Chapter Text
The Witchers of Kaer Morhen were known to be the toughest motorcycle club on the continent. They ran security for several clubs and music festivals in their territory. They were tough and no nonsense, all of them tall and with faces hard as stone. They were led by Vesemir, often referred to as Alpha by rival gangs, out of the North. Vesemir was getting on in years but was still just as powerful as he was in his prime. His right hand man was Geralt Rivia, or more commonly known as White Wolf. The man was a granite wall, tall and silent. He wore his white hair long around his shoulders and his amber eyes were always watching for trouble. He rode a large midnight black Harley he called Roach which he had built from the ground up. He kept her polished and bright, her black paint infused with light shimmer that caught the light.
The Witchers ran security for local music festivals when they had the manpower available. While it broke up the monotony of being the muscle for their normal club, Cintra, none of the Witchers were particularly fond of working the festivals. Often they were disorganized and hot and it was overrun with hedonistic people. However, the pay was worth the fuss and Vesemir rarely turned down a new job. Geralt and his brothers were running a new music festival when a small group came towards the stage where Geralt was keeping track of the acts as they came to perform. He couldn’t help but notice the guitar player, who he had seen floating around the festival over the last couple of days, was strumming as he walked backwards towards the stage, singing some nonsensical melody. The singer and his small band approached and the guitar player flashed a wide smile at Geralt who was suddenly gripping his clipboard very hard.
“Name?”
“Jaskier Pankratz, would you like my number too? I’d gladly give it.” Jaskier gave the man a wicked wink as Geralt gave him a once over. The Witcher could not help but notice how blue the man’s eyes were as he observed the man. Jaskier had chestnut brown hair that looked like he had sprinkled glitter in it and the Witcher couldn’t help but notice the scent of woodsmoke and ink coming from the man. Geralt blinked several times when he realized he was staring at the smaller man.
The woman that accompanied the singer gave him a swift kick. Jaskier winced but didn’t take his eyes off of Geralt.
“No thank you. I need the name of the act,” Geralt said flatly. He felt himself grow hot under Jaskier’s gaze and he was suddenly irritated that the singer was having any effect on him at all.
The woman interjected. “The Amazing Devil. Sorry about him. He flirts with everything.”
Geralt found them on the list and waved them on as Jaskier let out an indignant noise. “Madeleine, I do not flirt with EVERYTHING! Only the attractive ones!” Madeleine pulled him along as they made their way to the backstage.
Geralt let out a heavy sigh. He wasn’t bothered by the obvious flirting; he had grown used to it. He found that most people who performed at these events to be chatty and often flirtatious. But tonight, he was tired and it wasn’t anywhere near the end of the night. He was ready to be home, in his own bed, asleep. He couldn’t deny the money was good, so he had to take the jobs that came, but it still made him wish for some time off. Ciri had been home with Triss for two days and he hated being away this long. They were on their last round of performances so Geralt would be free to go by midnight.
By the time midnight rolled around, the last of the bands were packing up and the crowds had mostly dissipated. Geralt now was monitoring the packing of the stage and equipment and making sure it all got on the trucks. A younger man with a hipster haircut and tight jeans found him as he was closing up the last of the trucks.
“As promised, here is your payment. You guys did great. I’m sure Phil will be in contact about next year,” he said without looking up from his phone. Geralt took the envelope and tucked it in his back pocket. He watched the last of the performers shuffle out of the park towards their vehicles, searching for his brothers. He found them by the back gate, checking the last of the performers and attendees.
“Did you get the last of the crew off?” Lambert tossed him a water bottle.
Geralt nodded. “Should be everyone out. Trucks are packed and off, we got paid. We’re done. Let’s get out of here.”
They had all parked their bikes near the furthest entrance to keep them out of the way. The Witchers trudged their way to the parked motorcycles, exhaustion pulling on their limbs. Geralt heard laughter and conversation as they approached their bikes but didn’t pay much attention to it. He leaned against Roach and pulled his jacket out of the saddle bag, slipping it on. The night had grown chilly and he didn’t want to freeze on the drive home. A large wolf head was stitched along the back in white. Geralt took a last look around the parking lot for any loitering groups or fans and found that there was one van left and it belonged to the group containing the flirtatious man from earlier. They were parked next to the motorcycles, and the musicians were sitting in and around the van talking. As Geralt and the others got their gear on, he heard the singer say, probably a bit too loudly, “See? I told you this was a good spot! Right next to security!”
Geralt rolled his eyes as he tucked the envelope into the saddle bag and hooked a leg over Roach. He didn’t have the energy to be firm or even mean to the younger man. He was about to slip on his helmet when he heard the singer again. “I’m gonna ride that.”
Geralt heard the female singer, Madeleine, let out a gasp as Lambert chuckled beside him. Geralt let out a groan.
“Oh shut it, Mads, I meant the motorcycle!” Jaskier hissed at her.
“Like hell you did,” Madeleine huffed back at him.
Geralt felt Jaskier’s gaze on him as he turned the key on his Harley. He shot a quick text to Triss to let her know he was headed home, pushed the kickstand back, and backed out Roach. He glanced over to Jaskier and his band members.
“You couldn’t handle this anyway,” he said with half a smile. He heard the other band members let out a roar of laughter as Jaskier leaned out of the van.
“You want to test that theory?” Jaskier yelled from his perch as Geralt and the others roared off, kicking up dust and pebbles behind them. Geralt let a small smile creep across his lips as he heard the group hoot and holler as the trio drove away.
The two hour drive home was long and the wind was bitterly cold. Geralt was ready to climb into his bed and sleep for the next three days. He and the others pulled into the drive of Kaer Morhan, the day settling hard into his shoulders. They parked and dismounted their bikes, pulling their saddle bags onto their shoulders.
“We are getting too old for this, Geralt,” Eskel grumbled.
Lambert gave a huff of agreement as they walked to the keep. Geralt let out a “Hmm” as they walked up the stairs to the door.
“Can’t turn down well paying jobs, Esk,” he gruffed. They walked through the door to see Vesemir waiting in the main room. The old man looked up from his book, “Did you get paid?”
Geralt pulled the packet out of his saddlebag and tossed it at Vesemir. The haggard man caught it easily and checked the contents.
The trio stood and waited for Vesemir to count out their cut. He handed each of them a small stack of money, waving them off. “Did good,” he growled, tucking the remainder of the cash into his book.
Geralt gave a sharp nod and strode out of the room towards his quarters.
Triss met him in the hallway. “She’s been fussing for the last half hour. She insisted that you were home and she needed to see you. I just got her to lie back down but she’s in your bed.”
Geralt nodded to the woman. “Thank you.” She patted his arm and walked to her quarters.
Geralt softly turned the knob to his room and peeked his head through. Ciri laid smack in the middle of his bed, her unruly platinum blond hair wild across the pillows. He pushed the door the rest of the way open and laid his bag on the table next to the door softly. He pulled off his jacket, hanging it up on the back of the door and untied his boots before freezing at the rustle of blankets. He looked up and caught Ciri’s bright green eyes with his own amber ones. It took her a moment to recognize that he was, in fact, standing there, one boot in hand. When she did though, she let out a loud squeal and scrambled to the edge of the bed. Geralt dropped the boot he was holding as the four year old launched herself into her father’s arms.
“Daddy!! I knew you were home!! I just knew it! Auntie Triss said you weren’t but I heard Roach from down the road!!” Geralt wrapped his tiny daughter in his arms, wincing at the loud volume she was using directly in his ear.
“Ciri, calm down, yes, I’m here little one, hush, you’re going to wake up the whole house!” Geralt wrapped an arm around her as he attempted to not lose his balance.
Ciri abruptly hushed and kissed her father’s cheek. “I missed you so much daddy!” She whispered.
“I missed you too baby. Here, let me get my boot off.”
Ciri clung to her father’s neck as he reached down to pull off the other boot with one hand, letting it fall to the ground. He wrapped both arms around his tiny girl again and kissed her soft cheek. She pulled away, squealing softly.
“Daddy! You’re so fuzzy! It prickles me!” Her tiny arms wrapped around his neck and she laid her head against his.
Geralt felt his heart tug in that moment. This tiny girl who was fiercer than she had any right to be was all he had left of her mother. Yennefer had been happy to be a mother when Ciri was first born. She doted on the girl, absolutely smitten with her small hands and gentle curls. But something had soured in Yenn when Ciri had turned two. It was like she suddenly regretted her decision to be tied down to home and motherhood. She craved the road and freedom that Geralt could no longer provide. As he settled into parenthood, Yennefer started to resent both her husband and daughter.. Without a word of warning, she packed her bags and left, taking only her motorcycle and clothes. Geralt was blindsided by her sudden disappearance. She sent divorce papers and custody papers to Kaer Morhen a few months later, refusing to see Geralt or Ciri again. She said she had been wrong in thinking she wanted the stability and roots that Geralt so obviously wanted, and she felt like if she stayed with them, the bitterness that had started in her heart would only grow until it was all she knew. She had made it clear early on in her relationship with Geralt that she wanted freedom to roam and freedom of choice above all else. When Ciri came and added a layer of permanence that she did not crave, Yennifer felt like she was trapped and set out on her own. After the papers were signed, she refused any contact from anyone associated with Geralt.
It had nearly broken Geralt, seeing Yennefer abandon him and their daughter. He became almost mute and sulked around the castle for months before Vesemir yanked him into his study and gave him a harsh reminder that Ciri needed him, now more than ever. He had to be father and mother to the girl and he couldn’t do that sulking around.
So Geralt took over the security detail from Vesemir, finally taking on a role that would offer stability for him and Ciri in the coming years. He worked long hours into the night, but he always had a smile and overt affection for his baby girl. The girl blossomed under her father and uncle's care, ignoring their gruff exteriors and harsh tones. She had turned them soft towards her as she tottled around the castle after Geralt. Triss had come to live at the castle after Yennefer had vanished. She had been good friends with both Geralt and Yenn when they had gotten married. After Yenn had left, leaving Triss behind as well, the mechanic had been heartbroken to see Ciri grow up without her mother, so she had moved in and become a sort of house mother to the whole club. She watched Ciri when Geralt worked and helped Coën in the garage working on the club's motorcycles. She was a better mechanic than most of them combined, although they refused to admit it.
“Don’t be sad, daddy, please don’t be sad.” Ciri’s voice reached his ears, soft and gentle. He snapped his attention back to her and gave her a warm smile.
“Not sad, tired. Daddy is very tired. Ready to go back to bed?”
“Okay daddy, but only for a nap. Then we can have waffles. Grandpa Vesemir promised!”
Geralt kissed her hair and nodded. “That’s the plan!”
He walked to the bed, clutching Ciri and reached down to pull back the blankets. He laid her gently on the bed before removing his jeans and T-shirt. Clad in a tank top and boxers, he crawled in next to her and gave her a small peck on her forehead. He laid on his back on the worn mattress, pulling the blankets up over the both of them. Ciri crawled next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. “I will sail my boat to Hushabye Mountain,” He whispered to his daughter.
“I will meet you down in Lullaby Bay” She whispered back to him. Geralt held her hand next to his heart and let sleep pull him under.
The next morning came entirely too early in Geralt’s opinion. Ciri was gone, her laughter coming from the direction of the kitchen. Geralt let out a groan and rolled out of bed before heading to the shower. His shoulders were painful and stiff under the heat of the water. He felt the dust and dirt slough off his body before he heard a heavy fist on the bathroom door.
“If you want food, you better get a move on.” Eskel grumbled from the other side of the door.
Geralt made quick work of his shower and dressed before joining the others in the kitchen. Triss slid him a plate of eggs and bacon as he sat down at the long table, and Ciri brought him a plate of waffles. She climbed into his lap, leaning against his chest.
“Did you have a good nap, daddy?” Ciri poured syrup over his waffles, effectively drowning them. Geralt grabbed the syrup container from his daughter before answering.
“I did, thank you.” He kissed her forehead before shoveling eggs into his mouth. The rest of the family was already almost finished with their meal, but they lingered, chatting and laughing together. Vesemir sat at the head of the table, nursing a cup of coffee. He watched as the group finished their meal, considering each of the Witchers individually.
Geralt regarded him as he allowed Ciri to feed him pieces of waffles.
“What’s up Vesemir?” Geralt asked, leaning back in his chair. He had known Vesemir too long to not see that he was getting ready to broach a topic none of them would like.
Vesemir growled low in his chest. “Ciri, why don’t you and Triss go read a book?”
“No! Don’t make me go! I don’t wanna go read Grandpa!” Ciri cried out, clinging to Geralt’s shirt. Geralt kissed her temple and set her on the ground.
“I won’t be long, baby. I promise. Go with Triss.” He pushed her gently to Triss’s embrace. Ciri whined but allowed herself to be taken out of the room. Geralt turned his attention back to Vesemir.
“What’s going on?”
Vesemir gave him a hard look. “We had a break in at the warehouse last night. Coën thinks it was the Vamps.”
Coën nodded. “It looked like it on the camera before they took them out.”
“What did they take?” Lambert growled.
“Some gear, mostly just made a mess. They were testing us.” Coën responded. “We need to hit them hard before they try it again.”
Vesemir set his mug down hard. “We are not going to do that.” He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze harsh. “Geralt, you’re going to sit down with them. We made peace with them, I want to know why they’re breaking that now.”
Geralt was surprised. “Why me though? You’re the one who brokered the Accords.”
Vesemir gave him a heavy smile. “I may have brokered the deal, but it’s you who will keep it.” He stood and walked out of the room. Geralt let out a heavy sigh and followed him. They walked to his study and Geralt shut the door behind them. Geralt had noticed in recent months that his Alpha had been giving him more responsibilities than he expected. Geralt had been getting new contracts for the group,and recruited new employees when needed. It wasn’t that Geralt minded the extra responsibility, but it was unusual. Vesemir had always been very hands on, working the special shows with them and negotiating new contracts. It was only in the last few months that he had been staying home more often than not, citing his bum knee.
“What’s this about, Vesemir? Why aren’t you doing this?”
Vesemir sat heavily in his armchair. “I’m getting too old for this, Geralt. I want them to recognize you as the next Alpha. I won’t be here forever.” He sighed. “You will be the one to keep the peace and keep this family safe.”
Geralt let out a sigh of his own. He knew the day Vesemir would retire and he would be named as successor, but he hadn’t expected it this soon. “When is the meet?”
“Two days from today. You’re meeting in neutral territory. And provided everything goes according to plan, you will have another gig this weekend. Closer to home even.”
Geralt sat heavily on the leather sofa next to Vesemir. “Is it another whole weekend?”
“No, just the one night but you will be pulling in almost as much as this weekend.” Vesemir grew quiet. He held his wolf medallion in his hand, the metal shiny and worn from age. “Won’t be too much longer until this is yours.” He held the medallion out towards the white haired man. Geralt didn’t take it, staring hard at the Alpha. Vesemir took it back and held it in his fist. “You already take good care of the family. They trust you” he paused, letting out a sigh. “I know that you will be a good leader, and they will be safe. That’s all I can ask for.”
Geralt interrupted, “Vesemir, it’s not going to be any time soon. Hold onto that for a while.” Geralt stood and gave him a firm nod. “I will take care of the meet, but I’m not taking over any time soon.” He made his way to the door, opening it and pausing at the open door. “Get me the details of the meet and of the new gig. I have a previous engagement.”
He shut the door firmly behind him.
He found Triss and Ciri outside in the garden, reading a book in the hammock. Despite the grim exterior, Kaer Morhan was a haven to those who knew it’s secrets. Behind the stony grey exterior that hid behind an immense rock wall, a well tended garden overtook the expanse of the courtyard. Vesemir took great care in growing most of the fruits and vegetables that fed the club through the year as well as raising chickens that gave them a fresh supply of eggs and roast chicken for Sunday dinners.
Even though The Witchers were recognized throughout the continent as a dangerous motorcycle club that was not to be trifled with, they regarded family above everything else. Sunday dinners were sacred in Kaer Morhen, it was the time that the members came together and bonded, aired grievances, and broke bread together. They would bring their bikes into the courtyard and Coën and Triss gave the bikes tune ups when necessary, filling the court with a loud rumble. They were fiercely protective of each other, down to their smallest member. Triss was an honorary member, and she was perfectly happy with her status. They were not the largest club on the continent, but they were by far the most respected. With Vesemir leading the club as Alpha, the core members consisted of Geralt, The White Wolf, Lambert, Eskel, and Coën as well as some fringe members that did not stay at the castle but came to Sunday dinners.
Ciri slid out of Triss’s grasp and out of the hammock. She ran to her father. “Daddy! Can we go for a ride? I want to ride Roach! Please, daddy?” She wrapped her arms around his legs and gave him a wide toothy grin.
Geralt could not hold back his smile. “You have to go change. You can’t ride in that dress.”
Ciri squealed loudly and ran to the back door leading to the kitchen. Geralt watched her go before turning to Triss.
“Thank you. Was she good for you?”
Triss smiled at him. “Of course she was. She knows that I will turn her into a toad if she isn’t. Or her daddy will frown at her. Which is worse.” The woman let out a small laugh. “She’s a good kid, Geralt.”
“She is.” Geralt found himself staring at the door where Ciri disappeared. “It’s hard to believe she’s even mine sometimes.”
Triss clucked her tongue at him. “She’s only this good because of you. She’s practically your mini me.”
Geralt let out a harsh grunt. “Not likely.” He crossed his arms across his chest. Ciri never failed to puzzle him. She was a bright light in all the darkness that Geralt had built up in his life. Geralt had been abandoned on the steps of Kaer Morhen when he was a toddler, his mother a long time friend of Vesemir. The Alpha had just taken over the Witchers when Geralt had been found, covered in dirt and snot. Vesemir knew that Geralt’s mother had been heavily involved with drugs and he didn’t know who Geralt’s father was, so he took the boy in.
He raised him as best as he could while running a motorcycle club. The boy came up learning how to fight and ride as soon as he could. He became stoic and deadly with a switchblade, quickly rising in the ranks of the club to Lieutenant for Vesemir by the time he was in his late teens. He was loyal only to his Alpha, and he was a force to be reckoned with as he matured. When Geralt had met Yennefer ten years ago, it had been an instant attraction. She had been at one of the shows Geralt had run security for. She wore a tight black dress that hugged her curves, blood red lips stark against her caramel skin. Her violet eyes had pierced his and in an instant, he was under her spell. They had been passionate lovers, physically demanding of each other.
Yennefer made it clear early on she didn’t want children but had softened as they continued in their relationship. Before she got pregnant with Ciri, she had begged Geralt for children. He had been eager to give her anything she wanted, despite his own fears of parenthood. They tried for two years without much success, leading to many nights of tears and anger when the pregnancy tests would be negative. As they fought more and more about children and their future, Geralt started to sour to the idea of children. He was ready to call it quits when Yennefer had come to him with a positive test. A few months later, Ciri was born. Two years later, Yennefer was gone. Geralt had mourned her for too long, letting himself harden to the world.
Triss let out a heavy sigh as Ciri came tearing out of the back door, pulling on her leather jacket. She was wearing her boots and chaps over jeans.
“I’m ready, daddy!! Let’s go!! Let’s go!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the keep. Geralt allowed himself to be pulled for a few steps before swooping her up in his arms, causing her to squeal with laughter. He gathered his jacket and their helmets before heading out to the bikes. He buckled Ciri’s helmet under her chin.
“What are the rules?” Geralt knelt down in front of his daughter.
“Helmet always!” She knocked her knuckles against the hard helmet.
“Okay, that’s the first one; what’s next?”
“Leathers!” Ciri pulled on Geralt’s sleeve.
“Next?”
“Check the bike!” Ciri walked around the motorcycle, checking the tires, engine, and seat. Geralt watched her gaze closely, checking behind her. Ciri finished her checks and stood back in front of her father.
“And last thing?” Geralt looked at her expectedly.
Ciri smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Kisses for daddy!” Ciri pressed wet kisses to his cheek as Geralt pulled her into his arms and stood. He set her on the back seat and slid his leg across his seat and settled on it. He knocked the kickstand back and pulled on his own helmet before starting the bike. He felt Ciri lean forward to wrap her arms around his waist. He patted her hand and pulled out of the yard.