#** writings: ciri.

[blooms-in-april]

Obsessed with the idea it's illegal in Oxenfurt to execute or arrest someone while there is a theatre performance going on. So when Jaskier is finally arrested for being the Sandpiper and an associate of the fugitive Geralt of Rivia, all his students band together to perform the longest musical the Continent has ever seen.

Yes, it's about his life. Yes, it's very personal. And yes, fugitive Geralt and Ciri end up in the audience, of course they do.

[mischievous-thunder]

[inexplicifics]

Ciri always volunteers to go and tag the baby griffins - it's easier for her than any of her coworkers, after all.

[queen-witcher]

So I keep thinking about Tissaia with epilepsy. Like she's had it since she was a child, but when she came to Aretuza she was able to slowly get a grasp on it through potions and other magical care, to the point that by her accension, she rarely ever had episodes.

But I think it also fed into her obsession with control. There's nothing quite like a seizure to make a person feel out of control, and she hates the way they make her feel... vulnerable, exposed. If she can just recognize and catalog every symptom and trigger, can figure out the exact amount of water she must drink and the exact amount of wine she's allowed to indulge in and the exact amount of time she has to take her potions once the migraines and auras start, well, she can keep them under control - keep herself under control.

By the time Yennefer enters her life, she hasn't had an episode in well over a century. (And hasn't been witnessed by anyone during, in much, much longer). She can almost pretend she doesn't have them, but that doesn't stop the fact that she sees herself in Yennefer from the very first moment she saw her crooked spine and twisted jaw. And she can't tell which urge is stronger, to shy away from her or hold her closer.

All of this to say, I keep thinking about:

A) a post-sodden where the dimeritium in Tissaia's blood and the illness it leaves her with, leaves her struggling with the delicate grasp she has on her control. I think it adds an extra layer to how she interacts with Yennefer. The desperate yearning paired with the pained distance. The anxious need to feel strong for a powerless Yennefer, despite feeling so weak and out of sorts herself. Especially when Yennefer has always been the one to challenge her careful balance in more ways than one.

And B) a post-alzur's thunder where channeling that much electric current has more of an effect than just whitening Tissaia's hair. Electrical injury has been known to cause neurological symptoms, including potentially triggering seizures, and Tissaia channeled enough current to have been vaporized. She should have been. And maybe her control is what saved her, but not without consequences. I feel like she would have been hiding it for days. The faint trembling and unfocused eyes, the other mages can attribute to exhaustion, both magical and otherwise. But Tissaia knows. She knows what's coming, and what's worse, none of her usual preventatives are working.

I think she has a couple minor episodes before anyone else notices. She's always able to retreat to privacy before anything happens. Though there always seems to be a pair of watchful violet eyes staring after her.

Until one day, she just drops. The other mages, of course, panic because they've never seen Tissaia like this, but all Tissaia registers is Yennefer. Yennefer's warm hand gently turning her to her side. Yennefer's voice as it alternates between low soothing tones and commands to the other mages. Yennefer who sits with Tissaia and becomes her balance and control, when all she feels is chaos.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Jaskier receives a love letter that says it’s from Geralt.

The thing is… it’s obviously from Ciri. It’s clearly her handwriting. And Geralt has never once used the word “pulchritudinous” in his very long life. In fact, if Geralt wrote a love letter, it would be one paragraph—maybe even one sentence—not two pages.

What to do? Does he bring this to Geralt? Ignore it? Play along?

I love this!!! <3 She was tired of hearing Geralt bitch and moan about his beloved, and decided to do somethng about it for him!

[drenched-in-sunlight]

youve probably gotten this question a dozen times but im just nosy, have you ever read grrm's other work a song of ice and fire? (NOT the tv show) if not, the way you post about messmer & marika's relationship makes me feel like youd love everything going on in those books haha

i do get a lot of comments telling me my OCs looks like characters from that (?) (and to this day i still do not look up any of those characters to see how they look like aksjfjkdfjkd), so a lot of ppl just assume i've read those books but i have never read any of it. yeah 🥲🥲

but some of my mutuals do blog about the show and the books a lot, and ngl after the DLC, im kinda curious ? so maybe i'll check it out in the future... idk yet.

last time i checked out a Western fantasy series........... it was crazy. (the fit i was having after i read through all Witcher books because of the TV show...... idk if anyone even remember that phase of this blog, but the reason i started playing videogame in the first place is because of Witcher)

up until this point i only look at Elden Ring in comparison to other Fromsoft games (and Sinosphere culture influence in the theme and design), but lately i do feel like i should check out GRRM work as well, but i also feel like it'd literally make my brainrot even worse so................ decision, decision.

[jasmines-library]

You'll Be Okay.

Geralt of Rivia/The Witchers x Injured Reader.

Summary: Growing up in Kaer Morhen as a female Witcher was never easy, but you always had your brothers beside you. Although you only see them a few times a year, you are still close, trusting each other with your lives as you have done many times before. So what happens when your brother, and best friend, gets infected by a creature you dedicate your life to hunting?

Warnings: Blood, gore, cannon typical violence, angst, choking, near death, swearing, stabbing, weapons, loss/grief, whump, angst, hurt/comfort, a bit of a slow start.

Notes: This can be interpreted as completely platonic, or as a Geralt x reader, or Eskel x reader, it’s up to you to choose. This also takes place during S2E2 of the Netflix show.

Word count: 4.1K (it got a little out of hand...)

⭒ Masterlist ⭒

Kaer Morhen was far from silent. The snow had settled on the blue mountains casting a misty haze across the sky and the Witchers had retired home for the winter. They sat gathered round the dim firelit hall sipping on beer and sweetened mead as they boasted about their scars and the exciting stories behind them. Witchers were rare to stumble upon.The trials were dangerous and most people died before completing them. There were as little as 20 witchers left after the massacres, where many of the few men died. Female Witchers were incomparable, unheard of. The trials were nearly impossible for boys, let alone a young girl. Though, some spoke of a woman with eyes as golden as the blazing sun whose magic and strength was comparable to that of mages. A woman who not only passed the trials but exceeded trials beyond those alongside Geralt of Rivia. 

You sat slumped against the table in the corner of the room with a dark beer in hand as you studied the scenes of your brothers before you. Many had not returned home. Being a Witcher was a dangerous art and not always a wanted one. You knew that. You could be killed or fatally injured at any unexpected moment. It’s why you all had to keep a keen eye out, a single slip up and it could be game over. Your golden eyes glazed over the men before you. You would be lying to say that your stomach knotted in the absence of Geralt and Eskel. You had grown close with the pair, Geralt had been there throughout your trials, easing you though the burning pain as the herbs coursed through your veins like fire and patching up wounds you could not. Eskel had helped train you to fight. He taught you to never give up. That you could do anything they could. Your enhanced senses meant that you could hear the rattling of the door handle before it slammed open and the muttering died down like a flame. A hooded figure stepped into the room. His pale hair fell in ragged ringlets in front of his face and his eyes that correlated yours melted from the piercing gaze they held as he pulled his hood down. Surprisingly, in tow was a young girl, perhaps around the same age you were when you began your trials. 

“Here comes trouble.”

You leaned forwards in your seat as Lambert stood and approached Geralt.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He folded his arms. 

“We thought you got lost. Or killed.” Coën jested. 

Geralt's eyes softened and a smile crept onto his lips. “Not yet. Sorry.”

Lambert smiled before embracing his brother tightly. “Brother! I knew you’d make a fucking entrance.”

A tall figure lurked towards the front of the room. His hair was much like Geralt’s; it shimmered softly under the light and his eyes were much like yours. Upon his face his moustache and eyebrows were littered with greys. 

“Wolf.” When he spoke his voice was firm though you could hear the relief. “You’re home. Finally.”

“Vesemir.” Geralt said, addressing the man. He was as close to a father as Geralt had. As close to a father as all of you had. The young girl who arrived with Geralt, clung to his side, anxiously, wrapped tightly in a fur shawl, which was so large that it tickled her rosy cheeks. Geralt gestured to her. “Had to make a few stops.”

“Hmm.”

A sort of uncomfortable silence encased the room as people waited for what would come next. The cracking of the flames was the only thing heard before you rose from your chair, the old wood creaking as it shifted, and made your way towards your brother. His face lit up with anticipation. 

“Geralt of Rivia.” You chuckled. “You never fail to surprise.”

Geralt studied you carefully as you spoke. He noticed all of the new blemishes in your skin and the fresh scar that ran across your eyebrow and down your cheek. He took in your eyes and the way their yellow hues shifted in the light and the smile that was pressed on your lips. He admired your hair and the way you kept it; different from the last time he saw you, but still he liked it. He had missed you. 

“Y/N. Long time no see.”

 Your lips curved further upwards and your eyes glistened. “Too long.” You pulled him in close and welcomed the slow beating of his heart. He was alive.

“He’s home!” The tender moment was broken by the slamming of a knife in one of the tables followed by the rest of your brothers swarming the man. 

~

It was darker still when the room continued to erupt with laughter at Lambert’s very animated retelling of one of his jobs. The young girl - Ciri, had made herself comfortable with a goblet, her face was lit up with an ecstatic grin. She reminded you much of yourself when you were her age. The wind howled outside, rattling against the door and pounding at the windows.

“Best job I had all year.” Lambert chuckled, taking another swig of his drink, spilling some of it down the side of his face and onto his shirt. He cursed and patted at it with a rag before tossing it back on the table. 

Vesemir raised his goblet aloft. “Each of your faces is cause enough for celebration. You’re safe. You made it back. You made it home.”

A series of glasses and goblets were raised in agreement. You raised yours high, morning the missing face of Eskel and your other brother who didn’t make it.

“Here’s to another winter together.”

There were a number of murmurs and follow up toasts, the sound of glasses clinking together and chairs shuffling.

Geralt raised his cup “To the brothers. To our sister. To family.”

“To family” chortled everyone. 

A strong draft rushed in as a booming voice sounded from the entrance to the hall. “To forgetting the fucking path! For one fucking night. Who’s ready?”

“Eskel!”

You rushed forwards and embraced him. His expression was tired and there was a thin sheen of sweat cascading across his brow. His dark hair fell across his face where it had fallen out of the tie he had scrapped it into. 

“Are you alright?” You asked him as you furrowed your brow. “You look like day old shit.”

He chuckled, placing a hand on your shoulder and making his way into the room “Yeah?You should see the other guy.”

Geralt eyed him as he stepped forwards, revealing the long, branchlike hand that was shoved into his bag. 

“The bout lasted six hours. I’d have got the fucker too. If I hadn’t lost my elixirs.” He threw the bag on the floor. It landed with a thud which ricocheted throughout the silent room and unsettled the grime on the floor. “Took her hand though.”

“What’s that?” One of your brothers rolled the bag over with his foot. “Is that a leshy?”

“Walked like one. Talked like one. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” You queried, raising your brow.

“I haven’t crossed a leshy in a while.” Geralt said, turning the branch over in his calloused hands. “Not in Kaedwen.”

Eskel pulled down the hem of his coat slightly. It was long and green, frayed at the edges. Bloodied bandages poked through from underneath. “Well count yourselves lucky. Unless you’re aching for the sting of one of their fucking roots.”

“Fire through the heart is the only thing that puts one down.” Vesemir said firmly. “Six hours in, that didn’t occur to you?”

Laughter scattered about the room and Eskel’s face darkened as he made a beeline towards Ciri, who took a sip from her goblet, trying to avoid his gaze and retain her laughter. He made it pretty impossible not to when his face was inches from hers.  “Who the hell are you?”

“Princess Cirilla of Cintra. Pleasure to meet you.”

He did not return the greeting, only glared at her for a brief moment before grunting and slipping away. You could tell that something was wrong. 

~~~

Your sword rang loudly across the courtyard as it made contact with Geralt's. He grunted as you advanced forwards, forcing him back against one of the pillars. You smirked, pressing the sword closer to him. He shoved you backwards, using his extra strength to force you to the floor. The snow was cold on your body, despite the layers you were wearing as you rolled underneath him, grabbing his uninjured leg and pulling him down to the ground. Scrambling quickly to your feet you forced the sword from his hand. 

“You’re getting sloppy, old man.” you chuckled.

“Or maybe I just let you win.”

Shaking your head, you held a calloused hand and helped him up from the ground. 

“When you told us you called law of surprise, Vesemir and I told you ‘big mistake.’ You said you promised you wouldn’t claim the child.”

“I had to save her.”

“I know. And you knew I would call you out on it.”

Geralt hesitated and placed his sword in a sheath. “Yeah.”

Your eyes found their way to the floor, tracing the little indents in the snow carved by the shuffling of feet. 

“What?” Geralt asked.

“Nothing.”

Geralt's stare spoke for him and you let out a deep sigh. 

“Eskel. He’s acting strange.”

Geralt sighed and brushed the hair from his face. “I noticed it too.”

“I sense something is changing, Geralt. Keep Ciri close.”

~~~

Eskels party raved on as you sat, tucked away in the corner with a glass of mead observing the way the flickering candlelight cast a gentle glow over everyone's faces. The witchers swayed and danced and kissed with women from the nearby village. You observed how Eskel was fondled over desperately by a fair haired woman. He hollered and pulled his arm back protectively when she got a fraction too close to his wound that was no longer leaking crimson, but burned like fire. You watched how Geralt, who had been previously absent, walked briskly towards him with angry lines etched on his face. You edged closer, something was telling you this wouldn’t end well. And you were right, you rose quickly to your feet when Eskel got up in Geralt's face. When you pushed the two of them apart, Eskel eyed you angrily.

You could tell his shoulder was bothering him and that he was in more pain than he let on. 

“You know, it's funny,” Eskel grunted at Geralt, “Me and the others, we come back here, all banged up. Rock troll busts Lambert's eye. A werewolf takes a chunk out of Coen’s arse…” Eskel’s gaze turned to you and he drank you in, lingering on the pink scar that ran along your face. “And Y/N… Y/N here gets her face torn up by a Bruxa. Was out for days.”

It’s clear from the way that Geralt watches you that you didn’t tell him that one. Eskel smirks and cocks his head. “Hmm, but looks like she didn’t tell you that one did she? And…what do you come back with? All i'm saying is when I find a princess, the last thing i'm gonna do is play knight.” he jested.

He swung at Geralt who quickly countered the punch and pulled his brother into a hold. You skidded to a halt besides the two trying to separate them. Eskel’s face was raging with anger, his eyes piercing like a thousand tiny daggers. “Eskel,” You told him sternly. “Do us a favour, and go to bed.” His teeth clenched and he pulled his hands into fists but before he could do anything, the woman pulled him away down a corridor and deep into the keep.  

You turned to leave, to go back to your corner or to join another Witcher, expecting Geralt to return to Ciri or wherever he had been before he caused the stir, but instead he gripped your arm and forced you to face him. You looked at him inquisitively. 

“Y/N…”

“Geralt.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about the Bruxa?”

You turned away from him, walking back to your goblet. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“But you told Eskel?”

You whipped back around, his face was laced with concern and frustration. “I didn’t tell Eskel. He was there.”

“He was hunting it with you? Then why didn’t he stop it before you got hurt? I swear to the gods-”

“Geralt. Stop. He found me… we were both coincidentally hunting the same Bruxa.”

“You hate Bruxae.” Geralt stated. 

You hummed and sipped your drink. “There was a rumour about a local village being attacked by a vampire. Things had been slow and the pay was good, so I went to check it out. You know Bruxa, they’re quick and she got me from behind. Winded me and pinned me down so I couldn’t get to my weapons. Took a chunk out my face with her claws and nearly drunk me dry. That’s when Eskel found me. He shot her down and took me to an Inn. He saved my life Geralt. I can never repay him for that.”

~

It was the high pitch buzzing followed by the rapid vibrating of the medallion slung over your neck that caused your head to snap up. Everyone stopped. A low, guttering rumbling spread its way across the room. 

“Maybe Eskel’s leshy wants its hand back.” Coën said. 

Vesemir’s golden eyes scanned the room, trying to follow the pattering and heaving creaking. “Wield your wits, kids.”

Everything seemed to happen very quickly. Everyone scattered to keep Kaer Morhen safe, darting between corridors and brandishing themselves with their weapons. You slipped away from the crowd to try and find Eskel, if he was preoccupied and didn’t notice, or it was his leshy, he was in trouble, and you felt as though you owed him protection. Geralt, to your surprise, joined you in the eerily silent corridors. You had a feeling he wanted to get to Ciri, but knew he was needed in the fight or, perhaps after your story about the Bruxa, he felt as though he needed to stay by your side.

The weight of your sword was comfortable in your hand as you released it from its sheath, it was almost like an extension of your body; an arm made of silver, a protector, a deadly limb. The sound of your footsteps mixed with the steady drip of water seeping through one of the many spidering cracks in the tall ceilings. Sometimes they seemed never ending as though there was no escape from Kaer Morhen, you would be trapped in its walls forever. A low rumbling ricocheted throughout the keep, shaking the walls and blowing out some of the sconces, plunging more of the halls into darkness. You gripped your sword tighter. 

The grand oak doors creaked as Geralt forced them open. The room was dimly lit by the moonlight which flooded in from the skylight and from the chandeliers which swung wildly on their hinges. The pair of you edged your way inside, your eyes and ears sharp as you scanned the room. 

“Oh God…” You recoiled. On the left side of the room, the girl Eskel had been with was pinned against the wall, suffocated by a thick rope of branches. One protruded awkwardly from her mouth, a river of blood coating her chin and the offending branches. There was a thud, and you raised your sword aloft to slice through the thick vine that darted out towards you. A second one raced towards Geralt, who sliced through it as though it was butter. The pair of you readied your swords, turning to watch each other's backs and making your way further into the centre of the room. Glinting as it caught the light, your sword swung to destroy another branch, which had made to grab your ankle. The room was silent for a worrying moment. Then, the two of you were assaulted from all sides. The leshy growled as its arms attacked from all sides, breaking walls and bending the wooden framing of the windows. The pair of you swung your swords with precision, slicing and ducking to avoid a deadly ending, though no matter how hard you tried, the two of you were outnumbered. One of the vines, as thick as your arm, wound itself around Geralt, slamming him against the wall with a grunt, out of your reach. 

“Geralt!” You cried, trying to make your way over to him in vain, whilst dancing between the onslaught of vines. You could see the witcher struggling, wheezing and clawing at the second branch slivering across his neck, binding him to the stone pillar. You could see him straining, his hands struggling to grip the sconce that hung just out of reach, mocking him. The branches’ attack ceased for a moment, as the leshy rolled in. It was tall and spindly with a humanoid face that looked very pissed off. Geralt dropped beside you as the creature squealed in pain; he had managed to burn the wood with the sconce, casing it to drop him to the ground. With your face stony, you pointed your sword at the leshy. With the help of the flames from Geralt's sconce, the pair of you backed it behind a table. Geralt jabbed the flames at the creature, which caused the bark of its skin to blister and it to growl. When it turned its head towards you, your face dropped. 

Staring back at you were the piercing, green eyes of another witcher. “Eskel?” 

It came out as less than a whisper, your voice betraying you, revealing the fear behind your mask. 

“Y/N…” Eskel panted back. “Geralt.”

The leshy, Eskel, grunted in pain as it stood, tossing the table it hid behind to the side. Geralt dropped the flames and held his sword in front of him. It was only seconds before Eskel was firing vines and the pair of you. Geralt thrust his sword downwards, deep into one of the branches coming towards him. Eskel howled in pain and tossed his brother back into the doors before turning towards you. Desperate to get away from the danger, you rolled across one of the benches. The branches shot over you as you backed away. You were about to strike again, when two protruded from the walls and gripped both of your arms, yanking you backwards against a second cold bench. Two more slithered around your ankles, pinning you to the piece of furniture. They were harsh, thick with thorns and rough surfaces that scratched against your skin. You grunted, squirming to get free, but you were stuck. 

“Eskel.” You strained, “I don’t want to hurt you…please.”

The leshy bent over, towering above you so that you could see the scarring on the wooden version of Eskel’s face. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t the witty, gruff voice you were used to, but a fragile, pained whisper. “I came back here…I knew something was wrong.” He swallowed thickly, struggling with his words as you struggled against him with gritted teeth. Where was Geralt? What had Eskel done to him? “I don’t know what happened...”

One of the leshys arms jabbed itself into your shoulder, drawing ribbons of crimson blood. You screwed your face up and bit back a scream. 

“I thought I could fight it.” Another branch into the same shoulder. You groaned and clenched your jaw. The next few words were broken and hard to understand, you weren’t sure if it was because of the hazy pain you were in, or because Eskel was struggling against the leshy. Probably both. “I thought…you could help me like I helped you…”

Eskel stared at you, before turning away and screeching loudly. Vessemir stood in the doorway, his sword sheathed behind his back and a javelin which he had just thrown lodged inside the bark of the creature, Geralt stood beside him, weapon at the ready. It yanked it out and ascended into the ceiling as Vessemir removed his sword and began to cut the vines from around you. 

“What is this?” He grumbled, pulling you up to your feet.

“It’s Eskel.” Geralt replied. “The leshy’s infected him.”

Vesemir faltered. “But that’s not possible.”

‘

“That’s what we thought.”

The room creaked, the ceiling cracked and the chandeliers swayed as the three of you circled the room. You held your weapon in your off hand as you nursed your injured shoulder. When the leshy’s failed attacks wore thin, it descended from its place in the ceiling and made a beeline for the door. The elder witcher was quick to notice and ordered Geralt to shield them shut. Pissed that its simple escape route was no more, Eskel stalked towards Geralt, albeit didn’t make it very far because you and Vesemir assaulted him with chains that were pinned to the walls. The hooks dug into the bark, keeping him in place. You wound them tightly as he thrashed, suspending him off the ground. Vessemir’s attempts to calm him, telling him you could save him were futile. He just knocked the man to the side, attacking him with lengths of branches, sending him careening to the side. 

“Hey!” You yelled, stabbing one of the branches with the point of your sword. The creature turned its attention back to you. It vines wrapped themselves around you, suffocating you in a bone crushing grip. One hooked itself around your neck like a python, coiling tighter and tighter until you felt as though your head might fall off from your body. Eskel cocked his head and studied you closely, his eyes twinkled. No amount of yelling or distraction could draw his attention away from you. He was hooked, conflicted between wanting to kill you and wanting help. 

“Eskel…” You wheezed, “Please…stop.”

You were completely unaware of the distressed calls of the other witchers and the hum of Geralt's sword as he cast a spell over it, causing it to glow white hot. You were absorbed by the face of your brother as the branches tightened around your body. Your lungs burned and you tried to suck in air, much to the protest of your ribs, which cracked and shifted uncomfortably. It was when that coppery taste flooded your senses and blood fell from your mouth that you stopped struggling. Your vision blurred as you choked, gasping and spluttering. Your ears rang and white spots obscured your vision as you stared blankly up at Eskels face. When Geralt drove his sword into the leshy’s heart, your body slumped to the floor.

“Y/N!” Geralt was quick to your side, rolling you over to face him, agitating the raw wound on your shoulder. You cried out in pain.

“Shh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “ he hushed, taking you in. He eyed nervously the blood that was seeping from your mouth and ears, some streaming down your nose. There were angry bruises already forming on your neck and winding around your body. As your spluttering began to cease, your eyes began to flutter shut.

“No. No, no, no, no. Keep those eyes open.” Geralt pleaded. You whimpered as he pulled you into his arms, holding you securely to his body. Your head lolled against him as your eyes fluttered. You missed his call to Vesemir, who led Geralt down the hall. You missed the anxious calls of your brothers, who were aghast to see your condition. You didn’t see the way that Geralt’s face contorted at your pained whimpers and the scattering of people trying to make room for you. You missed it all as you slipped into unconsciousness.

~~~

When you awoke and your eyes had adjusted to the light, the first thing you were aware of was the dull pain that radiated throughout your body. A throbbing ache mixed with a sharp stabbing pain. The second was the anxious, golden eyed stare of Geralt of Rivia. 

“You’re awake.” He whispered, as though he were trying to convince himself. 

You groaned as you tried to sit up, ignoring the pain in your shoulder and across your ribs. There was still a slight wheeze to your breath. 

“Easy,” He told you. “You took quite a beating.”

Your voice cracked as you spoke, dry from lack of water. “How long…?”

“A few days. We had to lace you with elixirs…” Geralt sighed deeply. “You had us so worried, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry.” You muttered. In that moment, you remembered something, like someone had turned on a light. “Eskel?”

Geralt shook his head. “Gone. I’m sorry.”

You nodded solemnly. You knew that the chances of saving him were slim, through a rough tear spilled from your eyes. 

“It’s okay.” Geralt placed a hand on your shoulder that wasn’t covered by a bloodied bandage. “It’s okay. We still have each other. We have our brothers. We will be okay.”

————

[bomberqueen17]

fic update: fit for thrones chapter 11!!

I was like almost done with this for ages and there was one conversation I had to come up with one different line for, thanks to a couple of great line-edit suggestions from @bittylildragon, but then as I was working on it I realized a slightly different direction the conversation needed to go in order to actually get what I was imagining out into the actual page, and it meant I could introduce an entire new subplot and background, which was exciting, but--

well mostly I'm trying a different medication and suddenly I can write again, so that's amazing and I'm excited and the only downside is that this new medication costs $160 more for a two-week supply than the medication that almost-worked but meant I didn't so much as open a fic doc for four weeks.

mmmmyeah I love American healthcare. But I'll eventually hit my deductible I guess.

So we all get what was supposed to be a couple thousand words of Morvran&Lu banter, but it's a whole chapter instead. I didn't figure anyone would mind, there's new plot points all through it. They're very effective, those two.

Now I have to rewrite several future chapters almost in their entirety, though.

Fit For Thrones, Ch 11, on AO3

[dumbass---tm]

Lettenhove has been independent from Kerack for several years at this point, long enough that when the kingdom itself fizzled out Lettenhove kept its independency.

The King and the Queen were genuinely loved by their people, and they made sure that their domain was a safe haven for anybody who needed it. As the years passed, and the lineage continued, the kingdom grew a bit, but not by much.

The city's traditions are simple. Children tie their hair back with embroidered ribbons, and match them to their trousers or skirts. Teenagers trade their ribbons as signs of friendship or infatuation. Courting gifts are commonly personalised ribbons and bouquets or flowers.

The reason the small kingdom is so bright, so colourful, is something quite weird for this certain world. While most of the world frowns upon anything, ehm, queer, Lettenhove celebrates it.

It celebrates everything that people have to offer. It celebrates all the kinds of love that creatures experience. It celebrates the joys that people find after hard times, and celebrates the hard times people go through.

They welcome all and any creatures who won't harm others into their kingdom, and celebrate the diversity of their kingdom throughout festivals.

So, all in all, Lettenhove is a good place to call home, and Jaskier is more than happy that he grew up here.

okay so as anybody who looks at my page has noticed, ive fallen back into my witcher fixation.

now, if youre @nachtwaechterin or @atwerrundo you know about the au ive been brewing up.

so heres the formal introduction to (what is hopefully going to become a full fanfic) the extended pankartz family!

(i know that kerack stopped existing as a kingdom a few centuries post canon please ignore this thank you)

(as much as i like being lore accurate this is an au)

(were also ignoring season 3)

[dftea]

Like a friend, like a parent, like a blessing

Ciri & Jaskier, hurt/comfort (geraskier/yennskier/OT3 vibes)

As she picks her way through the rubble, the first person Ciri finds is Jaskier.

His bright blue doublet is covered in dark purple splotches, his legs pinned beneath a fallen wooden beam.

Except the purple is blood, isn't it? Blood that should stay within his fragile human body.

Ciri crashes to her knees beside Jaskier's head, and he looks up at her with unfocused eyes.

"Geralt?"

She shakes her head - she hasn't seen him, not since he told her to get out of the way, to lie low. She hasn't seen Yennefer either, can barely see anything through the cloud of dust and debris.

"He'll be here soon," she says, hoping she isn't lying to him, cursing the tremble in her voice.

"Princess," he says fondly, smiling at her with bloody teeth. "I'm glad it's you."

He lifts a hand to caress her cheek, but it is far too weak, leaving a warm and sticky trail on her skin.

"No, no, no - you're going to be fine." She tries to convince herself, convince him, but it's a poor show.

"Tell your father…your mother…"

"Tell them yourself," she says, fiercely, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it with both of her own.

"I love you all very much," he says, so very fond, so very faint.

Which is when Yennefer appears like vengeance personified, swooping in to set one hand on Jaskier's hand and the other on his chest.

"No fucking goodbyes, bard," she says, stern and terrible. (Maybe a little bit terrified, Ciri thinks, but trying her best to hide it).

Jaskier turns to her with a sigh of relief. "Well, thank fuck for that, witch - I am too pretty to die."

"Ciri, Yen!"

Another sigh from Jaskier, because his White Wolf is alive and well enough to shout. Ciri thinks he isn't even hoping for Geralt's aid in his rescue - just knowing he's survived is enough for him.

It is terrifying how deeply Jaskier loves them. How can they bear to carry such responsibility?

Geralt pushes his way through a teetering pile of rubble - and stops dead. But it is only a moment of despair, a fleeting expression of hopelessness, before he's at Jaskier's side.

His hand sweeps back the bard's blood-matted hair, his fingers brushing Yennefer's, his other hand warm on Ciri's shoulder.

"I told you to wait outside," he growls, and Ciri isn't sure if that reprimand is meant for her or Jaskier.

"You know me," Jaskier says, but it's breathless now, faded. He's lost too much blood.

Geralt's eyes meet Yennefer's above Jaskier's head. Wordlessly, he moves to grab hold of the beam across Jaskier's legs and hefts it up and away.

A choked off scream - and then Jaskier's eyes are closed, his body still in the ever-widening pool of blood.

But lilac-scented chaos is pouring through him, knitting him back together as the very ground beneath Yennefer cracks and crumbles as she draws from it.

She pulls back her hands. "I have done all I can," she says, but her look of grim satisfaction says it is enough.

Jaskier will live. He is, after all, too pretty to die. And Ciri has to tell him that she loves him too: like a friend, like a parent, like a blessing. 

[revoevokukil]

In re-reading Pirog, or There’s No Gold in the Gray Mountains (1993) by A. Sapkowski—perhaps one of his more well-known essays on the state of fantasy, and the genre’s reception in Poland in particular—I cannot help but get stuck on how he analyses Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea series. It resonates with one very particular strand that Sapkowski plucked on at the heart of his own books: the duality of human nature. Good and Evil, yes, but also: male and female.

‘Already the Archipelago of Earthsea itself is a deep allegory - islands scattered across the sea are like lonely, alienated people. The inhabitants of Earthsea are isolated, lonely, closed in on themselves. Their state is such, and not otherwise, because they have lost something—for full happiness and peace of mind…’

The loneliness and alienation, the Waste Land of the human heart, is a recurrent motif in The Witcher. Its influence is felt not only in the plot threads of our protagonists, but also in those of such characters as Emhyr var Emreis, Vilgefortz, the Rats, the Alder King, Avallac’h, anonymous elf who burned down Birka, and humanity and elves in toto. It is just that antagonists rarely reveal their hearts to the protagonists (and to the reader)—if only to have a blade struck it through.

‘Ged’s quest is an allegory, it’s eternal goodbyes and partings, eternal loneliness. Ged strives for perfection in constant struggle with himself and fights the final, symbolic battle with himself, winning by uniting with the element of Evil, accepting, as it were, the duality of human nature.’

Le Guin broke out of the Tolkienian mould, in Sapkowski’s words, by focusing on symbolism and allegory; on the inner journey, as a reflection of, and as affecting, the external world. It is in the recognition and healing of the Waste Land that Evil, or potential Evil, could ever possibly be undone.

In ”The Tombs of Atuan”, the allegory takes us into the Labyrinth of the Psyche, which Sapkowski compares with the Labyrinth of Crete. The Minotaur within is not a monstrous beast, it is ‘pure and concentrated Evil, Evil destroying a psyche that is incomplete, imperfect, not prepared for such an encounter.’ Evil gets close to a psyche in conditions of imbalance, loss, alienation, abandonment, incompleteness.

And then Sapkowski gives the entire thing a gendered spin, bringing Le Guin’s writing closer to the archetype he himself uses.

‘And into such a Labyrinth boldly steps Ged, the hero, Theseus. And like Theseus, Ged depends on Ariadne. Tenar is his Ariadne. Because Tenar is what the hero lacks, without which he is incomplete, helpless, lost in the symbolic tangle of corridors, dying of thirst. Ged thirsts allegorically - he's not after H2O, but after the anima - the feminine element, without which the psyche is imperfect and unfinished, helpless in the face of Evil. … he is saved by the touch of Tenar’s hand. Ged follows his anima—because he must. Because he has just found the lost rune of Erreth Akbe. A symbol. The Grail. A woman.’

Be it the loss of the Alder King (Shiadhal), or Avallac’h (Lara), or Emhyr’s (sacrificing his wife Pavetta, and having been sacrificed by his own father), or Vilgefortz’s (abandoned by his mother, falling in love with a sorceress and coming to hate her for the power she held over him via his feelings for her), or the wartime children of contempt (written off and abused by everyone and everything), the wound remains archetypal and notably alike.

(Not to speak of The Witcher’s protagonists into whose hearts we do see, and in whom we witness the transformation of the Wasteland of the heart in ways which eludes—or only with the very first fleeting steps is beginning in—the rest.)

Love is the essence. Love and lovelessness walk hand in hand at the heart of everything in The Witcher, and with them the good and the evil. What matters in the end, as in all good fantasy, is heart—knowing it, seeking it, letting the spirit flourish in its presence. To gentle the heart. To remain human.

As Tenar to Ged, in Sapkowski’s reading of Le Guin, so Ciri to oh, so many characters, in my reading of Sapkowski.

‘Now Tenar grows into a powerful symbol, into a very contemporary and very feminist allegory. An allegory of femininity. … Tenar leads Ged out of the Labyrinth—for herself, exactly as Ariadne did with Theseus. And Ged—like Theseus—can’t appreciate it. … he gives up, although he likes to enjoy the thought that someone is waiting for him, thinking of him and longing on the island of Gont. It pleases him. How ugly male!’ … ‘After an eighteen-year break, Ms Ursula writes “Tehanu,” … the broken and destroyed Ged crawls to his anima on his knees, and this time she already knows how to keep him, in what role to place him, to become everything for him, the most important meaning and purpose of life, so that the former Archmage and Dragonlord stays by her side until the end of his days…’

---

Marginalia

This motif is universal in how it explores the psyche, but it is also very particular, because Mr Sapkowski’s influences include Bettelheim, Freud, and Jung, as well as Campbell, the Wicca movement, and the feminist current in fantasy. It is evident then, I think, how the balancing between the male and the female is seen as essential for the flourishing in either’s soul.

As seen in ”The World of King Arthur” (1995):

‘The wound of the Fisher King has a symbolic meaning and refers to the beliefs of the Celts - the mutilated king is unable to perform a sexual act, and the Earth he rules cannot be fertilized. If the king is not healed, the Earth will die and turn into La Terre Gaste, the Waste Land. The wounding spear is a phallic symbol, and the healing Grail is the vulva.’

Or as in Joseph Campbell (1988):

'...when the center of the heart is touched, and a sense of compassion awakened with another person or creature, and you realize that you and that other are in some sense creatures of the one life in being, a whole new stage of life in the spirit opens out.'

The word "compassion" means literally "suffering with." Nobody ought to remain alone in suffering. Evil happens so very often as a consequence.

In Excalibur (1981), sick Nature comes alive again when Arthur touches the Grail and wakes from apathy. Of the Grail stories, however, it is Wolfram von Eschenbach’s which speaks to the Witcher’s author’s own sensibilities the most.

‘Let's look for the Grail within ourselves. Because the Grail is nobility, love of neighbor, and the ability to have compassion. True chivalric ideals, towards which it is worth and necessary to look for the right path, break through the wild forest, where, and I quote, "there is neither road nor path." Everyone must find their own path. But it is not true that there is only one path. There are many of them. Infinitely many.’

Only then does the land bloom again in snow-white blossoming apple trees.

[sassaffrassa]

#give ciri a girlfriend

[mischievous-thunder]

[inexplicifics]

One more prompted by @bravelittlenippa! This one has Lambert and Ciri and fallen leaves, and an excessive amount of fluff.

[hanzajesthanza]

one of the tropes that is soooo disturbing to me but like in a good and interesting way... is when a descendant of a lineage, or an evolutionary descendant of a species, returns "home" after many years, and though this individual doesn't know or recognize this place at all, because its so different and divorced of itself now, that's where it was from... ancestrally...

ancestral determinism is soooo frightening to me like wdym there's ghosts in your blood 😭

and i guess it freaks me out how short the human lifespan is, like (if your family has emigrated or moved) you can have absolutely no connections to and no memories of what is supposedly your "homeland," but everyone insists it's your ancestral homeland as if that would mean anything to you

[littlestsnicket]

title: in which ciri acquires an emotional support bard (5/5)

word count: 6.1k

the gang cooks a turkey while Yennefer and Jaskier are drunk; Ciri has a crisis and bonds with Jaskier; Jaskier leaves for Oxenfurt

excerpt:

“Oh! Hello! It’s Geralt and Ciri!” Jaskier exclaimed needlessly. Yennefer was struggling to right herself. Jaskier held a hand out to help her, somehow managing to make it worse.

“Are you drunk?” Geralt asked. He looked genuinely angry.

“No.” Jaskier said, very decisively, before he looked at his hand and frowned. 

“Maybe…” he continued and paused again to look at Yennefer who stared at him with wide eyes. He looked back at Geralt and smiled winningly despite Geralt’s stormy expression. “Yes. Yes, we are definitely very drunk.”

Ciri seriously considered melting back into the forest, but her going missing would only make Geralt scared on top of whatever it was he was feeling about Jaskier and Yennefer. 

“May I have some?” she asked instead. 

Jaskier scrunched his nose up in a comical attempt to think through the haze of alcohol. “Are you old enough to drink? No. I shouldn’t ask you that... not when you have such an incentive to lie. Is Ciri old enough to drink?”

[on ao3]