Chapter Text
By the time Geralt had healed enough for travel and they had dragged themselves back to Cindaris, King Mathen has somehow managed to get himself killed by a kraken of all things. The crowned prince, soon to be King Ethain, had risen to the throne. Thankfully he remained a far cooler head than his father had been, and Jaskier and Geralt had headed out with a heavy coin purse and a letter of recognition of the Great Wolfs lands.
It didn’t fix everything of course. Cidaris was only one kingdom and a weaker one at that. But it was at least a start to some true legitimacy the witchers were going to need to hold the lands they had claimed. Traveling to Kaer Morhen was slow, mostly because they stop more frequently to enjoy one another then because of Geralt’s mostly healed injuries. It cuts their arrival at the mountain close and they were forced to battle shin high snow along the dangerous path to the top.
Jaskier still thinks it was worth it.
Kaer Morhen is beautiful. A castle with storied history burgeoning anew with life as the witchers work to repair old damage. It is quite a sight to see them clambering all over the outsides, half way up impossible to scale walls, even in near blizzard weather.
The settling in has gone astonishingly well as the first true outsider admitted into the new kingdoms stronghold.
Vesemir had given Geralt the most delightfully unimpressed look when he and introduced him to Jaskier, but he had, after a warning of most violent death should Jaskier ever betray their location, allowed him to stay for the winter. Most of the other witchers remained wary. Some of it appeared to be confusion over his relationship with Geralt which Jaskier felt no desire to clarify. Aiden was there at least, and his friendliness had thawed some of the colder shoulders. Cat witchers in particular which seemed to confuse the other witchers even more.
Only one true hurdle remained Jaskier mused, seated on one of the long benches in the dinning room.
Across from him Ciri scowled.
Geralt’s daughter surprise has been far trickier to thaw then even the grumpiest of the witchers. Geralt has been at a loss for how to ease the problem, the poor man. Nothing he has said has made anything any better and Jaskier advised him to hold off trying for now.
The girl scowls harder when Geralt sits beside Jaskier far closer then he would to even his witcher brothers.
On most nights she frowned and glared her way through meals, staring daggers at Jaskier. Tonight seems to be the breaking point Jaskier has been waiting for. She stands abruptly from the table and marches away out of the dinning room with furry in her steps when Geralt allowed Jaskier to briefly touch his hand in welcome.
Gerlt grumbles in displeasure and worry and makes to stand as well. Jaskier beats him to it and places a hand on his broad shoulder. “Let me talk to her.” He says.
Those beautiful gold eyes search his for a moment before he nods. It’s a show of trust that makes Jaskier’s heart clench painfully. He brushes a kiss softly against Geralt’s lips for just a moment before heading off. Adien lets out a whistle while Lambert rolls his eyes.
…
It does not take him long to find Ciri. She’s out on her favorite brooding balcony on one of the higher floors of the castle. For the first time in days it has stopped snowing but the wind is still bitingly cold. He watches the way her shoulders tense when he steps out onto the balcony. Her eyes flicker his way, then back out over the vast view.
Jaskier waits, biting his tongue softly in his mouth to keep from humming in the silence.
Several minutes pass while the girl struggles with herself.
“Did it come for you or for me?” Ciri finally asks into the stillness.
“Neither,” Jaskier told her, “Both.” Standing here, looking at his, Jaskier can tell exactly what she is. She is as he is. As his siblings are. Although he had no idea how she came to be here. “It came for me originally. Probably. To punish me. Then it likely felt you. But it was drawn to my forest and couldn’t find you. Maybe.” He sighs, “That’s the best guess. We may never truly know.”
“How did it even get here?” Is this going to happen again? Is something else going to come? He hears.
“I am not sure.” He says honestly, wishing he could tell her more.
“Is there anything you do know?” She huffs angrily.
He fights to keep a smile off his face. “But,” he continues, “it is unlikely I think.”
“What are you?” she demands suddenly, whipping around to glare at him. What am I? Jaskier hears. He hums for a moment, considering. She glares harder. Her small face ridged with displeasure.
He snorts softly. “I am trying to think of how to put it to words for you.” He tells her honestly. Walking up beside her, Jaskier folds his arms on the cold stone parapet and looks out over the winter forest stretched out below them. “In simplest terms; we are Empyreans.”
Ciri’s bits her lip clearly annoyed at being confused even when given an answer.
Jaskier resists the urge to snort again in amusem*nt. She is so young. “It is a word, a tile, for those who are gifted with the ability to – enforce a logic upon the world. To inherit true godhood.”
The girl looks down at that, her blue eyes troubled. Her small fingers clench. “You think I’m- I’m a demigod?”
Not how Jaskier would put it. Demigods and Empyreans are two different things. You can be one and not the other. Still- “Of a sort. Or close enough that it will make no difference for you.”
She shakes her head a bit. Not in denial he doesn’t think. Just overwhelmed.
His heart hurts for her. His fingers dig into his pocket and run along the sharp point hidden inside.
“If you’re a demigod or whatever- why- how could you let him get hurt?” She snaps.
Ah.
Jaskier sees.
“All that power doesn’t make us infallible.” He tells her gently. She’s biting her lip hard enough he worries she’ll draw blood. Jaskier turns to face her more directly again. “Ciri, we make choices in this life. We can never be certain we are making the best ones. We make choices and live with the consequences just like everyone else. We can try, of course, to choose well. But ultimately, we will never know if a different choice would have been better.” There is nothing you could have done. He thinks tenderly.
Her shoulders slump.
His finger tip catches again on the sharp tip inside his pocket. The metal is warm to the touch. It’s not finished but he thinks he shouldn’t wait any longer. Carefully, he pulls the needle out and offers it from the palm of his hand.
Ciri blinks in confusion.
“Here.” Jaskier offers the small silver needle. “It’s- it’s made of unalloyed silver. I am not my brother; Miquella was the one with the real skill for this sort of thing, but this was fashioned by my own blood and the power of a great rune. It should be enough to shield you from the eyes of outer gods.” So you will be safe.
Gently Ciri takes the small, intimately crafted needle from his palm.
“Outer gods.” She murmurs softly as she examines the needle.
He hums in agreement. “I don’t think it likely anything else will follow but if it does, this should shield you from its gaze. And it might even help with controlling your powers.”
She looks up at him, fingers clenching tightly around the small object. “What is a great rune?” she asks but her voice is far less stiff.
“Ah, that is an even more complicated question.” Empty fingers dance along the parapet for want of lute strings. “I told you an Empyrean has the ability to enforced a logic upon the world. Where I come from, the means by which this was done was the Elden Ring. The Elden Ring was the vessel through which a god could impart their logic. How life forms, how death functions. If it functions. How the world works.” The cold wind blew a pray of snow up into the air.
Beside his Ciri was watching intently.
“It was shattered. Long ago. Fractured into great runes of power. A small one of which I was able to acquire. I used its power to come here. Thought I used all of it to be honest. But its strength was how I was able to transform again and save Geralt.” He sighs heavily but smiles at Ciri, “And now I’ll use it to perfect that for you.” He said, nodding at the needle she clasped.
“So you won’t be able to transform anymore?”
He shrugged easily, “That form is not my true self. It’s a form I was forced into under the influence of an outer god.” Jaskier held his arms wide for a moment, “This is my true self.” He paused for a moment, “Well, mostly. I used to have blonde hair, you know? But I think I look just as dashing without.” Jaskier smiled charmingly.
Ciri rolled her eyes but he thinks he catches the hint of a smile there. So much like Geralt he can’t help but notice fondly.
“I still don’t like you.” She tells him imperiously but there’s no real anger in her anymore.
Jaskier smiles, eyes flickering to the doorway where Geralt was leaning quietly with soft eyes. “That’s alright.” He tells her, “I’ll win you over.”
