Chapter Text
Geralt isn’t sure why he would even consider Triss’s offer. Witchers can’t have families. They’re supposed to walk the path, alone until some monster finally manages to put an end to them. He’s only known Alvin for a few weeks, and as deeply as he’s already come to care for the boy’s safety, Geralt can’t possibly name himself his father. Any child deserves better than a life being raised by a witcher would give him. This arrangement has to be temporary. For his sake. And Triss. Geralt knows he loved her once, but the woman is as good as a stranger to him now. The idea of starting a family with her, or anyone for that matter, feels as outlandish to him as having a picnic with a ghoul.
Except it doesn’t. Not really. That’s what scares him more than anything.
He can almost picture it. Having a place to go home to at the end of the day. To fall asleep in his own bed every night, next to the woman he loves. Their child,asleep in a room down the hall, safe from anything that could cause them harm. A family to call his own.
But he’s a Witcher, his destiny is to kill monsters, so that’s what he tells Zoltan and Dandelion. There’s no use voicing his childish fantasies.
“Don’t bullshit me about destiny, Geralt,” grumbles Zoltan, “I realized long ago that all those pathetic bits by Itlina and the like are the same crap and humbug as those dissonances…”
“You may be right. But honestly, do you see me as a cobbler or a farmer?” Geralt asks. He almost wishes the answer was yes. He barely has two months worth of memories, but he already can’t picture himself as anything but a Witcher. Maybe if his friends who knew him from before could see another life for him, he wouldn’t feel as silly about his far fetched dreams.
The dwarf pauses for a moment. “Hm, no. I guess I see your point…” Well, so much for that.
“Damn it, I don’t get it! What’s one got to do with the other? No one said you’d have to stop slaying monsters, right?”
Zoltan and Geralt both turn to Dandelion at his outburst. It had been his brilliant idea for Geralt to drink with his friends as he thought over Triss’s proposition. He had expected the bard to spend the night ridiculing the very notion of long term commitment like he always did when Zoltan’s relationship came up. Instead, he’s had this look on his face all night like there’s something obvious Geralt isn’t seeing.
“She didn’t say either way…”
“Let me explain, Dandelion. Just because a woman doesn’t say it, doesn’t mean she doesn’t want it. In fact, they often say they want something, when they really want the opposite…” Zoltan explains, oblivious to the way his words only seem to increase Dandelion’s frustration.
They had all agreed not to tell Geralt any details of his former life. The best thing would be for the Witcher to regain his memories on his own; outside input would likely just mess with the process. Dandelion obviously struggles with this the most out of everyone, and Geralt isn’t sure if he’s annoyed or grateful for it. He does wish he knew what exactly it was that’s causing his friend to feel so strongly about the subject at hand.
Even as the conversation turns back to drinking and laughter, the bard still seems out of sorts. He throws back the rest of the contents of his tankard and stumbles onto the stage, lute in hand, and starts to play.
His singing is off key, and he’s slurring his words just a bit. But it’s clear he’s performed the song many times, as the lyrics come easily to him despite his drunken state. The notes he plays on his lute clearly ingrained in his muscle memory.
At first Geralt laughs. Typical Dandelion not getting the attention he craves as part of the conversation, instead trying to get it from the crowd. But as the minstrel keeps singing of this painful yet undying love, of destiny and wishes, Geralt feels his throat close up ever so slightly.
Something about the song makes the longing he’s felt in his chest since he left for Vizima, the one he thought would go away once he reunited with Triss but instead only grew stronger, became almost too much to bear. He downs another drink and closes his eyes. He can almost picture the woman from the song. With her raven hair and violet eyes shooting him a mock glare, though the warmth in her eyes betrays her true feelings. Can almost smell her perfume.
Things are tense for a short while after Dandelion returns from his unplanned performance, but as the night progresses and the three friends get more and more drunk, the song and the emotions they brought forward are left unspoken and the jolly atmosphere returns. Dandelion having all but forgotten his previous troubles, jests that there’s simply no understanding women.
Still he sounds serious when he outright asks Geralt if, forgetting about all the monsters and Salamandra, he would want a family. Even if he can barely stand upright as he speaks. Geralt for his part can only answer honestly that, foolish as it is, yeah, he really does.
He can’t really tell how Dandelion feels about the response. Everything after that night becomes a blur of alcohol, and hookers -the latter a result of his friends having decided they might as well make this Geralt’s stag night.
He should remember to ask Dandelion what inspired him to write that song, Geralt thinks to himself as he drunkenly stumbles back to Triss’s house. There must be one hell of a story there.