setting the overflowing tankard down with a slosh, the innkeeper swiped up your money and deposited it into his pocket, before waving you around the bar. You followed after him, mounting a set of stairs to the next floor, but bypassed that for the second floor. He took you to the end of the hall and shoved a door on the left open, jerking his head inside.

“This is the room.” He said, his face uncaring. “Don't cause any trouble.” He huffed, heading back downstairs.

“I don't plan on it.” You replied, looking into the room. “Oh, wait!” You called after him, catching him just as he took the first step down. “If a Bard comes in looking for him, please tell him where I am.” You informed him, not wanting Jaskier to worry you'd been stashed away somewhere.

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” the Innkeeper shrugged and continued on.

“All right, my boy.” You sighed, going into the room, closing and locking the door behind you. “Let's get that monstrosity of a diaper changed!”

Geralt felt a small relief as the Temple of Melitele came into view as he crested the top of a hill, astride Roach. Urging the Chestnut onward, his troubled mind mulled over the situation for the hundredth time. He needed to find out who was looking for Lycus, and before they managed to do any harm to his son.

“Geralt?” Nenneke's surprised voice echoed in the vast, stone entryway of the great Temple.

“Nenneke.” The Witcher called back, giving her a wary smile, while handing over his swords to one of the other priestesses.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, shaking her head at him and looking around. “Where is your dear wife and that precious babe?”

“They're on their way to Kaer Morhen.” Geralt returned, leveling a tired and troubled brow at her. “Where it's safer for them.” He added, softer.

“Safer?” Nenneke frowned, her head cocking slightly in her increasing confusion, but she reached out and took Geralt by the elbow, ushering him to the back of the Temple, where her office was. “Tell me what's going on, Geralt.” She ordered him, motioning to the chair before her cluttered desk, while she began to brew them some tea.

Sighing heavily, Geralt folded himself into the seat, rubbing the side of his stubbly face. “There are people—a mage, at least that we know of, currently. Stalking my wife and son.” He put it, simply.

“Stalking, for what reason?” She inquired, skillfully pouring boiling water over a kettle of loose herbal leaves.

“I'm a Witcher that sired a child, Nenneke.” Geralt grunted at her, indignant. “Obviously, they caught word that Lycus is my blood and wish to do him harm.”

Nodding, Nenneke let the tea finish steeping and poured them each a cup, handing one over to Geralt, before taking a seat in her own chair. “You never did tell me how you managed to father a child, Geralt.”

“Since we were so rudely interrupted.”

“Yes, I know. It's the person that interrupted us, I believe is behind all of this mess.” He sighed, holding the hibiscus tea between his hands and stared into its deep red tint. “I want to know, if you remember who they were? Do you know their name? Or, perhaps, where they came from?”

“I might recall his name.” She nodded, pressing her lips together. “But, why don't we start with exactly how you came to have Lycus.”

Geralt gave Nenneke a critical look. He didn't want to talk about how you and he conceived Lycus. As complicated as it was to start with. He just wanted a name and a location of the man he was inquiring about. So he could settle into his room for the night, get a half decent night's sleep, in a soft bed, before traversing across the Continent in search of him and anyone else in the scheme, for the next three months. On top of plying his Witcher trade, so he could bring back supplies for the three of you.

But Geralt also knew Nenneke was far too curious to be deterred away from the subject.

“All right, fine.” He huffed, taking a large gulp of the scolding tea.

“It occurred during our stay in Toussaint.” He started, resting back in his seat, and looking up at the window set high on the wall behind Nenneke. The light slowly fading on the other side. “Originally, we were only supposed to pass through. However, an acquaintance of mine had a letter delivered to me, while in Beauclair, informing me of something that might prove troubling to Witchers.”

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