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Though it was populated by a multitude of fires, Kaer Morhen was always cold. This was Ciri’s biggest complaint about the keep - she could deal with the decrepit structures and mediocre food, but she loathed the constant chill in her bones. The witchers ran hot, so they were never bothered, while Jaskier and Yennefer were always bundled up in furs and so many layers that they resembled the training dummies. Ciri, however, did not run hot and was not allowed to wear extra layers because they would slow her down in her combat training. She shivered through her days, her suffering only relieved when she received a quick hug from one of the witchers or when she retreated to her chamber for bed. Jaskier had smuggled her a variety of furs that she kept piled on her bed that served as a cocoon for her on frigid nights. However, she didn’t rush to climb into bed at night - actually, she did quite the contrary.
As was their nightly tradition, the residents of Kaer Morhen had gathered around the fire in the library, lounging and catching up on their days. Eskel, Lambert, and Coën were teaching Ciri how to play Gwent on the floor - she was losing spectacularly but with a smile on her face. Jaskier and Yennefer were passing a bottle of wine between themselves as they lay draped over a chaise, recounting some of the more ridiculous nobles they had come across in their lives.
From a few feet away, Geralt and Vesemir watched over the room as they oiled their swords. Once, this room was a reminder of all that had been lost - a room that had once bustled with the mischief of young boys had become a grave. Now, it was alive again - alight with the sound of laughter and family. “Who would have thought,” Vesemir said, “that the little she-devil would have us all so wrapped around her finger?”. Geralt hummed, amused. He could have. Vesemir had a soft spot for anything younger than himself. Eskel, ever the big brother, felt Ciri was an extension of Geralt and therefore someone he needed to protect. Lambert was just happy to have someone else to pick on, while Coën liked to help others. Yennefer, of course, had found a daughter. Jaskier, for all his faults, had a big heart - the thought of any child in peril made him distraught. And Geralt-
Geralt wasn’t sure when the little girl weaseled her way into his soul, but she did. Every inch of his being had her wrapped in it. His first thought when he woke up and last before he went to sleep was CiriCiriCiri , like a prayer. It was a prayer, he supposed - a prayer for her happiness, health, and safety. His feelings went beyond wanting her alive now, as they had been before he met her. He wanted her to be smiling, laughing, happy, and above all else, loved. Ciri had not had an easy go of life - quite the opposite - and seeing how she had suffered ripped his heart to shreds. They were intertwined, him and her, but more than destiny connected them now. He was a father to her - something that had once repulsed him but now filled him with pride.
“Quit smiling, Geralt, or we’ll all think you’re fantasizing about Yenne- Eskel! ” Lambert broke off as Eskel swatted the back of his head.
“Let him live, Lambchop.”
Lambert grumbled but left Geralt alone long enough to finish the round of Gwent he was playing with Coën. Ciri, who was playing with Eskel, hid a yawn behind her hand. “Bedtime, I think, for little cubs,” said Vesemir, raising an eyebrow in her direction. Ciri, exhausted, barely put up a fight. She handed her cards back to Eskel, drowsily stood up, and said goodnight to everyone.
Geralt pressed a kiss to her temple when she passed him. “Sleep well, princess.” She gave him a small smile before ambling up the stairs with Yennefer trailing behind her. Yennefer insisted on giving the girl time to be alone with another woman in case she had questions she was embarrassed to ask in front of the rest of their group. Their “girl time” was often short, but they both enjoyed it.
“If she’s this tired, maybe she’ll have a dreamless sleep.” Geralt spoke softly. It was wishful thinking at this point - more nights than not, Ciri woke in the middle of the night with nightmares. Most were mild, and with a quick word from whoever was on “Ciri Watch”, she was back to sleep. Still, Geralt could imagine that never sleeping through a full night would catch up with one after a while.
Yennefer returned shortly after she had gone. “She’s out like a light.” They all shared a chuckle at that. Now, the more racy stories and games came out - strip poker was a favorite among the witchers, though Vesemir always sat out. These games were always short and sweet - their long days and alcohol consumption tired them out by the end of the night. They uttered their goodnights and broke off to their respective chambers. Eskel and Jaskier, both extremely inebriated, were skipping arm-in-arm, singing an off-key version of “Toss a Coin”, Vesmir trailing behind them and laughing quietly. It was Lambert’s night to guard Ciri - they had a rotating schedule of which witcher meditated outside her door each night, both to protect her from any intruders and to comfort her if a nightmare woke her. He headed up to the top of the tower - where they had deemed the safest point in the keep and moved her room to. Yennefer and Coën followed the others down the main hallway where the rest of them slept.
Geralt waved them off, taking the time to properly put away his swords and pick up the mess they had left in the library. Afterward, he walked to the base of the stairs leading to the tower and listened. He could hear the sluggish beat of Lambert’s heart as he meditated, and the slightly quicker beat of Ciri’s as she slept peacefully. He grinned. The night was looking promising - Ciri was still asleep with no interruptions. He was tired to his bones - it had been a while since he slept deeply. Geralt was looking forward to it - as he made his way to bed, he contemplated the idea of sleeping in the next morning.
At the top of the tower, the air was quiet. Ciri, piled under her blankets, appeared calm. She had slept uninterrupted for five hours in the peace of Kaer Morhen. Her body was warm and content. Ciri, however, was not in her body. She was back in Cintra.
Her dreams always started peacefully - on this occasion, she was watching her grandmother as she buckled her armor. Calanthe was not one for constant comfort or coddling, but she often let Ciri sit with her while she went about her daily happenings. “One day, Cirilla,” she would say, “This will be your responsibility.” Ciri had always brushed off her warnings - her grandmother seemed invincible; a presence that was as unfaltering as the lioness from which she had received her name. Ciri thought she had plenty of time to fool around and be a child - for whenever she fell, she always had her grandmother to help her back up.
Calanthe was rambling now, informing a daydreaming Ciri about the importance of tracking the kingdom’s finances. “If I didn’t want engagement from my pupil, Ciri, I would’ve lectured a brick wall,” her grandmother said pointedly. Ciri nodded, still in her own world. She was only shaken from her mind by the loud rumbling that shook the castle.
“Grandmother, what was that?” Ciri asked. She had not been concerned until Calanthe started to look panicked.
“I’m sure it was nothing, darling. Don’t worry.” She smiled, but it looked pained - the same expression she used when Eist had done something against her will. Still - if Grandmother said it was fine, then it probably was.
Just then, Mouseack came bursting in, Sir Lazlo standing in the doorway. “Your Majesties, we need to leave.”
“Mouseack? What’s happening?” Her grandmother was well and truly worried now, sending Ciri into a panic. She grasped onto her hand, and Calanthe pushed her behind her like she was a little girl hiding behind her mother’s skirts.
“Now, Calanthe.” Mouseack was never this serious and rarely referred to the queen by her first name - more red flags that made it clear that he was not joking around. Calanthe nodded, still clutching Ciri behind her. Mouseack made to lead them to Lazlo by the door just as a sword rang through the knight’s torso. Ciri gasped, horrified, as Lazlo fell to his knees.
Mouseack tried to put up a shield, but it was too late - the sword skewered him next. Calanthe surveyed the room - a hoard of Nilfgaardian soldiers were closing in with no room for escape. She had no weapons, and more importantly, she had a granddaughter to protect. She backed up into a corner, crushing Ciri between her body and the wall in a desperate last attempt to save the girl. A soldier slashed her throat and her dead weight collapsed to the ground, leaving Ciri exposed. She screamed - nothing happened. There was no magic in her voice - just the sound of a horrified child watching their world be torn apart.
The soldiers grabbed her, each with a firm grip on her limbs. She thrashed and kicked, spit and bit, but their hands did not loosen. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed-
And she kept screaming as she awoke, another set of hands on her. She was disoriented and absolutely terrified and did not register Lambert’s voice trying to calm her.
“ Ge- Get off, don’t touch me! Please, leave me alone!” Ciri continued to scream, wrenching her body off of her bed as she fought off the hands. She pressed herself into a corner and curled into a ball, still screaming, her hands over her ears.
Lambert had entered the room as soon as she started screaming, though it had taken her a while to wake up. Once she had, she was still screaming, even as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Take a breath, girl. It’s just me, you’re okay.” Ciri was obviously not entirely present - she threw herself away from him and continued to scream on the floor. Eskel came bursting in, his sword drawn, followed by Jaskier. The two of them were the lightest sleepers - it made sense that they would be the first to arrive.
“What the bloody hell is happening?” Eskel asked, fully prepared to find kidnappers in Ciri’s room.
“I don’t know, she won’t calm down and freaks out if I touch her.” Lambert shook his head, at a loss as Ciri continued to scream.
“Poor dear,” tsked Jaskier as he inched closer to her. Usually, she responded well to him and his gentle voice. “Ciri, it’s okay, you’re safe.” He placed a hand on her knee, carefully.
Ciri recoiled violently, managing to shove herself even further back into the corner, still shrieking. The others were at a loss - Yennefer and Vesemir had since crowded into the room as well, concern radiating off of them.
“Eskel, go get Geralt. He’s been working himself to the bone lately - must be exhausted if she didn’t wake him up. I believe this is beyond us,” Vesemir said. Eskel, sparing a last look at Ciri, nodded and ran from the room.
Geralt was enjoying a relaxing dream - he and Roach exploring the countryside with Ciri seated in front of him. Yennefer was atop a horse beside him while Jaskier strummed his lute while he walked in front of Roach. His brothers and Vesemir trailed behind them, singing along. He woke to his shoulder being shaken and an urgent voice rousing him from his deep sleep. “Geralt,” prodded Eskel. “We have a bit of a problem”. Geralt was still half-asleep - it took him a moment to focus on Eskel. It was only after he blinked his eyes into focus that he registered the screaming. It wasn’t an adult’s voice and it certainly did not belong to a man, which left only one option - Ciri. Geralt met Eskel’s gaze once more and bolted.
When he entered Ciri’s room, the entire population of the keep had gathered there as well. Lambert and Yennefer were crouching in front of Ciri, who had shrunken into a corner with her hands clasped over her ears, letting out blood-curdling screams. Yennefer kept trying to inch closer, presumably to use a spell to calm down the girl, but every time she approached Ciri flinched. “Don’t touch me!” she would cry before resuming her shrieking.
“What happened?” he asked, looking at Lambert.
“Nightmare, I think. No one’s been in here, Geralt. I wouldn’t have let them.” Lambert looked guilty, a rare emotion for him.
“I know, Lambert. You take good care of her,” Geralt reassured him. He knew that the milder nightmares that woke Ciri were ones that she was aware of - as soon as she entered the dreams, she said she knew that they were not real. It gave her time to brace herself for the inevitable disasters. It was rarer for her to be in ignorant bliss during her dreams, but they always had a more dramatic fallout, like in this case.
He crept closer to her, crouching down so he was closer to her level. Her screams had receded into racking sobs that shook her entire body. “Ciri, it’s Geralt. I’ve got you. We’re in Kaer Morhen, you’re safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He brought a gentle hand to cup her cheek, running his thumb over the tear tracks he saw there.
Within the prison of her mind, Ciri felt a tug from her heart that forced her to listen. She couldn't quite make out the words over her cries, but she recognized the low, grumbling tone. It was Geralt, coming to save her - as he always did.
Geralt wasn’t sure if he was getting through to her, but he continued to mumble reassurances as he stroked his hand over her face. She looked up, briefly, and met his eyes. That was all it took, apparently. She launched herself at him, knocking him out of his crouch and into a sitting position as she attached herself to his torso like an octopus. He wrapped his arms around Ciri, still talking as he raked a hand through her hair. She was still crying, a horrible, keening sound, but as she settled her head over his heart her breathing began to slow. “You’re alright, cub. I’ve got you,” he murmured into her ear, rocking her slowly in his lap.
Eventually, her sobs turned into gentle sniffles, her face still buried into his chest. He picked her up then, still clinging to him. The rest of their rag-tag family was still there, relieved that Ciri had finally calmed down. “I’ve got her. Thank you- for everything.”
They smiled and shuffled out slowly. Vesemir cupped the back of her head as he walked out, softly uttering “Sleep well.” Lambert seemed reluctant to leave, still shaken up by how Ciri had woken up.
“Go on, Lambchop. You did good,” said Eskel, guiding Lambert from the room. “If you need us, Wolf, just give us a call.”
Geralt nodded his thanks as Eskel closed the door. It was now just him and Ciri, who still clung to him like a limpet. “Ready for bed, princess?” Ciri didn’t respond, still zoned out. As he went to place her in her bed, she suddenly moved, clutching into him.
“Please don’t go.”
“Of course. Scoot over,” Geralt replied, peeling back the top layers of her pile of blankets. He was a furnace, and like most witchers, slept shirtless with a single sheet and a cracked window, regardless of the weather. He’d swelter if he stayed under that many blankets and his body heat would keep her warm for the night. As soon as he laid down, Ciri snuggled into him, her head on his chest and her arms wrapped like a vice around him. He slung an arm over her, pulling her close, and dropped a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep, Ciri. I’ll protect you.”
She cuddled closer to him, eyelids drooping even as she fought off sleep. Geralt kept his word - he stayed awake, watching over her for the rest of the night. The dawn soon broke, and with it came the promise of a new day.