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It’s been a long day, and Yennefer is done. Another lengthy attempt at regaining what she’s lost has turned out to be a false lead, and everyone she had to speak to in the process was an idiot or a bastard, or in one particularly annoying case, an idiot and a bastard.
That one already regrets ever hearing of her, of course, but that really didn’t improve her mood much.
Also, the weather’s miserable, just to add insult to injury.
So Yennefer is very tired now, and she’s going to go to sleep for a week and never deal with any of the people she met today ever again. That’s definitely the thing she’s going to do.
Or that’s the thing she’s going to do, but . . .
“Ma’am!” a voice says, and Yennefer ignores it, lifting a hand to open a portal out of this miserable little rain-soaked town and—“Ma’am, wait!”
Yennefer . . . pauses. She turns towards the voice. It’s an out-of-breath girl in a knit shawl and heavy skirt who’s soaked to the bone and shivering. She’s ten at best; probably not even that.
“Help!” the girl says.
“What?” Yennefer says.
“There’s a girl in our house!” the girl says. “She’s having a baby!”
“I’m not that kind of witch,” Yennefer says, lip curling.
“Something’s wrong, though!” the girl says. Yennefer . . . sighs, flicking water out of her hair.
“I’m not that kind of witch,” she repeats irritably. She knows a bit about childbirth, yes, but it’s far from her speciality. She’s just lived long enough to pick up a few things here and there, mostly despite herself. “Isn’t there a midwife in this town?”
“She’s gone!” the girl says. “She’s out at the farms today!”
“Of course she is,” Yennefer mutters. The girl looks ready to cry.
“Please, ma’am!” she says. “There’s nobody else!”
Yennefer has absolutely no idea why these things happen to her.
“Where’s your house?” she says. The relief on the girl’s face is palpable.
“This way!” she says, and whips around to rush away. Yennefer considers opening that portal after all and just leaving, but doesn’t. She follows the girl resignedly through the mud and rain, and the girl glances back at her worriedly a few times, presumably to make sure she’s following. Which is fair, because Yennefer really does almost just leave.
It’s not that far into town before they get to the girl’s apparent house, though, so in the end she doesn’t. The girl rushes inside and holds the door for her, and Yennefer can hear the screaming from the street.
Well, that’s to be expected, obviously.
She follows the girl into the house, and the girl hurries ahead past a pair of men towards the back room, where they find a small bedroom and a woman holding the hand of a very pregnant girl barely older than the first one. Yennefer feels her expression sour at the sight of her.
She’s very young, she thinks.
“I found the witch!” the first girl says, raising her voice to be heard over the other girl’s next scream.
“I sent you for the midwife!” the woman says, looking horrified. The other girl sobs in pain.
“She’s out,” Yennefer says, shaking off her rain-soaked cloak. This is going to be a mess.
“She’s at the farms!” the first girl says. The woman eyes Yennefer warily. Yennefer has almost no useful herbs or potions on her and a debatable grasp of what to do here and also a temper, so doesn’t particularly blame her.
The pregnant girl looks terrible, ghastly pale and sweating and too thin everywhere but her stomach. Yennefer doesn’t like the sight of her.
“Can you help?” the woman says.
“Maybe,” Yennefer says.
“Please!” the pregnant girl sobs. Yennefer sighs and heads over to them.
“Let's see what we can do,” she says. The pregnant girl sobs again. She's too young, Yennefer thinks. Dangerously so. She glances at the woman and gets a grim look in return, so she doubts she's the only person in this house to know that.
She really doesn't have anything that could help, though.
. . . well . . .
"I can give her something for the pain," she says. "That's about all I've got."
"That's better than we have," the woman says.
"Alright," Yennefer says with another sigh, and fishes through her cloak. The pregnant girl starts weeping.
"I'm scared," she says in a small voice. The woman brushes her sweat-soaked hair out of her face.
"It's alright, love," she lies. "It won't hurt for much longer."
Well, that at least Yennefer can arrange. She comes up with a potion she only keeps on hand for emergencies and makes the girl drink it. The girl doesn't stop weeping, but the pain on her face slowly starts to lessen, at least. It's a strong potion, so Yennefer is unsurprised. She can't numb the girl completely—she'll need to be able to feel to push—but she can take the edge off for her.
Yennefer has been present for very few births over the long length of her life, but pain has always featured heavily, for obvious reasons. She's less concerned about the girl being in pain than she is about her actually managing to do this, though.
She really is far, far too young.
This is going to be unpleasant, and if the baby and mother both survive . . . well, Yennefer will be more surprised than anyone, if that happens.
The woman sends the first girl out on some useless but time-consuming errand, and Yennefer is certain she’s just trying to minimize the time the girl spends around the impending trouble. The pregnant girl moans in pain. The woman looks grim.
It’s going to be a long night.
Yennefer ties back her sleeves. The woman keeps holding the girl’s hand and asks her questions unrelated to the pain. Yennefer listens absently as she scrubs her arms clean in the basin on the dresser. The girl’s name is Lissa. She walked into town from the west. No, the father’s not here. She doesn’t want to talk about him. She doesn’t want to say where she came from either.
She doesn’t seem to want to say much, really, but at least she’s conscious and the pain seems to have lessened a bit more.
“How dilated is she?” Yennefer says, drying her hands.
“Not enough,” the woman says.
“It hurts!” Lissa says tearfully.
“Yes, it should,” Yennefer says, heading over to them. Normally she might be envious of that pain, but again, this girl’s chances of surviving giving birth are far from favorable. Yennefer’s honestly expecting an unhappy ending to this situation, one way or the other. Or both ways, more likely. “How close are the contractions?”
“Close,” the woman says. “Less than Melitele’s prayer apart.”
“Hm,” Yennefer says. That’s not good. Not that anything about this situation is good, obviously, but it means they don’t have much time, so there’s really nothing they can do but ride this out.
Well, that was probably inevitable, she thinks.
Lissa stifles a sob and the woman brushes her hair back off her face again. Yennefer considers giving her another dose of that potion and just letting her die painlessly. She doesn’t know enough about childbirth to be sure she won’t make it, though, so for now the pain’s the better option.
It’s a long night, even as close as Lissa’s contractions already are. Yennefer and the woman both do what they can to make her comfortable, but there’s really not much they can do. The girl peeks back in, but the woman sends her away again. Lissa keeps weeping steadily, wailing in pain with every contraction and clearly miserable. The woman holds her hand through them. Yennefer just keeps an eye on the way things are progressing.
Slowly, mostly. Mostly slowly.
Eventually, though, things pick up and everything turns into blood and screaming and really not something Yennefer has enough experience with. The woman clearly knows more than she does, but not enough to make it too much easier on Lissa. The baby is born with a terrible wail from both it and its mother, and the woman hands it to Yennefer as if she thinks she’s properly held a baby anytime in the past few decades. It’s been a long time since her siblings were born, and the few times she’s been around a birth, no one wanted the witch actually holding the child.
She needs to support the head, she remembers vaguely.
Yennefer looks down at the baby in her arms. It keeps wailing, face all screwed up. It’s a boy, darker than his mother with olive skin and black hair, and the woman clearly didn’t look very closely at him before handing him over.
His ears are pointed, is the thing.
“Hm,” Yennefer says as the woman helps Lissa through the rest of the process, still looking down at the baby and those subtly pointed ears. Well, this might help explain why Lissa doesn’t want to answer too many questions, and why she’s in this town at all, as opposed to wherever she’s actually from. Yennefer was just blaming her age for that, before.
“You’re alright, love,” the woman says soothingly. “It’s over now.”
“Oh no,” Lissa says, her voice trembling. She’s staring at the baby. The woman looks too, and inhales sharply. Frankly, Yennefer’s still busy being surprised that Lissa and the baby are both still alive and seemingly healthy. Him being part elf is barely notable in comparison.
Except in all the obvious ways, of course.
“Dammit,” the woman says, glancing nervously towards the door. Yennefer remembers the men on the other side of it.
“Well, his heritage isn’t subtle,” she says, taking the baby over to the basin to start cleaning him off. Lissa lets out a strangled sob and buries her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. “What’s his name?”
“I thought it might not show,” Lissa says tearfully. “Why did it have to show?!”
“Oh, you foolish girl,” the woman says tightly.
“Not really an answer to the question,” Yennefer says dryly, smoothing the washcloth over the baby’s scalp as he makes a creaky, miserable sound. His hair seems to be curly. Maybe that’ll help him hide the ears when he’s older, though she supposes it’d probably be safer—and easier—to just wear a cap.
“I can’t go home with him,” Lissa sobs. “They’ll kill me!”
“Then don’t go home, obviously,” Yennefer says. It seems clear enough to her. Lissa sobs louder. The woman glances nervously towards the door again.
“Keep your voice down, girl,” she hisses. Lissa hiccups, choking back another sob.
“It’s not that much of a crisis,” Yennefer says, still looking at the baby as she wipes him clean and he keeps whining. He’s perfectly formed, so far as she can tell; nothing like she was. Objectively speaking, in fact, he’s a beautiful child.
Well, under all the filth and whining, anyway.
Yennefer finishes washing the baby efficiently, absently aware of the other two watching her. He’s just a child, she thinks irritably, elvish blood or not. It’s not the end of the damn world.
“They really will kill me,” Lissa says, her voice trembling.
“How could you be so foolish?” the woman says. Lissa’s face crumples.
“He said he loved me,” she says tearfully. “He said it’d be alright!”
“Yes, lovers usually do,” Yennefer says. “And it’s usually not.”
Lissa stifles another sob, covering her mouth with a hand.
“Where’s the father, girl?” the woman asks.
“He’s dead,” Lissa says, tears welling up in her eyes. The baby’s creaky whining gets louder, and he squirms in Yennefer’s arms.
“Of course he is,” Yennefer mutters dubiously, eyeing the baby. Lovers always do disappoint, no matter what promises they make. Especially because of the promises they make.
“Dammit,” the woman says.
“I can’t go home with him,” Lissa sobs. “What’ll I do?”
“As I said, don’t go home,” Yennefer says. Lissa gives her a helpless look.
“I’m not a witch!” she says. “What would I do? How would I feed him?”
“Plenty of women have figured that out before,” Yennefer says. “And taking care of children is not remotely in the wheelhouse of mages, in fact.”
“Can’t you . . . change him?” Lissa says desperately.
“No,” Yennefer says. She could make him look a little different for a while, but she couldn’t change him permanently. Not without a cost a child’s in no position to pay, anyway.
Lissa covers her face with another sob. The woman looks grim. Yennefer doesn’t feel much empathy or pity, to be honest. The girl made her bed; now she has to lie in it. The baby’s going to suffer worse for his blood than she is, certainly. Yennefer knows that fact intimately enough.
She takes the baby to the bed. Lissa twists away from her, keeping her hands over her face.
“No!” she says. “I can’t!”
“Girl . . .” the woman says.
“I can’t!” Lissa says again. Yennefer’s mouth twists in annoyance.
“Who the hell do you think is going to, then?” she asks. The girl peeks in the door, expression curious.
“Not now, Anka!” the woman snaps at her.
“Oh!” the girl says as she stares at the baby, her eyes wide. “It’s an elf!”
“Anka!” the woman says.
“It’s a what?!” one of the men says from the other room. Yennefer feels immediately irritated by his tone.
“It’s a damn baby,” she says in annoyance. That’s all that matters. Lissa bursts into fresh tears, fisting her hands in the blankets.
“What am I supposed to do?!” she wails. “I don’t know what to do!”
“You foolish, foolish girl,” the woman says.
“It’s a damn baby,” Yennefer says again. The baby squirms miserably in her arms, his face screwed up into a ugly red grimace. His unhappy whining turns into a loud cry. Lissa flinches. Yennefer has no idea what’s wrong with him and makes a face. He cries louder.
The woman gets up and shuts the door in the girl’s face. The girl makes a protesting noise. Lissa keeps crying, entirely useless. She ought to be grateful to be alive right now, not crying over what to do about it. Some people have no sense of priorities, Yennefer thinks. It’s not as if she didn’t know what kind of baby she was having, after all.
“I can’t,” Lissa hiccups. “I can’t. I can’t take him home.”
“Then take him somewhere else,” Yennefer says, annoyed to have to repeat the obvious. Lissa weeps harder.
“Where?!” she says. “Where would ever take him?!”
“There are elves in the mountains,” the woman says in a hushed voice before Yennefer can say that’s not what she meant. “Someone could take him there.”
“‘Someone’?” Yennefer repeats suspiciously.
“She’s in no condition to travel, much less that far,” the woman says. “She’d never make it.”
“Yes, but that didn’t sound like you volunteering to pick up the slack,” Yennefer says. The woman looks at her. Yennefer’s expression sours.
“They said you came into town through a portal,” the woman says. “Can you do that wherever you like?”
“That’s besides the point,” Yennefer says. “Who says those elves want another mouth to feed, anyway?”
“He’s their kind,” the woman says. “They’d have to take him.”
“He’s your kind too,” Yennefer says pointedly.
“That’s different,” the woman says.
“It’s really not.” Yennefer eyes the baby again, unimpressed with both the woman’s logic and the baby himself. He’s still crying, kicking and squirming in her arms, and the sound of it grates unpleasantly in her ears. Lissa’s still crying too, if mercifully more quietly. Yennefer has no idea how she’s the voice of reason in a birthing room. She has no idea how she even wound up in a birthing room; she knows better than to get involved in other people’s problems. It always turns into trouble.
Geralt’s rubbing off on her, she thinks in annoyance.
She knows better than to let that happen too.
“He can’t stay here,” the woman says. “Not in this town.”
“He’s a baby,” Yennefer says, disgusted. People are as disappointing as ever.
“That doesn’t matter,” the woman says. “He’s still elvish blood.”
“Yes, we’re all aware of that,” Yennefer says irritably.
“Please,” Lissa sobs. “Please take him. Someone has to take him!”
“I have better things to do,” Yennefer says.
“They’ll die,” the woman says. “They’ll run the girl out of town with him and the two of them won’t make it two days.” Lissa whimpers in fear.
“That’s not my problem,” Yennefer says. The baby cries louder. Someone knocks heavily on the door. The woman stiffens, and Lissa whimpers again. Yennefer narrows her eyes.
Disappointing as ever, she thinks again.
“Yetta!” a man’s voice calls through the door.
“Not now!” the woman says, glancing nervously at the baby. Yennefer’s lip curls in disgust. People are such . . . people.
“The alderman’s here, Yetta!”
“Not now!”
“Please!” Lissa says desperately, grabbing Yennefer’s arm. Yennefer shakes her off. This is stupid. These people are stupid. It’s just a damn baby. It can’t do anything but cry.
How do people like these live with themselves?
The door opens. One of the men is standing in it; another pair of men are behind him.
“Yetta,” he says gravely. The woman’s hands curl into fists.
“For fuck’s sake,” Yennefer says in disgust, then just opens a portal and steps through it and out of town without looking back. Lissa cries out, but the sound of it’s cut in half by the portal closing.
Whatever else might happen after that, well, that’s their problem, isn’t it.
Yennefer eyes the baby. He’s still crying. She probably should’ve grabbed a blanket, she supposes; it’s not particularly warm out here. They’re not in the actual rain right now, though, so that's something. The sky’s still gray, though.
She has no idea what to do with a baby. Cleaning him up was obvious, but otherwise . . . no, she really has no idea.
Well, she supposes she’s got a mountain to get up and some elves to find, doesn’t she.
Not much else to be done, really.
The baby cries louder. Yennefer makes a face. She has no idea how to make him shut up and she’s expecting to be pissed or shit or vomited on any moment now. She knows enough about babies to know to expect that.
And she definitely should’ve grabbed a blanket for him.
She looks up at the mountain in the distance. She’s certainly travelled farther, so she’s not particularly worried about that. The baby she supposes she should worry about, but that’s just an unavoidable annoyance.
She flicks up her hood, then tucks him tighter into the crook of her arm and drapes the edge of her cloak to block the wind and make a little cavern of warmth against her body, feeling sour and irritated. People are as disappointing as ever. She had better things to do today, dammit.
. . . alright, not really. But that doesn’t make people any less disappointing or this in any way less annoying, and she still has no damn idea what to do with a baby.
Or where these elves are, aside from "up".
Yennefer sighs, then starts walking. The baby keeps crying and fussing and squirming, and she can only hope he'll cry himself to sleep. At least, she can't think of a better option. It's not like she knows how to soothe a baby.
Well, she'd seen her mother with her siblings, obviously, and even helped with them a few times, but that was a long, long time ago.
Mm.
Yennefer walks. The baby cries. The sound of it grates unpleasantly in her ears, and she deeply regrets ever following that girl to begin with. This shouldn't be her problem. This isn't her problem.
It's not.
And yet, somehow . . .
She sighs. The baby cries. She continues to have no idea where she's going.
Eventually, the baby does cry himself out, but only to the point of making miserable hiccuping noises that Yennefer still hates the sound of. He's clearly no kind of pacified. Not that she's really tried, admittedly, but what would she even try? He's probably cold and hungry and wants his parents, and Yennefer has no way to fix any of those problems. Magic isn't meant for taking care of squalling infants and she doesn't have anything more physical on hand.
It's unfortunate.
Yennefer keeps walking. The baby keeps fussing and sobbing. It's exhausting, and very obviously not going to get any less so. She really wishes she had better directions for where to find these damn elves than she does.
She doesn't even know if they'll take the brat.
They'd damn well better, after all this.
She really needs an actual way to find them, though. This is going to be an issue, otherwise.
This whole thing is already an issue.
The baby starts crying louder again, kicking feebly in her arms. Yennefer feels her expression sour. He’s probably starving by now. She doesn’t know what to do about it. He needs a wet nurse, obviously, but she can hardly arrange that for him. She can’t even figure out how to track down a bunch of elves that apparently can’t stay hidden from the average human local in a blatantly elf-hating village.
This is ridiculous.
Yennefer stops in her tracks with a scowl. The baby cries louder. She should’ve just picked a doorstep in town and left him on it. She shouldn’t even have taken him to begin with.
“This isn’t helping, brat,” she says, glaring down at him. He just wails, little face screwed up all ugly and red and streaked with tears. “Ugh.”
Yennefer seriously considers casting a silencing spell. She’s not quite there, but she’s considering it. It’d really help her sanity level right now, if nothing else.
Also, carrying around a screaming child isn’t going to make it any easier to find people who probably don’t want found.
Yes, that would be a problem.
Yennefer casts the silencing spell. The baby doesn’t stop screaming, but of course doesn’t make a sound. Yennefer’s shoulders sag in relief.
Then he pisses on her, of course.
Of course.
“Brat,” she says, rubbing at her temple in irritation before magicking them both clean. He keeps crying, looking even more distressed than before. Probably the inability to hear himself is upsetting. Then again, who knows what an infant thinks. He might not even know he was the source of the noise before.
She really isn’t in the mood to listen to any more of that, though, whether it’s distressing him or not. And, again, it’s not going to be helpful in finding anyone who doesn’t want found, which is the larger concern at the moment.
Gods, she’s already sick of this. How long is this going to take?
At least a little bit longer, apparently.
Yennefer keeps walking, and the baby keeps screaming, and they both keep being miserable. She wraps him tighter in her cloak and tries bouncing him a bit, because she has vague memories of doing the same thing for her siblings, but it doesn’t seem to help. So they’re both miserable, and they both hate the situation, and there’s not really anything either of them can do about it except find these damned elves.
In the end, it takes the rest of the day and several judicious applications of magic, but Yennefer finally finds a small, battered camp with exactly two elves in it. They leap to their feet, both reaching for a weapon, and she sighs.
“Don’t embarrass yourselves,” she says dubiously.
“Who are you?!” one of them demands. They don’t let go of their weapons, but she’s not really concerned about that.
“Yennefer of Vengerberg,” she says. She doesn’t bother asking for their names in return. “Not that it matters. I need you to take this damn baby.”
“What?” the other elf says. They both look bemused. Yennefer eyes them, then moves her cloak aside to reveal the baby.
“He’s half-elf,” she says. “Father’s dead, mother’s human. You can figure out the rest, surely.”
“Oh,” the second elf says, looking pained. The first one scowls.
"That's not our problem," he says. Yennefer gives him an incredulous look.
"And you think it's mine?" she asks.
"We can't take care of a baby," the second elf says. "We can barely take care of ourselves."
"Someone needs to," Yennefer says irritably. The elf looks even more pained.
"We really can't," she says. "We don't have anything. We're looking for other elves, but . . ."
"But what?" Yennefer says.
"But we can't take a baby with us," she says. They're . . . unfortunately young-looking, Yennefer is noticing. Maybe not much older than Lissa, so far as elves go. Her expression darkens in annoyance.
"Someone needs to," she repeats.
"Well, why can't you?" the first elf asks tersely. "You look better off than us!"
"I do know how to dress myself, yes," Yennefer says, eyeing them with an unimpressed expression. The elves' clothes are worn and mismatched, and she's getting an increasingly sinking feeling looking at them. They're young and underfed and both look exhausted and tense, and their camp barely qualifies as one. There's also very clearly only the two of them.
She really doesn't like her chances of convincing a pair of kids to take another kid on. Hell, they look like they need taken on.
Dammit.
"We really can't take them," the second elf says, visibly upset. "I'm sorry."
"Where are you headed?" Yennefer says. The elves glance at each other, the first one looking suspicious and the second one looking worried.
". . . north," the second one says slowly, which may even be the truth. "We heard there were other elves up there."
"Tch," Yennefer says, then sits herself down in front of their guttering little fire. "Fine. North it is."
The elves look at each other again. Yennefer ignores them and looks down at the baby, who's still fussing. She's long past asking for permission in life. She doesn't travel with other people outside of the occasional need to get something from someone, but she needs elves who can actually take care of a baby, and if these ones have a lead on a bigger group . . .
Well, obviously it makes sense to travel with them. She's hardly going to keep wandering around aimlessly looking for other elves.
". . . are they mute?" the second elf asks slowly, coming a little closer to look at the baby too.
"No," Yennefer replies dismissively. "I put a silencing spell on him."
"You're a witch?" The elf looks nervous.
"Obviously," Yennefer snorts. She'd like to know who else would be wandering around the woods in silk.
"What's his name?" the elf asks.
"He doesn't have one." Yennefer shrugs. "His mother wasn't exactly willing to provide one."
"Oh."
The elves look at each other again. The first one looks upset; the second still looks worried.
"Um," she says. "I'm Moira. And this is Amal."
"Charmed, I'm sure," Yennefer drawls. Moira bites her lip. Amal scowls.
Moira puts more wood on the fire. Amal keeps scowling. Yennefer ignores them both, still eyeing the fussing baby. She really does need to figure out how to calm him down. Eventually he'll cry himself to sleep, she's certain, but he'll wake up miserable again.
What the hell is she even going to feed him, anyway?
That's . . . going to be an issue.
Yennefer frowns. The baby wails in silence.
"Hold him," she orders, getting to her feet and pushing him on Amal. "I'll be back."
"Hey!" Amal protests, but Yennefer ignores him again and turns away to open a portal.
"What are you doing?" Moira says nervously.
"Don't worry about it," Yennefer says, then steps through the portal and lets it close behind her. A wet nurse isn't happening, clearly, but there are other options.
It takes her the better part of an hour to gather all the necessary supplies even without the baby to worry about, mostly because she doesn't have them memorized and has to check what she actually needs, but she manages it without too much trouble or too many questions in the end and returns to the elves' campsite with a large jar of powdered herbs and a waterskin full of goat's milk. Yennefer is no one's idea of a midwife, but she knows enough to know what to do when there isn't a wet nurse available.
Well, more or less.
"You're back!" Moira says in relief as Yennefer heads over to the fire. There's an empty little pot next to it; that'll do, she thinks, picking it up.
"I said I'd be back," she says.
"We didn't believe you," Amal says scornfully. The baby is asleep in his arms, so that's better than screaming, Yennefer supposes.
"Fair enough," she says, measuring out a careful spoonful of the powdered herbs into the pot and then pouring milk over it.
"What's that?" Moira asks.
"It's for the baby," Yennefer says. "He has to eat."
"Where did you get it?" Moira says, leaning over to look at the milk in the pot as Yennefer puts it over the fire to heat.
"Don't worry about it," she replies dismissively, stirring the pot.
"Will you take him back already?" Amal says impatiently.
"You can handle him for another five minutes," Yennefer says, still stirring the milk. It'll burn if she's not careful. Obviously.
She heats the milk until the herbs have all permeated through it, Moira watching from annoyingly close and Amal pacing restlessly behind them with the baby. The milk turns faintly lavender in the process, but it's supposed to do that, apparently. Yennefer’s never actually made this particular concoction before, so she's going off hearsay here.
“Here, give him to me,” she says as she digs a handkerchief out of her pocket, reaching out. Amal hands the baby over gladly, and Yennefer twists up a corner of the handkerchief, then dips it into the lavender milk and holds it to the baby’s mouth as he stirs. He whines silently, squirming in place, and milk dribbles down his chin. Yennefer frowns and tries again. It doesn’t go much better.
“Have you thought of a name yet?” Moira asks, leaning over her shoulder.
“What?” Yennefer gives her a blank look, then scowls. “No. He’s not mine.”
“But we need to call him something, don’t we?” Moira says.
“‘The baby’ has been working just fine for me,” Yennefer says. “Or ‘brat’.”
“Works for me,” Amal says.
“He’s a person,” Moira says, frowning at them.
“He’s a brat,” Yennefer says matter-of-factly. She sees no reason to name him. The other elves can deal with that when they find them. It's not her problem to solve.
Moira looks bothered, but doesn't press. Good; Yennefer has bigger concerns. Getting the brat to eat properly is her current goal.
It takes some effort, but she manages to feed him well enough. It's not a permanent solution—she definitely needs to figure out a more efficient way to do it—but it works for the moment, and that's all that matters. And at least he's not crying anymore, thank fuck.
It's far from the best job anyone's ever done taking care of a baby, but if it works, it works.
Yennefer looks at Moira and Amal. They look back at her.
"I assume we’re leaving in the morning?" Yennefer says.
“That was . . . um, the plan,” Moira says, glancing awkwardly at Amal. He looks annoyed, but doesn’t say anything. “You’re coming?”
“Was I too subtle about that?” Yennefer asks dryly. Moira flushes.
“Um, alright,” she says.
“We didn't invite you,” Amal says, scowling.
"I don't recall asking to be invited," Yennefer says.
"Don't you need to burp him?" Moira asks awkwardly. "Or something?"
"What?" Yennefer says, and then the baby throws up all over her. "Ugh!"
"Oh!" Moira says as Amal snickers under his breath, which Yennefer is going to remember. "Is he okay?"
"He's a mess," Yennefer says in disgust, resisting the urge to hold the baby away from her body. His head needs support, she reminds herself grudgingly.
"I think we have a rag somewhere," Moira says, heading over to the bags.
"Not necessary," Yennefer says, waving the mess away with a hand and a spell. Moira's eyes widen. Amal makes an annoyed noise. Yennefer just eyes the baby, who seems to have gone to sleep.
Brat.
The baby sleeps. Moira and Amal make themselves dinner, and Moira offers Yennefer a share. She accepts it, because she does have to eat. It's not the tastiest meal she's ever had, but it's a meal.
The baby keeps sleeping. Yennefer suspects that means he's going to be up all night. He's been about that difficult so far.
The other two go to bed. Yennefer stays up to feed the baby again. She’s tired, but she’s restless, too, and she can’t decide between going to sleep or staying up to watch the baby. She assumes he’ll be fine whether or not she stares at him all night, but part of her is a bit concerned all the same. He’s so small.
Yennefer has no idea what to do with someone this small.
She’s definitely getting sick of holding him, though.
Ugh.
Yennefer pitches her tent with a few impatient gestures, then walks into it with the baby. It’s probably better to keep him warmer, she thinks, and searches through the tent until she finds a blanket that isn’t too heavy to wrap him in. It’s a little large for her purposes, but making it smaller isn’t much of a problem. She leaves him swaddled on the bed and goes about making a proper . . . something to feed him from. The handkerchief method is hardly an effective solution.
She really doesn’t know how to take care of a baby alone, but she does manage to rig up a small waterskin with a mouth that’ll let milk dribble out of it as opposed to pouring. It’s not exactly complicated to do.
She feeds the baby again, which works much better this time. He eats, then sleeps again, and Yennefer tries to sleep herself but mostly finds herself watching him do it. She doesn’t know why. It’s not useful, and it’s going to have her exhausted and miserable in the morning.
She does it anyway, because she’s apparently an idiot.
She spends the night alternating between feeding and changing and rocking the baby and in the morning, she's exhausted and he's still fussing for another meal.
"Um . . . hello?" Moira says from outside the tent as Yennefer’s adjusting her grip on the baby to better feed him.
"Come in," she says with a sigh. She is . . . so tired. The front of the tent parts, and Moira steps inside, looking around in awe.
"Where did all this come from?" she asks.
"Nowhere," Yennefer says. "It's magic."
"It's amazing," Moira says.
"It's really not," Yennefer says. "Did you need something?"
"Um . . . breakfast is almost ready," Moira says. "If you . . . want some."
"Yes," Yennefer says, getting to her feet. If she can't have sleep, she's at least getting food. The baby's had plenty of it, the little bastard.
"Okay," Moira says, and reluctantly disappears back out of the tent. Yennefer follows her, because with the flap open she can smell food and she wants it, dammit. She wants it immediately.
Amal is stirring a pot over the fire. Moira goes over to him and he gives her a bowl of whatever he's cooking. Yennefer thinks it's oats.
"Thank you," Moira says, then brings the bowl over to Yennefer, who trades her for the baby.
"Feed him," she orders. Moira manages to figure out how to, so that's a mercy, and Yennefer devours the oats like a woman starved, because that is in fact what she is. The camp's half packed up, it looks like, and it's excessively early in the day but Yennefer really doesn't care about that.
"Why can't you feed him?" Amal asks, looking annoyed.
"What do you think I've been doing all night, boy?" Yennefer snorts. "He's a baby. They eat every five godsdamn minutes."
"Am I doing this right?" Moira says worriedly.
"Hold his head up higher," Yennefer says, scraping the last of the oats out of the bowl.
"We're leaving after breakfast," Amal says brusquely. "If you can't keep up, we're leaving you."
"Oh, are you?" Yennefer says dryly. She's not particularly worried about being outpaced.
Moira finishes feeding the baby and returns him to Yennefer just in time for him to throw up on her, and Yennefer sighs. Of course, she thinks.
Moira and Amal both eat quickly, then finish packing up the camp as Yennefer cleans herself up and banishes her tent. The baby sleeps through it.
They head out, Moira and Amal leading the way and Yennefer bringing up the rear with the baby in her arms. She needs to get a sling for him, she thinks. If she's going to be carrying him around this much, she definitely needs a sling. He's a tiny thing, but his weight is wearing on her all the same.
She's mentioned how exhausted she is, yes?
She's very exhausted.
They walk north all morning. Yennefer remains exhausted, but makes sure not to show it. She doesn't want to deal with the other two trying to outrun her or something equally stupid. That's just not something she has the patience for right now.
It's a long walk. They stop once or twice because of the baby, but that's it. Yennefer wonders, not for the first time, why these things happen to her. She has a goal to pursue, and a baby is only going to get in the way of her life.
. . . something about that thought seems odd, she thinks, but she can't quite pin down how.
Anyway, that's when they run into a caravan coming the opposite way on the road and she's immediately distracted. Moira and Amal both pull their hats low over their ears. Yennefer wraps another layer of blanket around the baby.
Come to think, maybe they should've stayed in the woods.
The man at the head of the caravan nods to them as they pass each other. Amal nods back stiffly. They make their way through the long length of the caravan without drawing much attention, mercifully; everyone in it seems busy with their own concerns. Yennefer supposes they should be thankful for that. These people might not react hatefully or violently to elves, but there's only one way to find out for sure, and it wouldn't be a pleasant one.
Moira and Amal both look anxious and restless. Yennefer supposes she can't blame them. They'll have a worse time of it than her if things go bad, after all.
Much worse. She'd be the one burning this caravan down.
They pass the caravan without incident. Moira and Amal both sag with relief. Yennefer tucks the baby in a little tighter against her chest, half-expecting a knife in her back.
It’s hard to shake off that feeling.
The caravan recedes behind them. Moira looks back nervously; Amal keeps his eyes fixed ahead. Yennefer resists the urge to open a portal and dart through it. They’re fine. No one noticed anything. Even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have done anything.
It’s fine.
The caravan is long gone before Yennefer can stop feeling the ghost of that knife in her back.
They keep walking north. It’s a long morning, but Yennefer really wants to be as far away from the caravan as possible and she’s fairly sure the other two feel the same. They pass a few more small groups on the road, but nothing that large again. Yennefer doesn’t feel the itch of the knife quite so badly.
She feels it, though.
She has no idea why it won’t leave her alone right now.
“We should take a break,” Moira says, looking at the sky. “Have some lunch.”
“I’m not hungry,” Amal says.
“The baby is,” Yennefer says, and he sighs in aggravation.
“Fine,” he says irritably. “Whatever.”
They stop for lunch. The baby takes up most of Yennefer’s attention for the process, unsurprisingly. She has to resist the irrational urge to check him for injuries, and she can’t stop thinking about burying that little girl. It’s . . . unpleasant. There are things that Yennefer avoids remembering, and that whole nightmare is one of them.
She makes herself stop thinking about it. It’s not helpful.
“I think we can get to the river crossing before dark,” Moira says.
“Not if we keep stopping every five minutes,” Amal says.
“You tell the baby to hurry up, then,” Yennefer says dryly. Amal scowls at her.
“Can’t you take better care of him?” he says. “You’re taking forever.”
“You think you could do better?” Yennefer counters. Amal’s scowl darkens.
“We can get to the crossing,” Moira says. “It’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” Amal says irritably, folding his arms.
“Works for me,” Yennefer says. Travelling like this is a little frustrating, when normally she could just open a portal somewhere and be there immediately, but unfortunately searching for people one doesn’t know the exact location of is a little less precise and necessitates feet on the ground.
It’s still a bit tempting to duck out and get a proper bath and some decent sleep somewhere, but she doesn’t want to lose track of Moira and Amal. That’d be an unnecessary annoyance, and not one Yennefer feels like dealing with.
They get going again, and they do in fact make it to the river crossing before dark, even making a few more stops along the way. There’s a ferry at the crossing, and Yennefer pays their way on it. Moira looks relieved. Amal looks irritated, again. Yennefer doubts they have much money, from the look of them, and money isn’t something she often has to worry about, so she’s not concerned about it.
Anyway, if it makes them less likely to try and shake her, she’s all for it. She doesn’t need that annoyance either.
They cross the river and land on the edge of a small village. Moira and Amal both look nervous. Yennefer is more interested in looking for an inn. The village, mercifully, is just big enough to have one, though it's not very large. Yennefer doesn't care as long as she can get a bath.
She rents two rooms, one for her and one for Moira and Amal, then leaves the baby with them while she bathes. The water isn't quite as hot as she'd like, but she's too tired to heat it up more. It's been a long two days.
The baby probably should have a bath too, she realizes, and sighs to herself.
Well, that's one more thing to deal with.
Yennefer finishes up in the bath, then goes to collect the baby for his turn. He's crying, which is annoying but unsurprising. She takes him from Amal and he hiccups wetly, but stops outright wailing. That’s a mercy, at least.
She takes the baby back to her room and bathes him carefully, then settles in for another night of getting woken up every twenty minutes. It’s going to be miserable, but she’ll deal with it.
It is miserable, but she does deal with it.
Not much choice there, really.
In the morning she feeds the baby and heads downstairs to eat breakfast one-handed. Moira and Amal come down a little later, looking much more well-rested than Yennefer feels. She seriously considers pushing the baby on them and going back upstairs to take a nap while they eat.
It’s very tempting, at least.
She almost does it, but when she tries to give the baby to Moira he starts wailing, and that’s . . . unfortunate. And irritating.
Yennefer sighs, and keeps the baby. Moira and Amal eat and she keeps the baby from crying any more, by some miracle or another. He fusses a bit, but is mostly agreeable about things. Good, because she was this close to casting a silencing spell on him again.
There’s only so much patience Yennefer has, honestly, and this child is wringing her dry of it. She knows it’s not his fault, really, but she’s just not equipped to take care of a baby right now. She didn’t even have any damn notice, much less the time to get anything around or prepare in any way. Usually people have nine months; she had about nine seconds.
The situation is really, really testing her patience.
Moira and Amal finish their breakfast, and they leave the inn and then the village, back on the road in search of elves who, Yennefer hasn’t been able to help thinking, might just be a rumor. It’s exhausting, and it’s not even lunchtime.
She really wishes she could just dump the baby on Moira and Amal and go, but she’s fairly certain they’d fail miserably and she just can’t quite bring herself to do it.
It’s very tempting, though.
Definitely tempting.
They travel all day. They don’t find any sign of other elves. Yennefer gets even more exhausted. Moira and Amal look tired too, and they aren’t the ones dealing with a baby right now. It’s not the most productive day of her life, putting it mildly.
So the little gang of bandits is really just wonderful to run into, of course.
“Give us your money!” one of them demands, waving a short sword at them. Yennefer sighs heavily and adjusts her grip on the baby.
“I’ll give you one warning,” she says.
“I said give us your money!” the bandit repeats angrily, still wielding their sword threateningly. Yennefer pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand. Of course this would happen today. Why wouldn’t this happen today?
“We don’t have any!” Moira says, clearly terrified. Amal’s hand inches towards his weapon, and the bandit slashes his arm deeply. Amal yells in pain, Moira cries out, and the baby wakes up with a jolt and starts to wail.
Yennefer sighs, and sets the bandits on fire. They scream. So do Moira and Amal.
"Calm down, it was me," Yennefer says. "Come on, let's get out of here and let them deal with their own problems."
"They're burning!" Moira says in horror.
"Barely," Yennefer says, rolling her eyes. They won't die from having their shirts set on fire.
Probably.
She strides down the road with the still-wailing baby, and Moira and Amal follow her nervously. The bandits stop screaming, so the fire presumably went out. Yennefer doesn't care enough to look back and find out. If worse happened, well, they brought that on themselves, didn't they.
The baby keeps wailing. Yennefer sighs.
Well, that's going to be annoying.
"How did you do that?" Moira says, still obviously nervous.
"Magic, obviously," Yennefer says dubiously. She doesn't feel like giving the complicated explanation. She doubts they'd understand it anyway. "How else?"
"Oh," Moira says.
"You should've killed them," Amal says.
"They weren't worth the energy," Yennefer says. Setting people on fire is more taxing than it looks, for one thing, simple though the process is. "How's the arm?"
"Fine," Amal says.
"It's still bleeding," Moira says. Yennefer sighs again.
"I'll look at it when we stop," she says. "Try not to faint in the meantime, mm?"
They keep walking. The bandits don't show up again and Amal manages not to faint, so that's something. Yennefer even manages to get the baby to quiet down without having to cast a silencing spell. The situation is practically ideal. The only way it could be improved would be if they found those damn elves.
Eventually they stop, and Yennefer hands the baby off to Moira and takes a look at Amal’s arm. It's a nasty wound, but not one that's beyond her capacity to heal. There'll be a scar, but that's unavoidable, and he's not going to lose the hand or anything like that.
Yennefer takes care of the wound. Amal grits his teeth through it. Moira watches the baby. It's an uneventful afternoon, and they move on without trouble. Yennefer is even more exhausted, though, so that's going to be a bit of an issue if they run into any more bandits.
"Take care of the baby," she tells Moira that night. "If I don't sleep, I'm going to be useless tomorrow."
"Do you think the bandits will come back?" Moira asks worriedly.
"I can't predict the future," Yennefer says. "Either way I need sleep."
"Alright," Moira says.
Yennefer only manages to sleep for a few hours before the baby wakes her up with his crying, but it's something, at least. She sighs, and takes him from Moira to soothe him to sleep himself. He seems to prefer her, unfortunately.
Well, there's worse burdens in the world, Yennefer supposes, but it is inconvenient.
Moira and Amal and the baby all sleep. Yennefer watches the baby and keeps watch over the camp, for lack of anything else to do with herself. Nothing and no one dangerous shows up, which is for the best, but definitely dull.
At least the baby doesn't fuss too badly.
Morning comes. They get back on the road and back to searching. It's a long, unproductive day, and so are the following ones. Moira and Amal both get increasingly upset and anxious, and Yennefer doesn't feel much better about things. The baby sleeps through most of it, but always seems to cry at the most inconvenient times. If they don't find these damn elves soon . . .
The baby squirms in Yennefer’s arms. She wraps him tighter in his blanket, and he settles. He's getting more and more difficult to feed, and she still hasn't slept a full night through. He’s fussier when it's Moira or Amal holding him, and Yennefer doesn't want to listen to it. It's just easier to carry him herself. She could keep casting silencing spells, but again, she's exhausted. There's only so much she can do.
"They might not be out here anymore," Moira says as Amal’s cooking the night's dinner over the fire. Yennefer looks up from feeding the baby and raises an eyebrow at her.
"Giving up already?" she asks. Moira flushes, then bites her lip.
"No," she says. "But if they're not . . ."
"They are," Amal says firmly, turning the spit. Moira doesn't look any less worried.
"They'd damn well better be," Yennefer says. She needs to see some other adults, for one thing. She can't believe she's responsible for all these brats.
Well, not really responsible for them, obviously, but still. She didn't sign up for any of this.
The baby fusses in her arms. Yennefer sighs and returns her attention to feeding him. He eats greedily, then vomits half of it onto her dress when she moves to burp him.
Of course.
Moira takes the baby while Yennefer cleans herself up and he immediately starts whining in complaint. Yennefer ignores him for the moment, but it's very difficult to do. Almost as difficult as getting the scent of sour milk out of silk, in fact, not that that's a particularly specific concern in her life right now.
This really would be going a lot better if she’d had nine months to prepare, she’s sure.
People are such bastards.
Yennefer takes the baby back and gets up to walk around the campsite with him, rocking him lightly. He whines for a little longer, but eventually settles into silence and falls asleep in her arms.
He really is a beautiful baby, Yennefer thinks, especially considering how much trouble he’s already caused in the world in his short little life.
Well, it’s not like she couldn’t use the practice with children anyway, really. It’s been a long, long time since she helped take care of her siblings, and once she has a child of her own, she’d rather not immediately fuck things up. The refresher course is going to be useful, in the long run.
Annoying, but useful.
“Do you hear that?” Moira says.
“Hear what?” Amal says.
“Yenn?” Geralt says, and Moira and Amal both whip around and curse in alarm, grabbing for their weapons. Yennefer blinks, and turns her head to find Geralt standing at the edge of their little camp, looking like he hasn’t slept properly in days and leading a horse that, presumably, is named Roach.
“Geralt,” she says, mildly surprised. She’s always a little surprised to see Geralt, given how oddly often they run into each other. “What are you doing out here?”
“Nothing,” he says. “I’m on my way to town.”
“Oh?” she says. “Which one?”
He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, which she supposes it wouldn’t. He’s just looking for his next monster, after all.
“Moira, Amal, this is Geralt of Rivia,” she says as she walks over to him. “Geralt, Moira and Amal.”
Geralt inclines his head in greeting, gruff but polite. Moira nods back nervously. Amal doesn’t put down his weapon.
“Who the hell is this?” he demands.
“A friend of mine,” Yennefer says.
“He’s a witcher!”
“Yes, I’ve noticed,” Yennefer replies dryly, and hands the baby off to Geralt, who looks immediately alarmed. “There you go, don’t forget to support the head. One moment.”
“Why do you have a baby?” Geralt asks warily.
“It’s complicated,” Yennefer says, going over to the fire to feed it. “Or very simple.”
“Simple?” he says.
“People are bastards,” she says.
“Hm,” he says. The baby doesn’t fuss in his arms, surprisingly. Yennefer’d expected him to. “What’s his name?”
“Doesn’t have one,” Yennefer feeds the fire another log, then straightens up and stretches her back out. Carrying this brat around has not been good for it. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any elves around here, have you?”
“No,” Geralt says, frowning faintly at her. “He doesn’t have a name?”
“He’s not mine,” she says. “I’m just looking for someone to take him.”
“Why?” Geralt asks, and Yennefer . . . pauses.
“Why wouldn’t I, Geralt?” she says.
“I thought you wanted a child,” he says, his voice a little careful.
“Yes, obviously,” she says, folding her arms. “My own child. Not some random stranger’s.”
“Hm,” Geralt says. Yennefer raises an eyebrow at him.
“What, would you accept just any old child, if it were you?” she says. He doesn’t answer.
Typical, really.
“Um . . . would you like to stay for dinner?” Moira asks awkwardly. “We were about to make some, I mean.”
“. . . thank you,” Geralt says, glancing at Yennefer. She’s fairly certain he only accepted the invitation so he could be around her a little longer, but she’s not complaining. Usually their meetings are a bit more . . . romantic, for lack of a better word, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still want to see him.
“Good,” she says. She considers taking the baby back, but he’s still not fussing and Geralt hasn’t complained yet, so she doesn’t. Instead she sits down by the fire, and Moira and Amal get dinner going. Geralt loops his latest Roach’s reins around a tree branch, then comes over and sits down beside her with the baby, who seems to be sleeping peacefully.
Well, Geralt does make for a peaceful place to sleep, Yennefer admits to herself.
“He’s half-elf,” she says. “Obviously. Father’s dead, mother didn’t want him.”
“Hm,” Geralt says. He doesn’t soften, but she senses an increased sympathy in his mind. A witcher would know from parents who don’t want their children, she’s always assumed, though they’ve never really talked about it. She certainly didn’t explain the intricate little details of her family tree to him.
“There’s supposed to be a group of elves around here,” she says. “I’m hoping they’ll take him. Not sure what else to do with him, frankly.”
“I see,” Geralt says. Yennefer thinks about kissing him, but it seems like it’d be awkward with his arms full of the baby. It’s . . . interesting, honestly, to see him holding a child. She’s never really pictured it before.
She’s not quite sure why she finds it so interesting, honestly.
It just . . . is.
“Do you want to eat or feed the baby first?" Moira asks.
"He doesn't need to throw up on me again just yet," Yennefer says dryly. Moira passes over a share of dinner for her and Geralt both. It's slim pickings, but at this point Yennefer really doesn't care. She eats, and half-watches Geralt eat his own meal one-handed.
She really can't figure out why it's so interesting seeing him with the baby.
"I've heard of Geralt of Rivia," Amal says, eyeing Geralt suspiciously. "Isn't there a song about you?"
"No," Geralt technically doesn't lie. There are several songs about him, after all.
"Sure," Amal says, narrowing his eyes.
"I remember hearing a song about a witcher called the White Wolf, I think," Moira says, clearly trying to lighten the mood. Or Amal's mood, at least. Amal just snorts and turns away to eat. "Do you know him?"
"No," Geralt definitely lies.
"Oh? Aren't you from the Wolf School, Geralt?" Yennefer says with a smirk, reaching up to tug lightly at a lock of his pale hair. He shoots her a dirty look, and she laughs. Moira looks puzzled, but doesn't say anything.
They eat not quite in silence, though there isn't much conversation to go around. The baby is mercifully quiet in Geralt's arms and Yennefer is content to enjoy the peace.
It is odd that he seems perfectly fine being held by Geralt, when he still frequently fusses over Moira or Amal holding him when he's in the wrong mood. Yennefer doesn't quite know what to think of that.
Well, she's seen stranger things in her life, she supposes.
They finish eating. Amal takes the bowls to wash, and Moira tidies up the camp a little. Yennefer watches Geralt with the baby, who he's frowning faintly at. The baby gurgles, squirming in place, and Geralt adjusts his grip on him.
Yennefer is beginning to recognize the way that looking at Geralt with the baby makes her feel, and it's . . . ridiculous, actually, because the way it makes her feel is fond. Of all things . . .
She shakes her head, then smirks at Geralt again.
"Do you need directions to town?" she asks.
"I'm fine," Geralt says dryly. Yennefer hums a little bit of "Toss A Coin To Your Witcher", and he grimaces. She laughs.
It's good to see him.
"If you say so," she says instead of that, because she's not that foolishly soft, and Geralt grunts in reply. The baby is asleep again, breathing softly, and seems perfectly happy to stay that way. Yennefer tilts her head, just watching them for a little longer. Even in all his armor, there's something sweet about the sight of Geralt with a child.
Ugh. Apparently she is that foolishly soft.
She's definitely not going to say anything about it, though, for very obvious reasons.
"How are you going to find the other elves?" Geralt says.
"The hard way, unfortunately," Yennefer says.
"Do you want help?" he asks, and she smiles at him, resting her chin in her hand.
"Is that the great White Wolf offering?" she asks mildly.
"That's me offering," Geralt says. Coming from a man who's as likely to sneak out on a lover as she is, it's certainly a thoughtful offer.
"Mmm, I suppose a little more company wouldn't go amiss," she says.
"He's a witcher," Amal says with a scowl.
"We've been over that, Amal, yes," Yennefer drawls. She considers taking the baby from Geralt again, but she doesn't want to risk waking him. "There's worse things in the world than the occasional witcher."
"Can you really help us?" Moira asks tentatively.
"I can try," Geralt says.
"It's this or I start trying scrying spells on a group of people I've never met or seen before and don't have anything from," Yennefer says, getting up to feed the fire again. "Which doesn't work very well, for the record."
"We don't need him," Amal says, scowling.
"No, but he's still a useful man to have around," Yennefer replies easily. She feeds another few sticks to the fire, then straightens back up and glances back to Geralt. The baby makes a sleepy snuffling sound. She looks at Amal again. "Have you got a better way to find these people?"
Amal's scowl darkens. He folds his arms.
He really is so young, isn't he.
"So no," Yennefer says, arching an eyebrow. Amal looks no less frustrated.
"If he can help . . ." Moira trails off.
"He can," Yennefer says.
"Okay, then," Moira says. “We can start looking in the morning.”
Yennefer lets Geralt sleep in her tent with her, even though she’s not going to be sleeping much with the baby to deal with and even though he’s a bit grimy from the road. He stays up with her, oddly, and helps with the baby. At least, he holds him for a while and manages to learn how to feed him. He seems to have less idea what to do with a child than anyone she's ever met, but he's very careful with the baby all the same.
She wonders if he's ever actually held one before.
She could ask, she supposes, but she doesn’t. The answer seems obvious anyway. Even with his armor off, he’s very awkward with him.
Yennefer feels . . . odd, still, watching Geralt with the baby. Softer and sweeter than she should.
As if she doesn’t know better.
“How have you been?” Geralt murmurs at some point, quiet so he won’t wake the baby. Yennefer feels foolishly soft and ignores the feeling.
“Oh, same old, same old,” she replies dismissively, waving him off. She never answers that question in real detail. Neither of them do, in fact. “You?”
“Fine,” Geralt says. “Hunted a pair of bruxae last week.”
“Hmmm,” Yennefer says. “Can’t they disguise themselves as humans?”
“Yes,” Geralt says.
“How close did they get to killing you?” Yennefer asks, and Geralt grimaces.
“Enough,” he says.
“You’re the same as ever,” she says, shaking her head. Geralt is always just that little bit too close to getting himself killed, and it’s so, so often because of his sense of mercy.
Well. Lovers always disappoint, one way or another. Of course Geralt’s going to go and die on her one of these days.
“Hn,” Geralt says. The baby huffs softly, squirming in his blankets, and Geralt carefully adjusts his grip on him. Yennefer looks at the baby.
He really is a beautiful child, trouble or no.
And Geralt really does look very sweet with him.
Yennefer is so much smarter than this. She knows better than this.
But Geralt . . .
Yennefer rolls over and goes to sleep for the night. She wakes up once or twice to the sound of Geralt murmuring to the baby, but never quite enough to understand what he’s saying. She probably shouldn’t leave him to handle things alone, but he doesn’t try to wake her or complain, and she is a very, very tired woman.
It’s a very good night’s sleep, if only because it’s not interrupted. Yennefer relishes it.
In the morning, she wakes up to Geralt dozing on the other half of the bed, the baby asleep on his chest with his little fist curled around the chain of Geralt’s medallion and both of their minds peaceful and quiet.
That might have something to do with how well she slept last night.
Yennefer looks at them for a long moment, then gets up to get the baby’s breakfast around. Geralt stirs.
“Yenn?” he says, sounding faintly surprised. The baby burbles.
“Good morning,” she says mildly, offering him the milk. They don’t wake up together often. Or . . . ever, in fact. She didn’t really think about that last night, even though she’s gone to great effort to avoid being around when he woke up more than once.
He started it, so it’s only fair.
Geralt takes the milk. The baby makes a snuffling sound, blinking sleepily, then starts to drink greedily. Yennefer avoids watching the two of them and gets dressed instead. She wears silk again, mostly to be contrary. She’s sick of the woods, and sick of the baby being sick on her, and sick of being a mess in general. She wants a proper bath and a week’s worth of decent sleep, and she wants to at least look presentable.
She can feel Geralt watching her as she brushes out her hair, but she doesn’t say anything about it.
She takes the baby from him after he’s done feeding him, and they leave the tent to find Moira and Amal eating breakfast. They eat too, and then they all pack up their meager little camp.
“Where should we start?” Moira asks as she pulls her pack on.
“There’s the question, I suppose,” Yennefer says.
“Water,” Geralt says.
“Water?” Amal wrinkles his nose.
“If they’re in the area, they must’ve been to the river at some point,” Geralt says. “Especially a larger group. We might find tracks there.”
“Oh,” Moira says. “I guess that’s right, isn’t it.”
“Well then, lead the way, Geralt,” Yennefer says easily, gesturing with her free hand, and he takes his horse by the reins and does. They walk to the river, and then they start walking upstream, Geralt and the others scanning for any signs of other people and Yennefer occupied with the baby.
They walk all morning with no sign of anyone else, then break for lunch. They eat, Yennefer takes care of the baby, and then they move on. Geralt walks a little slower, which Yennefer is very sure is for her benefit, but she’s tired enough not to call him out over it. They’ve been walking for days now with very little sleep, and she’s genuinely lost track of the date.
It’s been tiring, for obvious reasons. She’s not going to complain about Geralt taking his time walking.
“How long are we going to do this for?” Amal asks in annoyance.
“Amal!” Moira hisses.
“‘Til we either find something or run out of river,” Geralt says.
“Seems reasonable enough,” Yennefer says. Amal scowls.
“And what if we run out of river and don’t find something?” he says.
“Then we come up with another plan,” Geralt replies with a sigh, carefully guiding his horse past a deep hole in the ground. Amal doesn’t stop scowling, but Amal spends enough time scowling on any given day that Yennefer isn’t really worried about it. Gods know he’s scowled at her more than enough.
“Stop worrying about it,” she says. “Unless you have a better plan?”
Amal glowers.
“It’s a good plan,” Moira says, glancing over at him. “A good start, anyway.”
“Certainly better than wandering around the forest waiting to trip over an elf,” Yennefer agrees easily, adjusting her grip on the baby as he starts fussing and squirming for no apparent reason. Presumably there’s a reason, of course, she just has no idea what it is. “Now’s really not the time, brat.”
“Is he hungry again?” Moira says.
“Probably,” Yennefer sighs, jogging him lightly in her arms. He keeps fussing, so . . . hunger seems likely, yes. Or he might need changed, though he doesn’t smell like it, so she’s going to assume hunger for the moment. She checks, and no, he doesn’t need changed. “Alright, give me a moment. Here, hold him.”
She passes the baby over to Moira, and he immediately starts fussing louder. He ought to be happy not to be on the ground right now, in Yennefer’s opinion, but unfortunately he clearly hasn’t developed a sense of gratitude yet. He starts to cry, and she sighs.
“I could get the milk for him?” Moira offers, wincing a little. The baby’s crying directly into her ear, so Yennefer can’t blame her.
“Fine,” she says, taking him back, and they stop walking and Moira prepares the milk so Yennefer can feed him.
“He eats too much,” Amal says, looking impatient.
“He’s a baby,” Yennefer says dryly. “All they do is eat, shit, and cry.”
“And you thought we’d be able to take care of him?” Amal says.
“You did?” Geralt says, frowning faintly. Yennefer doesn’t feel embarrassment, as a rule, but if she did . . . well, she might be, that’s all.
“I was assuming they’d be older when I came up with that plan,” she says. “The woman who told me there were elves out in the woods helpfully didn’t inform me that said elves were barely teenagers.”
“We’re not teenagers yet,” Moira says.
“Of course you’re not,” Yennefer mutters, shaking her head as she takes the milk from her. Well, it’s been a while since she’s been around anyone their age. And it’s harder to guess elves’ ages, in her experience.
“How many elves are supposed to be out here?” Geralt asks.
“We were a few days south when we started travelling together,” Yennefer replies with a shrug. “Moira and Amal were looking for other elves, and I was looking for any elves. Unfortunately these two aren’t quite what I had in mind.”
“Hn,” Geralt says.
“Sorry,” Moira says, looking awkward.
“Don’t be sorry, she was going to dump a baby on us and run!” Amal says indignantly. He’s not wrong, so Yennefer just shrugs again.
“Well, that didn’t work out, obviously,” she says.
"But you want a baby," Moira says hesitantly.
"She doesn't want an elven baby," Amal says accusingly.
"Don't be stupid," Yennefer says in exasperation, rolling her eyes. "I want a child of my own. Not someone else's."
"Why does that matter?" Moira asks, frowning in confusion.
"It's different, obviously," Yennefer says. "And it's my right."
"Your right?" Amal says.
"Yes," Yennefer says. She doesn't feel the need to explain past that, personally.
"Hn," Geralt says, frowning across the river. Yennefer glances at him.
"What is it?" she asks.
“There’s a lot of broken branches over there,” he says. “Like someone might’ve been gathering wood.”
“Oh?” Yennefer looks too. She doesn’t notice an exceptional amount of broken branches, but she’s fairly certain Geralt has better vision than her. He ought to, at least. “Well, that’s inconvenient. I don’t know where the nearest bridge is.”
“I don’t think it’s too deep. I’d say we could just ford it, but . . .” Geralt trails off, looking at the baby. Yennefer sighs. Yes, that’s probably not a good combination. And the water may not be too deep, but it looks rough.
“I’m almost positive I’ll fall over if I try to make a portal right now,” she says frankly. “Why don’t you go over and see if it’s anything, and we’ll go from there.”
“I can do that,” Geralt says, dipping his head in a nod.
He leaves his horse with Moira, then heads across the river. It’s deep enough for him that Yennefer wouldn’t be able to walk across herself, she can already see; she’d have to swim. Same for Moira and Amal.
She really doesn’t like the idea of crossing that with an infant, no.
She sighs. It’s going to have to be a portal, if he finds anything.
Geralt gets out of the water and starts looking around. Yennefer finishes feeding the baby. He doesn’t spit up on her this time, so that’s novel, and Geralt doesn't spend too long looking around.
"There was definitely a group here," he calls back across the water. Yennefer sighs again.
Well, portal time.
"Don't dawdle," she orders, handing the baby to Amal. "I can't keep it open long."
"What?" he says.
"Oh!" Moira says as Yennefer opens a portal across the river. It's a very small distance, which is the only reason she's even willing to try right now, and her head swims with exhaustion. She hasn't opened too many portals lately, but she hasn't gotten much rest either.
"I said don't dawdle, dammit," Yennefer says impatiently, gritting her teeth. Moira gives her a nervous look, but leads the horse through the portal, and Amal eyes it warily but follows after her with the baby. Yennefer follows immediately and lets the portal close so quickly she nearly loses the hem of her skirt.
"Are you alright?" Geralt asks her.
"Fine," she lies, and the next thing she knows he's across the bank and she's in his arms. Presumably some other things happened in there, but she may have slightly fainted.
Ugh.
"Gods dammit," she mutters. Geralt flicks his eyes over her face, looking worried. It's a bit hard to read on him, but she has experience.
"Careful," he says, helping her stand. She dusts off her dress, though it's not really necessary.
"I'm fine," she says in annoyance. Again, she isn't prone to embarrassment, but this is skirting the line a bit.
"Do you need to sit down?" Moira asks in concern.
"I need three nights' sleep and a good dinner," Yennefer retorts frankly. "Is there an actual trail, Geralt?"
"Yes," he says, still watching her carefully. If she felt a bit less lightheaded she'd take the time to be insulted. "It goes back into the woods."
"Into the woods we go, then," Yennefer says. "Let's hope this isn't a wild goose chase."
"Hn," Geralt says.
"Are you gonna faint again?" Amal says.
"No," Yennefer says. She takes the baby from him. He seems wary, but lets her. The baby coos, settling in comfortably. Yennefer gives his hair an absent stroke, then looks towards Geralt expectantly. "Lead the way, Geralt."
"Hn," he says again, but takes his horse's reins from Moira and does. The rest of them follow. If Moira and Amal are watching her a little closely, well, Yennefer will live with it. Geralt keeps glancing back, which is exasperating in its own way, but again, Yennefer will live with it.
"How fresh is this trail?" she asks.
"Not sure," Geralt says. "Can't be more than a day old, from the look of it."
"Good," Yennefer says feelingly. They need to find these damn elves already. She is very, very tired.
She's glad Geralt showed up. This whole thing was getting ridiculous.
They walk for a long time, Geralt following the trail and the rest of them following him. They stop for the baby a couple of times, but otherwise press on. Yennefer, personally, really wants to get where they're going. This is just—
Geralt stops. Yennefer nearly bumps into him.
"What is it?" she says, frowning, and Geralt's shoulders tense.
"Wait here," he says, giving the reins to Moira again.
"What? Why?" Moira says.
"Just wait here," Geralt says, and disappears into the trees. Yennefer immediately finds a fallen tree to sit on. She needs the break. If it's something dangerous, Geralt will kill it. If it's not, they'll move on. She really isn't concerned past that.
Geralt's gone long enough that Amal starts pacing and Yennefer starts to wonder what the hell is keeping him. She doesn't hear anything, and he can't have gone that far, can he?
"What's taking so damn long?!" Amal says.
"I'm sure he'll be right back," Moira says worriedly.
"I'm not!"
"Relax," Yennefer says, rocking the baby lightly as he fusses. "If he was going to abandon us, he'd have taken the horse."
"He's still taking too long," Amal mutters.
Eventually Geralt does come back, his expression grim, and Yennefer frowns at him. Well, that doesn't bode well.
"What happened?" she says.
"I found the other elves," Geralt says.
"I don't like the way you said that," Yennefer says.
"They're dead," he says. "Looks like they ran into some soldiers."
"Godsdammit," Yennefer says. Moira and Amal both look stricken. Well, for her it’s an inconvenience. It's more personal to them, obviously.
"All of them?" Moira says weakly.
"If there were any survivors, they didn't leave a trail," Geralt says, shaking his head.
"Fuck," Amal says roughly, clenching his fists. "Fuck!"
"It's okay, Amal," Moira says, twisting her hands in the reins. She looks like she's about to cry. "We got lucky, right? If we'd found them sooner . . ."
"Very lucky," Yennefer agrees, looking down at the baby with a faint frown. He's asleep against her chest. If they'd actually found those elves before this . . .
"We should bury them," Moira says, her voice a little tremulous.
"We should get the hell out of here before we run into those soldiers," Geralt replies matter-of-factly. Moira and Amal both grimace, pulling their hats down low over their ears.
"That seems wise, yes," Yennefer says. Chances of her opening and maintaining another portal any decent distance are slim, and staying still is just asking for trouble. "Which way did the soldiers go?"
"West," Geralt says.
"East it is," Yennefer says, getting back to her feet.
"You should ride Roach," Geralt says. "You need to recover your strength."
"I'd argue but if we run into those soldiers I want to be able to set them on fire," Yennefer says. That's a little bit easier than opening a portal.
Geralt helps her up onto the horse's back as Amal holds the baby and the baby fusses. Yennefer settles in, then takes the baby back. If he starts outright crying, it might carry to ears they don't want hearing them.
The baby relaxes in her arms, mercifully. Geralt leads the horse and the way, Moira and Amal hurrying after. They move faster than before, which Yennefer does not regret not being on the ground for.
She looks down at the baby. He's asleep again.
She doesn't know what the hell she's supposed to do now. She isn't prepared for this, but she can't just leave him with Moira and Amal either. They're too damn young to be taking care of themselves, much less a baby.
Fucking hell, she thinks, feeling the ghost of a knife in her back. Why do these things keep happening to her?
Geralt guides them through the forest, and they keep walking until dark. They make camp, but for obvious reasons they don't light a fire. Moira and Amal huddle for warmth, and Yennefer sighs to herself and lets them all inside her tent. It's less cold in there, definitely.
Moira and Amal go to sleep in the bed. Yennefer and Geralt stay up with the baby, taking turns taking care of him.
"You should sleep," Geralt murmurs to her about halfway through the night as he's feeding the baby, and Yennefer snorts.
"Look who's talking," she says. "I'm fine. Anyway, the kids already took the bed."
"Still," Geralt says.
"Don't worry about it," Yennefer says.
"We might need a quick escape tomorrow," Geralt says, which is a fair point.
"Oh, fine," Yennefer says with a sigh. "If you're going to be dramatic about it."
She leaves Geralt with the baby and sleeps for a while. The baby doesn't fuss, so that's fortunate. Eventually she wakes up again and feels too restless to sleep any more, though, so she gets up and reclaims the baby and checks him over. Geralt's done a good job with him, despite his lack of experience, which is also fortunate. She wouldn't have relished waking up to him in a miserable mood.
He isn't really that difficult a baby, honestly. She's certainly put up with worse ones.
That doesn’t mean this isn't a problem, of course.
Geralt sleeps for a bit too, and then the sun comes up and they all get up and get going again. They don't really have a destination in mind, of course, except for "away". Yennefer figures that's good enough for the moment.
She'd really like a destination, admittedly. A destination would help.
They walk for a long time, again, and they're all just a little too tense for the trip. It's hard to stay even-keeled surrounded by worried minds, but Yennefer does her damnedest. If the baby gets upset, that's not going to help anything, and babies are far too sensitive to the moods of the people around them, considering they don't have mind-reading abilities of their own. She really doesn't want to set him off.
Again, they really don't want to be making a lot of noise out here.
"Do you think we should go to a town?" Moira asks.
"Maybe," Yennefer says. "It might not be the best time to be strangers around here, though."
"We're always strangers," Amal says.
"And how well has that worked out for you?" Yennefer asks mildly. Amal scowls at her.
"We just don’t want to end up like those poor bastards," he says.
“Yes, well, that’s another problem,” Yennefer says.
“A town isn’t necessarily safer,” Geralt says.
“Can you make another portal?” Moira asks. “One that goes . . . farther, maybe?”
“Only if I get a lot more sleep,” Yennefer replies. “Magic has a cost.”
“Do you need one of us to take the baby for a while?” Geralt says.
“It’s fine,” Yennefer says dismissively. The baby makes a sleepy noise in her arms. She does consider handing him over for a bit, but she’s not sure he wouldn’t cry if she did. She could put a silencing spell on him, of course, but she doesn’t want to spend the energy on it. “We just need to get out of here.”
“Alright,” Geralt says.
They keep walking. Yennefer takes care of the baby, and really wants a nap. She probably could cast a portal by now, but she really doesn’t want to faint again if it’s avoidable. Anyway, they haven’t seen any signs of trouble.
Aside from all the dead people yesterday, of course.
They walk until dark again, and they don’t run into anyone else. Yennefer takes the win. They all sleep in her tent, and she lets Geralt take the baby and does her best to relax enough to sleep herself. It’s difficult, but she eventually manages it.
In the morning, she casts a portal, and they get about as far away as she can reasonably get them without either passing out or leaving the continent.
“Where are we?” Moira asks, looking around uncertainly at the unfamiliar road.
“Elsewhere,” Yennefer replies. She still feels tired, but at least she isn’t about to fall over. “There’s a town two miles down the road, assuming I didn't misjudge.”
“Let's head that way, then,” Geralt says, and they do. It's a big enough town for an inn, fortunately, so they rent two rooms. Yennefer still wants more sleep, personally.
The baby doesn't fuss at all when she hands him to Geralt.
"He seems to like you," she observes, and Geralt looks surprised by the idea.
"What makes you think that?" he says.
"Well, he hadn't fussed or cried on you, for one thing," she says. "He tends to do that when I leave him with Moira or Amal."
"Hn," Geralt says. He frowns at the baby.
"Is that a witcher thing or are you just secretly good with children?" Yennefer asks with an amused smirk. Geralt snorts, and she laughs. "Well, you don't know, maybe you are."
"I'm not," Geralt says.
"Tell it to the baby, Geralt," Yennefer says as she sits down on the bed, still amused. "I'm going to take a nap. Make sure nobody gets themselves in trouble, mm? At least not any more-so than usual, anyway."
"No promises," Geralt says. Yennefer laughs again, then lays down and very easily goes to sleep.
By the time she wakes up, it's nearly evening and there's no sign of Geralt or the baby. She feels the ghost of a knife in her back and exhales, then gets up and heads downstairs. Geralt is sitting at a table with the baby in the crook of his arm, Moira and Amal sitting across from him.
Yennefer really feels . . . oddly fond, looking at them.
Well, she knows better than that.
"Any disasters yet?" she asks, sitting down beside Geralt. The baby burbles contentedly.
"Um, no," Moira says. "The inn's a little expensive, though."
"Don't worry about it," Yennefer says dismissively, stealing Geralt's drink for a swallow. "Mm. Been out and about town yet?"
"A little," Moira says. "We bought some fresh supplies."
"Seems wise," Yennefer says agreeably. "You, Geralt?"
"I stayed here," Geralt replies with half a shrug, careful not to disturb the baby.
"All day?" she says.
"Yes."
"Well, I'm sure the whole town already knows there's a witcher at the inn," Yennefer says wryly, resting her chin in her hand. "Maybe you'll get some work."
"Hn."
"How long are we staying?" Moira says, at which point Yennefer realizes the girl is expecting to keep travelling together, at least for a while. She gives her a mildly surprised look. She would've thought Moira and Amal would be off together the first chance they got, now that they don't share a common goal.
Well, far be it from Yennefer to turn down free childcare. She's got no idea where to take the baby now, but there's got to be somewhere that'll take him.
"Haven't really thought about it," she says, because she really hasn't. She's mostly just slept, so far. Blessed, blessed sleep.
"We should go soon," Amal says. "It's safer on the road."
"Is it?" Yennefer says, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Less people," Amal says, which is fair. Still, they haven't exactly had a safe time of it on the road in their travels together. Between caravans and bandits and soldiers, they got off very lucky.
"There are a lot of people here," Moira says, biting her lip as she glances around the crowded inn. It's just about dinnertime, so Yennefer would expect a crowd, personally.
"It's a big town," Geralt says. "You shouldn't stick out much."
"Says the witcher sitting at our table with an infant," Yennefer drawls, arching an eyebrow at him. And she's a bit dressed up for the place herself. Moira and Amal blend in well enough, even as ragged as they are, but not while sitting with them. They make an odd little group, in her opinion.
"Hn," Geralt says, eloquent as ever.
"We'll avoid lingering," Yennefer decides.
"Okay," Moira says, and she and Amal nod. Yennefer has no idea why they think she's a suitable travelling companion, although in retrospect she supposes she did set those bandits that attacked them on fire. That's admittedly a useful trick.
Anyway, she can always just take a portal somewhere and ditch them if they turn out to be a problem.
Really, she's the one who started following them, so . . .
Hm.
"Where are you going now?" Geralt asks. Yennefer shrugs.
"Somewhere, I suppose," she says dismissively. She'll work it out later. She's got to know someplace that will take a half-elf baby. "Why? Going my way?"
"Maybe," Geralt says.
"Imagine that," Yennefer says.
They spend the night, and in the morning their odd little group leaves town. Yennefer carries the baby, and he sleeps contentedly in her arms until he's hungry, which frankly isn't a particularly long time. Beggars can't be choosers, she supposes.
At least it's not so dangerous if he cries a bit around here.
She isn’t quite sure why Geralt’s coming with them. He doesn’t make a habit of following her around, so she can only assume he’s concerned. She’ll admit she’s a bit overtaxed at the moment, but really, they haven’t even had sex. They haven’t even kissed. It’s an unusual meeting, for them.
Well, a baby puts a bit of a crimp in that kind of thing, obviously.
Still. It’s unusual.
Yennefer wonders about it for a while. She supposes she should’ve expected Geralt to be the sort to fret over children, just from what she knows of him, though in her defense this is the first time she’s seen him around any. Their lives are not spoiled for choice, so far as children go.
The baby snuffles sleepily. Yennefer looks at him. He’s dozing again, she thinks.
He really is a sweet little thing.
She thinks about those dead elves, and feels the ghost of a knife in her back.
She . . . exhales, and Geralt looks over at her, a question in his eyes. She shakes her head. She’s never told him that story, and she doesn’t feel like doing it now.
It’s not her favorite memory.
Yennefer adjusts her grip on the baby, and he snuffles again and drools all over her shoulder. It’s a little disgusting, but better than snot or vomit or shit. Babies really are messy little creatures. It’s been so long since she helped take care of her siblings that she’d half-forgotten.
Mostly forgotten, really.
She supposes it doesn’t matter. It’s just been a long time since she thought about them.
Why would she, after all?
She doesn’t think Geralt even knows she ever had any family, come to think. She doesn’t know if he did either.
She’s not sure why she’s thinking about that.
The baby hiccups, then sneezes all over her. Yennefer sighs, and absently strokes his hair.
Ugh.
They make their way along the road. They don’t see many other people, though they certainly make an impression on the ones they do. Geralt’s just not the type of person the average peasant sees every day, and Yennefer certainly isn’t. Moira and Amal get increasingly nervous every time they pass another little group, but they don’t say anything, and no one else starts anything.
It does make Yennefer feel a bit exposed, which she isn’t thrilled with. She might cast another portal tomorrow, just to get them somewhere where not quite so many people have seen them.
It’s a quiet day, mercifully. The most inconvenient thing that happens is that the baby keeps waking up crying for one reason or another. Yennefer is very tired of it.
She’s just tired in general, really.
When she has a child of her own, she’s going to have to settle down somewhere for a bit, she thinks distractedly. Taking care of a baby on the road clearly isn’t ideal.
The idea of settling down like that feels strange, honestly, but she’s not sure what else she could do.
And she’s certainly given up more important things in her life than a little bit of freedom.
“Have you decided where you’re headed yet?” Geralt asks that night over the campfire.
“No,” Yennefer says. She’s thought about it, but nowhere appropriate’s come to mind. Every option she’s been able to think of has serious flaws to it, for one reason or another. She can’t even think of anywhere appropriate for Moira and Amal to go, frankly, and they’re old enough to take care of themselves.
“Alright,” Geralt says, his eyes flicking to the baby. There’s no judgement or annoyance in his expression, but Yennefer senses an uncertainty in his mind, as if there’s something else he wants to say.
Geralt frequently wants to say things he doesn’t say, in her experience of him, so that’s no real surprise.
“Well?” she says. The baby babbles quietly, sticking his hand in his mouth. Geralt looks . . . troubled, maybe.
“We need to figure out what to do with him,” he says, a little slowly. “You can’t keep wandering around with a child.”
“Obviously,” Yennefer says. She strokes the baby’s hair. He coos, and pats at her wrist.
“We should name him,” Moira says. “It’s been so long.”
“I don’t see why that matters,” Yennefer says. She has no intention of naming a child she’s not going to keep. No point in playing at that kind of thing.
“We can’t really keep calling him ‘the baby’ forever,” Amal says in exasperation.
“No reason we can’t,” Yennefer says. “It’s not as if there are any other ones around to mix him up with.”
“I . . . suppose,” Moira says.
“There’s no point in naming him,” Geralt says, shaking his head.
“Definitely not,” Yennefer agrees, pleased that he understands. “We’ll find someone to take him, and they can worry about that kind of thing.”
“You really just want to give him away?” Moira says hesitantly. “Still?”
“I have other things to do,” Yennefer says. He’s a sweet enough baby, but that doesn’t change the fact that she has goals of her own, and someone else’s child is only going to get in the way of them.
“But you wanted a baby,” Moira says. “I don’t understand.”
“I want my own child,” Yennefer says, a little annoyed. They’ve covered this already, after all.
“. . . who was his mother?” Moira says after a moment. “You said his father was dead, but you must’ve known her?”
“Our acquaintance was extremely limited,” Yennefer replies. “And she didn’t want him, as I’ve said.”
“Because he’s half-elf,” Moira says.
“Because it’s obvious he’s half-elf,” Yennefer clarifies. “Though I don’t know what she’d have done if it weren’t, admittedly. Maybe she just wanted an excuse to get rid of him.”
“She probably did,” Amal says, scowling darkly.
"Maybe," Yennefer says with a shrug. She really didn't pay enough attention to the girl's mind to know, to be honest.
"We can find other elves," Geralt says. "If that's what you want to do."
"Seems like the thing to do," Yennefer agrees. She's certainly heard worse ideas, and she hasn't had a better one herself. "Although finding them might be an issue."
"True," Geralt says, glancing at Moira and Amal. "I'm not sure where else you'd take them, though."
"We don't need taken anywhere," Amal says, glowering at him.
"You wanted to find other elves, didn't you?" Yennefer says. "We'll find other elves."
"How?" Moira says.
"There's ways," Geralt says. "We'll just have to be careful about it."
"We can do that," Yennefer says. She's getting used to taking care of the baby, anyway; they don't have to rush. She wouldn't mind finding some parental-feeling elves quickly, of course, but a minor delay or two won't matter.
They just need to be sure they're looking somewhere safer, this time.
For obvious reasons.
They go on their way, keeping their ears to the ground for any word of elves. Admittedly, elves that humans know where to find aren't as safe as they could be, but they have to start somewhere. Ideally they'll find a lead and go from there.
They don't find any leads.
Geralt stays, oddly. Yennefer really doesn't know what to think of that. She assumes he has places to go and things to do, but he doesn’t go anywhere and he doesn’t do anything. He just . . . stays.
It’s very strange.
She’s not complaining, obviously, because Geralt is a useful man to have on hand and the baby likes him, but all things considered it’s still strange.
They still don’t find any leads, though.
“What are we going to do if winter comes before we find anyone?” Moira asks eventually, one evening while they’re camping. The line of Geralt’s mouth sours.
“Good question,” Yennefer says, though she’s loathe to admit it. They obviously can’t keep travelling in the cold with a baby, no matter how well she wraps him up. Moira and Amal probably shouldn’t even be travelling in that kind of weather, frankly.
She has no idea what Geralt does in winter, come to think. She’s never run into him during it, and it doesn’t seem like prime monster-hunting time.
"We have time before we have to worry about that,” Geralt says.
“Not much,” Amal mutters.
“Time is time,” Yennefer replies dismissively. “No point in worrying over things that likely won’t even happen.”
They are a little closer to winter than she’d like, now that Moira’s mentioned it, but still, they do have time. They’ll have to find elves eventually—they’re no doubt avoiding humans, mostly, but they’re not that rare. Anyway, better-hidden elves will be a safer place to leave the baby.
The baby coughs.
They sleep, until Yennefer wakes up in the middle of the night with a bad feeling. The baby is coughing again, and his mind feels . . . different. Upset, but more than just upset.
Ah, she realizes. He's coming down with something.
He's never been sick before, of course, so no small wonder he's upset.
She sighs, and cradles him to her chest. He whines unhappily, raspy and quiet. She adjusts her grip and he whines louder, squirming unhappily.
"Yenn?" Geralt murmurs lowly.
"It's fine," she murmurs back. "He just doesn't feel well."
"Mm."
Yennefer stays up with the baby. He's unhappy, and gets unhappier as the night goes on. Geralt comes over, eventually, and takes him for a while. Yennefer leans against his side and dozes, not really on purpose.
"He's hot," Geralt says, and she wakes up with a jolt.
"What?" she says.
"He's hot," Geralt repeats. "I think he has a fever."
"Oh." Yennefer straightens up. She looks at the baby. His face is all screwed up, and he's breathing raggedly. She lays a hand on his forehead, and Geralt's right; he's hot.
Very hot.
". . . mm," Yennefer says.
"What's wrong?" Moira asks drowsily, sitting up in the bed.
"Nothing," Yennefer lies. "Go back to sleep."
She takes the baby from Geralt, carefully. He makes a raspy, miserable sound. He doesn't move at all.
"Yenn?" Geralt says warily.
"Go feed the fire," Yennefer says, not looking away from the baby. Amal's watching it right now, but he's likely let it gutter down low. She needs hotter flames than that.
Geralt gets up and leaves the tent. Moira gets off the bed.
"Yennefer?" she says worriedly. "What is it?"
"There's a box of herbs in the trunk," Yennefer says. "Get it for me."
". . . alright."
Moira heads over to the trunk and opens it. Yennefer keeps watching the baby.
He's very, very still, and still breathing raggedly.
Moira comes back with the herbs. Yennefer tells her which ones to get out and how much to mix together, and hopes it's not too much. She hasn't treated many infants. Hardly any, in fact.
Geralt comes back too, and Yennefer immediately sends him back outside to boil the herbs in water. He does so in silence. Moira hovers anxiously.
"What's going on?" Amal asks outside the tent.
"The baby's sick," Geralt says.
"What?" Amal says in confusion. "He was fine."
"He's not fine now," Geralt says.
Yennefer doesn't take her eyes off the baby for a moment. The last time she stopped looking at a baby in a situation like this . . .
It's a very different situation, obviously, but she can't help thinking of it.
Geralt comes back again. Yennefer waits for the mixture he's cooked up to cool, then feeds it to the baby. He eats, but weakly.
He does eat, at least.
"What else does he need?" Geralt says.
"There's incense in the box," Yennefer says. "Third compartment. Light it."
Geralt dips his head in a nod, and does. The incense smells heavy and unpleasant, but Yennefer doesn't care. Moira covers her mouth with a cough at the scent of it.
"Wait outside," Geralt tells her. She gives the baby a nervous look, but nods and leaves. Yennefer doesn't watch her go.
The baby coughs too, but in his case, it's deep in his chest and sounds painful. He doesn't feel any better, and his skin is still hot.
"Yenn," Geralt says.
"Be quiet, Geralt," she says, not looking at him. He falls silent, and stays that way.
The baby coughs again.
Morning comes. The baby doesn't stop coughing, and Yennefer makes Geralt boil more herbs. She can hear Moira and Amal talking outside, low and anxious. Geralt stays silent and sits across from her, waiting for her to tell him what to do.
There's not much to tell him to do, honestly.
Yennefer can't say she feels better with him there, but she doesn't tell him to leave either.
The baby's fever breaks around mid-morning, and Yennefer sags in relief and can finally take her eyes off him. She doesn't know where he caught the damn fever to begin with, but at this point she doesn't care.
"Fuck," she says, and lets Geralt take him from her.
"He looks better," Geralt says.
"He still needs more medicine," Yennefer says, leaning back against the bed and covering her eyes with a sigh. "I'll need to go buy some, I think we're out of some of the herbs I need."
"We are," Geralt confirms.
"Then yes, I'll need to go buy some," Yennefer says. She lifts her arm just enough to watch the baby squirm restlessly in Geralt's arms. He's still uncomfortable, but he's not so weak and miserable anymore.
"I can watch him," Geralt says.
"Thank you," Yennefer says, getting to her feet with another sigh and running her fingers through her hair. "Keep him in the tent. I won't be long."
She steps outside and casts a portal. Moira and Amal watch her go.
She picks up medicine, and replacements for her missing herbs, and resists the urge to buy things she doesn't need. The baby's already recovering. He doesn't need more than that.
It's tempting, though.
Yennefer returns with the medicine and herbs and gets Geralt feeding the baby another dose, then gets herself changed and washed up and actually presentable while he does. She doesn't need to, really, but she does it all the same.
The baby finishes his medicine and fusses a little. Yennefer reclaims him from Geralt and feeds him an actual breakfast, and he settles.
He still has a bit of a cough, but nowhere near what it was like overnight.
She wonders what would've happened if he'd been with his mother and that had happened. Probably nothing good, she thinks.
She really had been so young.
By unspoken agreement, they don't travel for the day. Yennefer makes sure the baby drinks his medicine and eats properly, and Geralt does . . . something with Moira and Amal. When Yennefer glances over, he's holding Amal's weapon and talking to them very quietly as he points at it.
Hm, Yennefer thinks.
The baby coughs, though it's barely a cough. Yennefer’s eyes still snap back to him immediately. He blinks blurrily at her and sticks his fist in his mouth with a whine. She . . . exhales, slowly.
He wasn't even that sick, she tells herself. It was just a few hours of fever.
Children die from less than that every day, she thinks.
The baby burbles. Geralt continues talking to Moira and Amal. Yennefer inhales, and exhales, and ignores the ghost of the knife in her back.
After a while, Geralt comes over and sits down beside her. She glances over to him.
"He's fine," she says.
"Good," he says. "Should we go into town somewhere for a day or two?"
"I don't see the point," Yennefer says, shaking her head. "Unless he gets worse again, anyway."
"We can stay here for a while," Geralt says.
"Maybe," Yennefer says, touching the baby's small little hand. He grips her finger with a gratifying amount of strength, and it's a . . . a relief, she supposes.
She still feels like he's going to disappear.
"It's lucky," Geralt says.
"Lucky?" Yennefer frowns at him.
"That you had the right herbs," Geralt clarifies. "And that you were here at all."
"I suppose it was," Yennefer says.
That's two narrow misses for this boy, now, between the fever and the soldiers. Maybe three, counting the reaction when he was born.
It was lucky for him, all three times.
. . . lucky. Yes.
Yennefer doesn't believe in luck, exactly, but . . .
"We shouldn't stay too long," she says. "We really do need to find other elves before winter."
"Do we?" Geralt says.
"Yes," she says.
"Hn," Geralt says. Yennefer looks at him, but he's looking at the baby.
"What?" she says.
"You wanted to be a mother," he says.
"I want my own child," Yennefer says.
"I know," Geralt says, flicking his eyes back to hers. "Does this mean you couldn't keep trying for that, though?"
"I can't imagine how it'd help," Yennefer says.
"It wouldn't stop you, though," Geralt says.
"Wouldn't it, now?" she says.
"I can't think of many things that would," Geralt says. Yennefer snorts.
"Even if I kept him, we'd still need to find elves," she says. "Or what, do you think I should keep Moira and Amal too?"
"I just don't think you have to worry so much about finding someone else to take care of him," Geralt says. "Or them."
"Awfully optimistic of you," Yennefer says.
"I'm just saying," Geralt says. "Do you want to give birth, or do you want to be a mother?"
"Hm," Yennefer says. She looks at the baby. He's dozed off in her arms, breathing soft and steady. He isn't flushed with fever or coughing, and he hasn't run into any soldiers, and whatever would've happened to him in that town isn't going to happen to him now.
He's not going to end up in some shallow unmarked grave, either.
He's not.
Yennefer exhales. The baby keeps dozing. She almost thinks no one else who might've been able to take care of him could've kept him alive, and isn't sure how that makes her feel.
She hasn't always been able to do that.
"What am I supposed to do with a baby, Geralt?" she says with a sigh.
“The same thing you were going to do with one of your own, I’d assume,” Geralt says. He has a point, but . . .
“I was going to have time to prepare for that one,” she says, a little disgruntled. “This one’s just . . . here.”
“He is,” Geralt agrees.
Yennefer sighs again, looking down at the baby as he sleeps. He really is a beautiful child. That doesn’t matter, really, but it’s undeniable.
And he cries when most other people hold him.
She can’t pretend there isn’t a part of her that likes that, even as inconvenient as it is. Likes being his favorite, for whatever reason that she is.
That’s . . . something, she supposes. Something she hasn’t really thought about.
She thinks about leaving him with someone else while he cries for her, and . . .
As far as he knows, she is his mother, isn’t she. His actual one never so much as laid a hand on him, much less fed or took care of him.
“What happens if I keep him?” Yennefer says.
“What do you mean?” Geralt says.
“When are you leaving, I mean,” Yennefer says.
“Oh.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I need to follow the Path.”
“So soon, then,” Yennefer says.
“You don’t need me.”
“I don’t,” she agrees.
That doesn’t mean it wasn’t nice to have him around for a little while.
“Is that alright?” Geralt asks.
“Help me name him,” Yennefer says. The change of subject seems . . . appropriate.
“You want me to help you name him?” Geralt looks startled.
“Yes, Geralt, that is what I just said,” Yennefer replies dryly. “Pay attention, mm?”
She’s never named anything before, much less a child. She has no idea how to go about the process.
“. . . what were you thinking?” Geralt asks after a moment, looking a little . . . odd, maybe. Well, he names all his horses the same damn thing, so he’s probably not any better at this than she is.
“I have no idea whatsoever,” Yennefer replies frankly. “This is another one of those things that I was supposed to have nine months to figure out.”
“I don’t know if I have any good ideas,” Geralt says.
“Just don’t suggest ‘Roach’ and I won’t judge you,” Yennefer says. He snorts. The baby wakes up with a yawn, and they both look down at him. Absolutely no names whatsoever come to mind, at least not for Yennefer.
“Marek?” Geralt suggests, eventually. “Tytus? Aleksander?”
“Mmm,” Yennefer says. None of them really jump out at her. She doesn’t know where Geralt’s getting them, either, though she supposes that shouldn’t really matter. Who cares where a name came from, after all?
“Borys? Aron?”
“No,” Yennefer says. “Something that means something. He’ll have enough difficulty in life, he might as well have a name that matters.”
“Feliks,” Geralt says.
“Feliks?” She tilts her head.
“It means ‘lucky’,” he says.
“. . . hm.”
Yennefer keeps looking at the baby. “Lucky” . . . well, he’s been lucky enough so far, hasn’t he. And she doesn’t hate the sound of it.
“Well, brat? What do you think of ‘Feliks’?” she says to him after a moment’s consideration, and he rubs sleepily at his face and makes little noises that, of course, don’t mean anything. His mind is quiet and content and undisturbed, which also doesn’t mean anything, but . . .
Well. It seems like it could fit, that’s all.
“I can think of something else,” Geralt says.
“No,” Yennefer says, shaking her head. “I think that works.”
“Alright,” Geralt says.
“It’s a good choice,” Yennefer says instead of “thank you”, because thanking him for something like that feels odd, for some reason. She touches the baby’s hand again . . . touches Feliks’s hand again . . . and he grabs onto her finger tightly. He’s a little hungry. She should probably get some milk ready for him.
“Good,” Geralt says, and Yennefer finally tears her eyes away from Feliks and looks over to him.
“You could stay a few more days,” she says. “Assuming you haven’t heard about any monsters that I haven’t, anyway.”
“I haven’t,” he says.
“Then you could stay a few more days,” she says.
“. . . maybe,” he says, which is the same thing she’d have said if he’d asked, so she doesn’t press.
“I suppose I’m keeping him, then,” she says. “Since we went to the trouble of naming him and all.”
“Is that good?” Geralt says.
“I don’t know,” Yennefer says. “I always thought having a baby would be . . . different.”
“Different?”
“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate. She’d expected to feel much stronger emotions than the slow waves of unidentifiable feelings that keep washing over her, for starters. And she’d also expected more blood and screaming.
On her end, obviously. Technically there was plenty of blood and screaming.
She still feels something, though, and it’s something very difficult to name. Maybe she’ll figure it out, eventually, but for the moment . . .
No. Not yet, at least.
Feliks hiccups, then starts fussing. He’s hungry.
“Get me his milk, would you?” Yennefer says. “Please.”
Geralt nods, and gets to his feet to do it. Yennefer watches Feliks fuss and squirm, and feels those slow waves of strange emotions again. She thinks she’s been feeling them all along, now that she’s thinking about them.
She’s sure they’re Feliks’s fault, for obvious reasons.
“Well, I hope you live up to your name,” she tells him, brushing his hair back across his forehead. He squirms again, and fusses louder. “A little bit of patience wouldn’t go amiss either, brat.”
Feliks fusses. Yennefer sighs, and feels an odd sense of . . . fondness, almost. Or at least something similar to it. Geralt comes back with the milk, and she offers it to Feliks, who immediately starts eating. It makes Yennefer feel much better about the fever’s chances of coming back.
“There we go,” she says lightly, and Geralt sits down beside her and Feliks settles into her arms like he belongs there.
He does, she supposes.