Ciri adored having a family home – a place to rest at after months on the Path, a room to call her own, and most of all, parents who were as imperfect, weird, and fiercely loving as she was. Corvo Bianco was where she was finally allowed to begin building cherished, even carefree memories with Geralt and Yennefer like she had longed to since she was a young girl but couldn't because of the world's sick obsession with them. The freedom to simply be with her parents now, to talk to, interact with, tease, and love them, to invent new ways of discovering the breadth and depth of her family's bonds – it was a luxury she found priceless.

Among her favorite new activities: Whenever she came to visit, Yennefer and Ciri would make a spectacle of setting off for an exclusive 'girl talk', at a distance near enough for Geralt to see and hear them, yet not so near that his Witcher senses could make out what they were saying. They never said anything bad, of course – in fact, they mostly just caught up and chatted about nothing in particular, sometimes even walking in silence – but they would make sure to loudly drop Geralt's name or point in his general direction every once in a while, then laugh as they watched him huff and puff while pretending not to care.

Ciri and Yennefer had always been able to bond over the dearest man in their lives, and Ciri had once made it known to her mother how glad she was that he no longer kept the two of them apart, rather bringing them together instead.

"I would have to agree with you there," her mother had said in response to her comment. "Life with Geralt is immeasurably better than life without."

"Took you long enough to realize that," Ciri had teased.

"Took both of us long enough, but all of that waiting has made this life all the sweeter."

Each time Ciri had visited, she'd noticed that her mother had lost more and more of the mask that she had once worn round the clock, the careful coldness calculated to keep people at a safe distance. Geralt had explained that it had to do with finally living with hope, though Ciri suspected it had just as much – if not more – to do with finally living with Geralt.

This particular visit – it was the third time in two years that Ciri had been at Corvo Bianco now – had felt like the warmest time she had ever spent with Geralt and Yennefer. Their first night, the three of them had sat around a makeshift fire pit in the courtyard, drinking wine from their own vineyard that Geralt proudly wanted to put into mass production but Yennefer insisted was nowhere near ready for the light of day. ("The tannins, Geralt. You may as well name it 'The Corvo Bianco Horrible Hangover'.") However, the famous Witcher toxicity resistance and Yennefer's impressive tolerance to essentially all negative effects of alcohol ("Sorceresses!") had allowed their little family to down the tannin-laden wine with careless abandon. Their night had ended with all three huddled together before the fire, Geralt in the middle, his arms firmly holding the two loves of his life. Much like they had done once, on the steps of Castle Stygga – only this time it was on their own terms, in their own time, for their own purposes, as if they had been given a chance to rewrite their history.

Ciri had thought she could not imagine a higher happiness.

Now, however, she was unsure of exactly what it was that she had experienced so fondly two nights ago. The morning after the fire pit, as Ciri and Yennefer had started to set out for their girl talk, Geralt had announced that he was riding into Beauclair. "Need to see my sword smith," he had said briskly before riding away – without a sword, Ciri had noted. So Ciri and her mother had spent the day together – at first talking and catching up, then reading in the meadows much as they had done in Ciri's fondest memories from Ellander. In the evening, when Geralt had still not returned, Ciri had persuaded Yennefer to run around the estate with her. It hadn't necessarily tired Yennefer out, but Ciri hoped it had kept her mind off of Geralt's absence – an absence had which persisted until well after sundown. Ciri had noticed that Geralt was still not carrying a sword on his return.

When they had awoken the next morning, Geralt told Ciri of a contract involving a minor Giant Centipede infestation near an encampment a few days' ride away, and he'd invited her along. Initially, Ciri had been hesitant about leaving her mother by herself, but Yennefer had assured her that she would be just fine alone, thank you very much, and would you please not forget that Yennefer of Vengerberg has much with which to occupy her time.

So Geralt and Ciri had stayed only for breakfast, throughout which Geralt had seemed tense and visibly uncomfortable around Yennefer. It wasn't until they had left the estate far behind that Geralt had relaxed again, although he still seemed quiet and pensive, as if something was weighing heavily on his mind. Something like guilt, perhaps? An image of the green eyes and short black hair on Beauclair's Acting Court Mage flashed across her mind.

Ciri did not like what she was seeing.

"Geralt," she prodded. When he did not respond from next to her, she repeated his name again a bit louder. "Geralt!"

"What?" he asked gruffly, perched atop the same Roach he had had for many years now.

"Is something the matter? You're awfully quiet." She did not want to mention the Sorceress's name straight away – did not want to jump right into the heart of the issue; she would circle until the right moment to pounce. In life as in Witchering.

"No, I'm fine," Geralt lied obviously. "Just thinking about this contract, is all."

Wait until the right moment, Ciri reminded herself. She kept quiet for a few more minutes, allowing Geralt just enough false peace with his thoughts. Then, a stab.

"This contract, from what you've told me, doesn't seem like it needs much planning. A small infestation of Giant Centipedes is not something that should cause a Witcher trouble on his own – much less two Witchers."

"It's complicated, Ciri," Geralt answered absently. Ciri wondered if he realized how absurd he sounded. First, for a minor infestation to be complicated? Rubbish. Second, if it really was complicated, for him to not share his plans with his partner? Bloody rubbish. Ciri was starting to lose patience with his games.

"Shouldn't we strategize together?" Ciri kept her voice as calm as she could, but something in it must have tipped Geralt off.

"Don't be angry with me, Ciri," he sighed after a brief silence. He paused another long moment before continuing. "I've kinda lied to you about this contract."

"Aha! I knew it! Spit it out, old man. What are you hiding from moth- from Yennefer? Why are you trying to run away from her?"

"You can call her mother, you know," Geralt said with the slightest hint of a smile in his voice, although she suspected that whatever was weighing on his heart had killed the smile before it had a chance to become anything of worth.

Ciri pounced.

"That is really not the issue at the moment, Geralt. What are you hiding? Why did you come home so late last night from a sword smith without a sword? Tell me now, truthfully, because I swear, if I have to find out from someone else that you and Fringilla Vigo have-"

"What?" Geralt had the audacity to sound affronted. "What are you implying, you brat?"

"Oh, come off it," Ciri hissed. "We both know that she's back in Beauclair. You think I'm not aware of what you did with that woman the last time you were in Touissant together?"

This time, Geralt had the decency to look ashamed. Ciri felt a sliver of satisfaction, but she was still seething.

"That was different," he mumbled.

"How, exactly?" Ciri went for the kill. "Was it because you were with Yennefer then, too, but decided you wanted to have a little fun on the side while she was being tortured to protect the two of us?"

Geralt brought Roach to a lurching stop and whipped around to Ciri with frightening speed. In a voice too severe to sound like his, he roared, "Don't talk about that time again! Don't EVER talk about it again! Do you understand what I'm telling you!?" He did not wait for an answer before he spurred Roach into a canter again, kicking the mare with unnecessary force.

Ciri quieted, but not because she wanted to obey Geralt's command or because his harsh tone had shocked her. She quieted because she had never seen such an expression on his face – a pained expression which betrayed a fury that she was certain what not directed at her. She had clearly reopened a wound that ran far deeper than she had realized. And even though she was angry at Geralt – for what, she was suddenly unsure – she did not want to hurt him, ever.

As Geralt stretched the distance between them, Ciri heard him spit out a single "Follow." She did, but they did not speak for a long while. Ciri and Geralt rode in uncomfortable silence until the early evening, when she heard Geralt's stomach rumble.

"I could eat," Ciri offered. She still smarted from the knowledge that she had revived such a deep pain in her father.

"There's a town not too far ahead. We can stop at the tavern."

The two Witchers rode into a small settlement and dismounted, stepping into a nondescript but well-kept establishment without speaking to one another still. It wasn't until the suckling pig and the wine arrived that Ciri felt emboldened to try for an olive branch.

"A suckling pig, Geralt? If I had known the life of a retired Witcher was this luxurious, I would've retired before I began."

"You've gotta earn your cut of the suckling, kid. For now, you've earned a bit of snout." Good. Geralt was joking back.

Another beat of silence, and they simultaneously bumbled out clumsy words of apology that neither could quite make out over their own. They tried again.

"You go first, Geralt."

"Gee, thanks. Make me apologize first, huh?"

"I'm nothing if not a cultured lady – 'Always let a gentleman speak his piece before bemoaning your womanly trifles'."

"That's bullshit, Ciri. Pretty sure you just made that up. But fine, I'll go first." Geralt took a long pull of wine from his goblet. He looked like he was yearning for some heavy hooch from a tankard instead. "Just... I'm sorry I yelled. Didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Take what out on me?"

Geralt bowed his head for an unnaturally long time before responding. "I'm just sorry, okay?" When he did lift his gaze to her again, she noticed that his pained eyes did not see her, and that he was not apologizing to her – not really; he was apologizing to the memory of the woman whom he loved so deeply yet had wronged so badly that he could not find the words to voice his remorse. His glaring guilt over this long-past transgression was clearly something that had never ceased to eat at him, and Ciri was instantly ashamed that she had assumed the worst of him.

She put a hand over his and squeezed it reassuringly and watched as he shrank into himself again. She saw how profound his regret was, and she felt the need to right this wrong immediately.

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have jumped to such a conclusion. I just... I suppose there are things I haven't quite worked through yet. But Geralt, Yennefer knows. She knows about Fringilla." Geralt's head shot up, the terror in his eyes making him look like a small child. "She found out while she was in Skellige, before Stygga. I overheard her and Triss discussing it on our way to Rivia." Geralt looked like he was going to be sick, but Ciri pushed on; he needed to hear this. "But she's forgiven you. She must have known how her actions looked from the outside, especially with her questionable decision to take me into Thanedd during a trance. She doesn't blame you at all, Geralt – don't think she ever did, in fact."

Geralt took another worryingly long drink from his goblet. "I will never make those mistakes again, Ciri. I can tell you that much."

"I know," Ciri smiled, trying to convey that she did trust him now – that she should have all along. Geralt gave a weak smile back. "But that doesn't explain why you've been acting so strangely. Or what you were lying about."

If Ciri hadn't known Geralt to be the strong, stoic man that he was, she would have sworn that she saw him shiver on this warm, balmy evening. In fact, when he reached a hand into his pocket and pulled it back out, she was sure she saw his fingers trembling. And then she saw what those fingers were holding.

"Geralt!" It was practically a squeal. Her hands flew over her mouth. Her eyes started to sting.

"I'm gonna do it, Ciri," Geralt lifted his head to meet her gaze. "I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

The rest of the night was a blur. Wine flowed freely – or as freely as Ciri's earnings would allow it to, since she flat-out refused to even consider letting the future bridegroom pay for his own drinks on such a joyous occasion. By the end of the night, there were somehow five goblets at their table, even though Ciri didn't recall anybody joining them. Geralt and Ciri, their earlier spat long forgotten, wobbled out onto the streets in laughter, propping one another up until one of them – she didn't know which – slipped, and they both collapsed into heaps of hiccups and roars. If there had been passersby, they were kind enough to let the happy drunks be.

"I love tha woman s- so damnmn much, Ciri." Geralt tried futilely to get up before succumbing to gravity, one arm grasping the empty air next to him as if reaching for Yennefer.

"Hell ya, y'do." Ciri laid in the dirt road, staring at the spinning stars, wondering if the sky was the one turning so quickly, or if she was actually twirling round and round on the ground. And with that musing, as well as feelings of delirious happiness, Ciri drifted off to sleep.