Visiting Marilka - Chapter 10
Title: Visiting Marilka
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 57,262
Warnings: Brief mention of sexual desires by an underaged minor character. Genderfluid minor character.
A/N: Visiting Marilka was written for the 2021 Witcher Big Bang. Thanks to my artist, Rogue Pyrola whose awesome artwork can be seen below, seren and the Witcher Big Bang mod team, and my wonderful beta Gillian who always makes my writing better. Thanks to The Witcher’s author, showrunners, and actors, (especially Mia McKenna-Bruce!), who inspire us to make more art.
This fic is dedicated to Nathan, who conceived it to be so.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Geralt asked. He stood behind Jaskier, who preened in the long mirror decorating the hall outside the ballroom.
“Nearly,” Jaskier answered, pinching at his cheeks to add a flush of colour to them. “I don’t want to disappoint the elite of Lettenhove by performing an encore with pale skin and dark circles under my eyes.”
“Hmm, not getting much sleep these days?” Geralt asked with a grin.
“Very funny. You know damn well what you’re capable of. Lucky me that your witcherly libido is just hitting its stride,” Jaskier said as he tugged at the collar of the white chemise he wore beneath a dark buttoned-up vest topped with a tan doublet.
“I may not be an unbiased judge, but you look very handsome,” Geralt said. He wrapped his arms around the bard and held him tight. His fingers brushed against the soft wool of Jaskier’s simple doublet-a conservative choice if there ever was one to be selected.
Earlier that morning, the witcher had lingered in Jaskier’s bed while the bard dug through his seldom-used Lettenhove wardrobe for something suitable to wear to the ceremony. He had settled on sombre colours out of respect for his father’s memory. He’d play a few lively songs on his lute to commemorate Leocretia’s ascension to the role of Count.
“Just as life itself has its ups and downs,” Jaskier had said. “I observe life’s sorrows and joys-sometimes both on the same day.”
“That’s rather poetic,” Geralt had mused, stretching beneath the quilts and furs.
Naked, Jaskier leapt onto the bed, chattering, “Speaking of ups and downs….”
Indeed Geralt could barely stand to let Jaskier out of his sight since the first night they had spent together in Lettenhove. Evenings spent with Jaskier’s family led to long conversations by the fire. Marilka saw to it that her family and the witcher were well fed, and entertained by the boundless energy of Ainsley’s children. When they finally slept, Geralt and Jaskier came together as they had the first night.
For the first time in his life, Geralt felt surrounded by love. No one expected anything from him-not to kill monsters or survive the horror of experimental potions. He was at peace with the new path that spooled out before him. Of course, he would always be a witcher, taking contracts and killing monsters to keep the humans of the Continent safe. But now, he did so with the support from a family that fortified his strength and embraced him as one of their own.
“Unhand him for a moment, Geralt,” Leocretia laughed as she joined them in the hall. She wore the same armour as Geralt had seen her wear on the night that they first met. Only now, she sported a powder-blue sash outlined with golden embroidery to indicate her status.
Jaskier tormented her by kissing Geralt fully on the mouth and refusing to come up for air until his face had turned red.
“Come on, brother,” Leocretia insisted. “King Osmyk told me he enjoyed your performance. I’m rather proud of you. Can you please come back into the ballroom so I can introduce you to him properly?”
“Well,” Jaskier said, straightening his doublet, “who am I to refuse when the high court calls?”
Geralt rolled his eyes and followed behind Jaskier as Leocretia dragged him back into the ballroom.
As soon as Geralt stepped through the gilded doors, his senses were assaulted by the smells he had sought to escape in the hallway. Rich gravies and sauces bubbled in their bowls, waiting to be ladled onto seared venison and tender pheasant. Geralt brushed elbows with the nobles who dined on autumn fruits and the last of the vegetables, harvested before a sure frost would signal the arrival of winter. The perfumed nobles who moved around the room to socialize could not have cared less about the amount of soaps and salves they had applied to their bodies. While pleasing in moderation, the combinations of the aromas made Geralt’s eyes water.
The ballroom brimmed with a veritable who’s who of the Kerack nobility. Lords and ladies mingled with the Counts and Countesses of the smaller provinces and King Osmyk himself, who was there to bestow honour upon Leocretia. Earlier in the day, a crowd of Lettenhove’s villagers had gathered outside in the courtyard, where Jaskier had given a performance in honour of his father’s memory. The Count was obviously a beloved pillar of the community judging by the simple folks who came to pay their respects.
Inside the lavishly decorated ballroom, high ceilings soared above the feast tables and dais where Marilka oversaw the festivities. Behind the dais, a large painting of the former Count Pankratz was displayed. Geralt could tell where Jaskier got his crystal-blue eyes and the little quirk of his mouth when he smiled just so.
Servants bustled through the room, keeping goblets of wine and tankards topped up for the guests and adding more aromas to the fray.
Geralt wished that the whole affair could have been held outdoors. But he owed it to Jaskier, as his companion, to stay nearby in case the bard needed him for anything. For now, he tolerated the atmosphere of chattering guests and cloying scents as best as he could. He took a few more steps toward the centre of the ballroom, scanning the crowd for wherever Leocretia had led his bard. Across the room, his eyes fell on Jaskier, who at just that moment looked his way and smiled. Geralt smiled back and took a step forward, but he was nearly trampled by a train of children who darted in front of him.
“Mister Witcher?” a little girl tugged on Geralt’s sleeve.
Geralt looked around the room, gazing above the children’s heads as if he did not see that he had stumbled into them. “What? Who said that?” he asked animatedly, summoning Jaskier’s flair for dramatics.
“We’re down here!” Callum shouted. The boy stood only to Geralt’s waist. He had Ainsley’s blond hair and the same blue eyes that he shared with his other family members.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” Geralt said with a laugh. He had already learned that if he stooped low to listen to the children, they would feel more at ease by his sometimes daunting presence. He squatted down to the children’s level and asked the girl, “What can I do for you, Hazel?”
“I’m not Hazel,” the little blond girl who had tugged on his sleeve laughed. “I’m Millicent.”
Damn these kids, they all looked alike to Geralt. At least he could tell Callum apart from the three girls. “Sorry, Millicent. You and Hazel look very much alike.”
“Even mother mixes them up sometimes,” Gertrude said, joining her sisters.
Ainsley and Mateusz’s children had been ever-present since Jaskier and Geralt arrived in Lettenhove. Geralt suspected that Marilka gave Ainsley a much-needed break in caring for her brood. Jaskier and Geralt were only too happy to pitch in.
“Hazel says that Uncle Julian is going to marry you one day,” Millicent said gleefully.
Geralt’s eyes went wide. He stuttered out a meaningless grunt.
“Is that true?” Gertrude asked, wide-eyed. “Will we still be able to play with Uncle Jaskier’s musical instruments if you are married?”
“Uh,” Geralt muttered.
“I was wondering about your swords,” Callum added, quite seriously. “Sir, you said that you would teach me how to practice with a sword. Would Uncle Julian still allow such a thing if you were married?”
Geralt held both hands up placatingly. He quelled the urge to use Axii to control the children’s wild speculations. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m sure whenever Uncle Julian and I visit you, he will let you play as many of his musical instruments as you like.”
“But what about the swords?” Callum whined.
“Yes, Callum,” Geralt said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “We’ll be able to practice some tomorrow, but only if you go straight to bed tonight and get a good night’s sleep.”
“I will!” Callum cheered.
To Geralt’s great relief, he saw Ainsley making her way over to him and the children.
“What have we here?” Ainsley asked. “You’re not bothering Uncle Julian’s friend, are you?”
“Callum was talking about swords with him,” Gertrude announced.
“And we’re truly so excited to have our very own witcher in our family,” Millicent said, her blue eyes gleaming.
Geralt’s heart warmed at the thought of the children welcoming him into their family. The days of being spat upon, cheated out of coin, and run out of town after fulfilling a contract seemed long past. “They’re fine, Ainsley,” Geralt said. And noticing Jaskier approaching, he added, “Here comes Uncle Julian now.”
“Are you little goblins scaring my Geralt away?” Jaskier asked, grabbing a girl under each arm and spinning around in a circle.
“Don’t get them too wild,” Ainsley laughed. “I was just about to get them washed up and ready for bed.”
“Well, in that case…”
The girls screamed as Jaskier spun them faster and faster, until he could only take a few staggering steps toward Geralt after he put the girls down.
“He’s always been a terror,” Ainsley said, turning to Geralt. “Good luck with him. I daresay he’s all yours now.”
Jaskier flung both arms around Geralt’s neck and the witcher caught him by his waist to keep him from falling over.
“Come along, children,” Ainsley said, rounding up her family. “I’ll bring you back to say goodnight to grandmother before tucking you in.”
Geralt watched as Ainsley led the children to the door and ushered them through.
“She’s got her hands full, hasn’t she?” Jaskier said.
“They asked me if I was going to marry their Uncle Julian,” Geralt said, tightening his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea at all. The thought of spending the rest of his life with Jaskier had its appeal, despite being haunted by the expectation that he would have to watch the bard turn frail with age, his hair turning as white as a witcher’s.
“What did you tell them?” Jaskier asked with a chuckle.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but I thought of hitting them with Axii,” Geralt said.
“Thank the gods you didn’t,” Jaskier burst out with laughter. “I can’t imagine explaining that to my sister.”
Geralt figured the bard wasn’t too upset about it since he pulled Geralt in for a kiss. He had probably wished that he had the means to control his unruly nieces and nephew at some point during his family reunions.
“How long until you perform again?” Geralt rumbled, turning his head to nose at Jaskier’s neck. He was hoping to sneak away from the crowded ballroom for a little while. It would do wonders for him if he were able to regain his proper senses with some fresh air.
Jaskier glanced through one of the ballroom’s large windows bedecked with garlands. The sun dipped toward the horizon, but there was still an hour of daylight left.
“I’ll be closing the evening out with a few songs as soon as the sun sets,” Jaskier nodded.
“Plenty of time left until then,” Geralt hummed quietly.
“Have you eaten yet?” Jaskier asked. “I’m starving.”
The thought of dining on the aromatic foods among the perfumed nobles made Geralt’s stomach turn.
“I couldn’t,” Geralt said, not wanting to offend Jaskier or make light of the feast that had been laid out for the guests.
Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up in understanding. “Ahh, it’s too much for you, dear. I should have known,” he said sympathetically.
Geralt sighed.
“It’s lovely outside,” Jaskier said, patting Geralt’s chest affectionately. “Would it help if we went out to get some air?”
“Yes, but you’re hungry,” Geralt said, nudging Jaskier’s nose with his own. “Why don’t you get something to eat and I’ll go sit in the courtyard for a while? You can collect me before its time for you to perform.”
“If you won’t be too lonely in the meantime?” Jaskier inquired.
“I’ll be fine,” Geralt said. “Besides, I think your mother just went out there with some of the other guests.”
“Probably showing them the plans for the spring plantings,” Jaskier mused.
“Go enjoy some food,” Geralt said. “I’ll go entertain your mother for a little while.”
Jaskier’s mouth fell open. “My Geralt entertaining my mother? What in the name of Melitele’s tits has my life become?”
Geralt laughed and released Jaskier with the promise that they would meet up shortly after the bard had something to eat. He walked down the hall and stepped through the double doors that led to the courtyard of the Pankratz estate.
~
A light wind rustled the fallen leaves that had strayed onto the courtyard’s intricate stonework. Geralt brushed a few windswept tendrils of hair from his eyes. A few of the guests wandered among the empty planters. Some took a break from their walking to sit on the stone benches that adorned each corner of the gardens that would bloom again in spring. From this day forward, Geralt would make sure that Jaskier visited his ancestral home at least once every year.
Across from the courtyard’s entrance, Marilka caught sight of Geralt. She raised her hand to him, beckoning him to come over to where she stood with two of her guests. Marilka had donned a black woollen shawl to stroll through the chilly courtyard. The pale blue hem of her dress cascaded below the heavier garment. A necklace of three beads, two white and one pale blue, hung from her neck.
Geralt nodded and made his way over to Marilka. Dressed in his customary black, the witcher drew stares from the other guests. Geralt simply ignored them as usual. When he reached Marilka, he stood politely with his hands behind his back and greeted her with a short bow.
Marilka gestured to Geralt and asked her guests, “Have you met my son’s companion, Geralt of Rivia?”
Geralt nodded to the guests, who took on the sour aroma of fear, despite their smiles.
“Lord and Lady Westford travelled all the way from Vole to attend today’s festivities,” Marilka said.
“I’m pleased to know that you have such loyal friends,” Geralt said.
“I can’t help but noticing,” Lord Westford began, “but he’s a witcher?”
Lady Westford clenched her husband’s hand tightly.
“That’s right,” Marilka said, taking Geralt’s arm. “And one of my dearest friends.”
“Well…” Lady Westford said, but she did not continue. Instead, she looked as if she might faint from an encounter with an offspring of foul sorcery.
“We must leave the two of you to catch up on old times, then,” Lord Westford interjected.
“Yes, yes,” Lady Westford added, doing a poor job of disguising her panic. “Besides, I’m feeling a chill out here in this crisp weather. We should go inside to get warm.”
Marilka dismissed the pair with a wave of her hand.
“Some things never change,” Geralt said, shaking his head.
Marilka tightened her grasp on Geralt’s arm. “Pay them no mind. Come and sit with me.”
Geralt let Marilka lead him toward one of the stone benches. The sun lingered near the horizon, bathing the courtyard in a golden glow. Bare trees cast long shadows against the paved stones that marked the pathways through the decaying foliage.
“It must be terribly tedious to have to deal with the likes of the Westfords, but I’m sure you’ve been treated worse,” Marilka said.
Geralt tried to imagine Marilka’s concern for her son as he travelled with a witcher. The townspeople who they encountered were often not as kind as the Westfords. “Your son has done a lot to improve my reputation,” Geralt said.
“And the reputation of all witchers, I daresay, with that song about tossing coins,” Marilka laughed.
“It’s true,” Geralt said with a smile. He grew concerned that Marilka might stay awake at night, worrying about Jaskier’s safety. “I hope you know that he’ll always be safe with me. There will always be some who revile witchers, but as long as Jask… uh… Julian… is with me, I would never let any harm come to him.”
“I believe you, Geralt,” Marilka said, nodding gratefully.
As soon as they sat on the stone bench, a squawking jay’s call punctuated the crisp air. Across the courtyard, a woman laughed at something whispered by her companion. The aromas that emanated from the ballroom only minimally invaded the courtyard. Thankfully a light breeze helped to dissipate them.
“Are you sure it’s not too chilly out here for you?” Geralt asked. The stone bench felt cold to his touch. He worried that Marilka might be more affected by the cooler temperatures than he.
“I’ll be fine for a little while,” Marilka said. “I come from hardy peasant stock.”
Geralt nodded. “You look to be in fine health,” he said.
“Ah, yes, if only my Josef could have kept his health as well as me.”
Geralt felt a pang of sympathy for the newly widowed Marilka. “I’m so sorry your husband was unwell,” he said.
“Thank you, Geralt,” Marilka said, taking the witcher’s hand. “I’ve learned a few things in these past weeks without my husband. Most importantly, if a couple remembers to treat each other with kindness, they’ll have no regrets.”
“You haven’t any regrets?” Geralt asked.
“After so many years together, I’m happy to say I have none,” Marilka said.
Geralt nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. More than ever, it seems to me like human life is too short, especially where Jas-Julian is concerned.” The lifespan of humans was something that weighed heavily on Geralt’s mind since embarking on a romance with Jaskier.
Marilka looked around. “Have you seen where he went?”
“He went to get something to eat before he performs again. He sent me out here to get some fresh air. I’m afraid my witcher senses make it difficult to tolerate all the different aromas-not that the food isn’t delicious. I want to try the venison.”
Marilka nodded. “Josef would have loved the venison. He was quite a hunter in his day, mind you. Not like our Julian.”
Geralt had to agree. Jaskier was never much of a hunter, but he was always more than willing to pitch in around camp, even if it meant gutting a rabbit or plucking feathers from a grouse.
“Julian has many other talents, though,” Geralt reminded her.
“Of course he does,” Marilka said, not unkindly. “It means so much to me that you have accompanied him here. I can’t imagine that I would ever have met you again, if you and he hadn’t found each other. What a strange coincidence.”
“Strange, indeed. And it must have come as a surprise to learn that Julian and I were travelling together.”
Marilka closed her eyes and thought for a moment. She then cleared her throat and said, “Some may say that I’ve gotten what I deserve. My son is travelling the Continent with a witcher! No wonder, they must think-Marilka, with her reckless ways, she’s set a bad example for her son. He’s unable to recognise a danger as obvious as a witcher, a mutant. Well, to them, I say a mighty fuck off, Geralt.”
In an instant, Geralt again saw the young girl he had met in Blaviken. Her spark had not diminished with the passing of years. He brimmed with gratitude that they had crossed paths again.
“You haven’t changed,” Geralt said.
“Oh, but I have. I’m older and greyer, at least. And can you believe I fell in love and had three children? I’ll bet you didn’t see that coming, back in Blaviken. It’s been wonderful to see each of them come into their own-especially Julian. He was always such a romantic. These past few days, I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Marilka continued, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “And the way you look at him.”
Geralt inhaled a breath of chilly air. He steeled himself and squeezed gently, keeping Marilka’s tiny hand warm in his, and said, “I love him, Marilka.”
Marilka nodded. “If ever I would have thought… my Julian in love with a witcher! But you know Julian-he’s going to love who he loves, no matter what anyone says or does. And if he loves a witcher, I’m so very glad it’s you, Geralt of Rivia.”
Geralt felt the prick of tears in his eyes. He had always stumbled when it came to finding words, but now, he was well and truly rendered dumb by Marilka’s kindness toward him. “I’m honoured that you approve,” he muttered.
“I’m happy for you both,” Marilka said, toying with her necklace.
Geralt tilted his head to get a better look at the simple thing. It looked nothing like the jewels one would expect to be worn by a woman of Marilka’s status. The three beads were threaded with a single strip of leather. The top white bead, a tiny ball. The middle bead, a pale blue oval. The bottom white bead, irregular in shape, seemed to hold the whole piece together.
“Do you remember my necklace?” Marilka asked brightly.
“It looks familiar somehow,” Geralt said, embarrassed that he had stared at the piece of jewellery for far too long.
“I dug it out of my jewellery box just last night. I’m sure I wore it when we first met,” Marilka said. “I wore it every day when I was a girl in Blaviken. It’s just a cheap trinket. I made it out of odds and ends that I had stolen from Master Irion’s workshop.”
“Stregobor,” Geralt murmured with disdain.
“Yes, Stregobor, as you knew him best,” Marilka said with a sigh.
“I’d be perfectly happy if I never heard about the likes of him again,” Geralt said. He reached for Marilka’s necklace with tentative fingers. “But I’m relieved that you told me what became of Renfri’s body.”
“I can tell it weighed heavily on you,” Marilka said. “Not knowing that I had given her a decent burial. I’m sorry I never thought to seek you out-to let you know what happened after you left Blaviken.”
“It’s of no consequence now,” Geralt said. He stroked the beads of her necklace before drawing his hand away. “It puts me at peace to know that you showed her some respect, after all that transpired.”
Marilka nodded quietly. “I liked the blue bead best,” she said, looking down at her necklace. “It’s the colour of my children’s eyes. Of course most nobility wouldn’t be caught dead wearing such a foolish bauble made by a child, but I thought it would be fun if you remembered it.”
“If you like it, you should wear it,” Geralt said. “It suits you.”
“I don’t think it has any magic in it, although it did come from a wizard’s box of discarded junk.”
“I could test it for you,” Geralt said, tapping the blue bead. He took his witcher medallion from where it lay against his chest and he held it to Marilka’s necklace. He tilted his head and paid attention to any unusual reaction from either pendant.
“Anything?” Marilka asked.
“Nothing.”
“Well, I didn’t have any great hopes about it,” Marilka said with a laugh.
The courtyard grew quiet with emptiness. A crimson haze of sunset washed over the stones. The guests had all returned to the warmth of the ballroom. Geralt suspected that Jaskier would come to find him soon. “We should go back inside,” he said, beginning to rise from the bench, but Marilka clutched his hand tightly as if beckoning him to stay.
“I want to tell you something,” Marilka said, stopping him. “I need to tell you something. It’s something you deserve to know.”
Geralt couldn’t imagine what more Marilka wanted to say. He relaxed and settled back beside her, warming her chilly fingers between his hands.
Marilka bit her lip, something Geralt had seen Jaskier do a thousand times when he was composing a song or when he needed to concentrate. “You’ve noticed how youthful he looks, haven’t you?”
Geralt nodded his head. “He uses a lot of substances on his skin, especially his face. He tells me that moisturizer works wonders and I believe him.”
“My Leocretia and Ainsley look young for their ages, too,” Marilka whispered, as if she were divulging a closely-guarded secret.
At once, Geralt’s thoughts drifted toward a guess at what Marilka wanted to tell him. “He’s not fae,” he said questioningly. “I had suspected it at one time, but I would have noticed if he were. My medallion would have sensed that he wasn’t human.”
“No, no, my dear, nothing that drastic,” Marilka said, patting Geralt’s hands reassuringly. “Julian is very much human.”
“I’m relieved to know,” Geralt said. If Jaskier were fae, or any other form of non-human, the witcher would find a way to accept him, to love him, nonetheless. Still, it was good to have the confirmation from his mother.
“But having unrestricted access to Stregobor’s workshop did come with some interesting advantages,” Marilka said with a gleam in her eye. “He was a powerful wizard, despite his ill will toward Renfri. He concocted all manner of experimental potions and spells. Not long before he left Blaviken, I came across a particular bottle, a potion….”
Geralt waited for Marilka to speak, but she was silent. The witcher tottered on the edge of a razor. On one side, he trusted Marilka implicitly. On the other, he remembered the girl from Blaviken who killed a rat, who sold her yappy dog for spare parts after it died… mysteriously. The girl would stop at nothing to leave the backwater town-and she was apparently successful at doing so.
“Marilka…?”
“The potion… it was supposed to increase a human’s longevity,” Marilka finally said. “I stole it.”
Geralt listened attentively, trying to piece together what Marilka meant to tell him.
“I wasn’t sure if it would really work-even Stregobor himself wasn’t sure, but you’ve seen Leocretia and Ainsley. Neither look a day over twenty. And Julian… he was my firstborn.”
Geralt’s eyes roved over Marilka with her face lined with age, her hair streaked with grey.
“I didn’t take it myself, Geralt, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Marilka explained. “I thought if I had children, I would want them to enjoy their lives as long as possible. I wanted them to find their own happiness, as I had. I wanted to give them more time. Besides, I didn’t dare take it myself when I had three young children to care for. What if something went wrong?”
“You administered the potion to your children?” Geralt asked wide-eyed.
Marilka lowered her eyes, the look of guilt unmistakable, but she said nothing.
The courtyard grew so silent that Geralt begged for the rattle of a branch in the breeze. Vesemir had instilled certain tenets into those who survived the Trials to become witchers. They must steer clear of the quarrels of men. They had no business trying to uphold the law. They were to fulfil the contracts they accepted and collect their coin. He couldn’t judge Marilka for what she had done.
And yet he should have been furious at the thought of a human meddling with potions. The dark arts of magic had no place in a human’s hands. And to think of a mother, risking her own childrens’ lives with an untried concoction created by a wizard of questionable morals. So many things could have gone wrong.
“Does Jaskier know?” Geralt quietly asked.
The wind rustled the leaves that were scattered on the ground.
“None of my children know. I divided the potion equally among them when they reached their teen years. By then, I was certain that I would only have the three little ones and no more.” Marilka hesitated before admitting, “I gave it to Julian first.”
“And nothing bad happened to him,” Geralt said, swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat when he contemplated the danger to a teen-aged Jaskier’s life. “So you gave it to the other two children?” Geralt asked.
His question needed no confirmation. It was plain from Leocretia and Ainsley’s smooth skin and youthful vigour that Geralt had observed during his stay in Lettenhove.
“These past years had me wishing I had given my Josef a dose, but I couldn’t have known his health would fail him so thoroughly. Besides, the potion had already been distributed among our three children. There was none left. What was done couldn’t be undone. Are you angry with me?” Marilka asked, her voice sincere despite the seriousness of her transgression.
Geralt hadn’t noticed how tightly he had gripped Marilka’s hand. His mind raced, trying to catch up with all that Marilka’s revelation implied. He could only think of Jaskier’s youthful appearance brought on by Marilka’s dalliance with a potion she had no business handling.
“Geralt?”
“Does this mean…?”
“I think he’ll live twice as long as an ordinary human… maybe longer.”
They say that a witcher has no feelings. They were burned out of his veins during the Trials that transformed him from an ordinary man into a mutant. But Geralt had already felt the prick of tears in his eyes moments ago when Marilka warmly welcomed him into her family.
And the thought of Jaskier living as long as a witcher sparked a rush of joy like nothing Geralt had ever felt before.
The stoicism that had been ingrained in Geralt ever since he became a witcher wouldn’t die easily. He imagined that Vesemir would be appalled to learn that Geralt felt so deeply for humans like Jaskier and his family. The old master would expect Geralt to remain true to his training, true to the ways of a witcher.
But Marilka, whose actions throughout her life often led her on a different journey than the one that was expected of her, illuminated another way for Geralt. It gave Geralt the confirmation that he’d been right to change his course, to tamp down the witcherly training that he had embraced without question.
If Marilka, a child, could boldly ignore the expectations driven into her, Geralt could do the same.
“Jaskier?” Geralt gasped as he pulled Marilka into his arms. “He could live as long as a witcher.”
“So, you’re not angry, then?” Marilka asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Not angry,” Geralt choked out. He could never be angry about Jaskier’s prolonged lifespan. He rested his head on Marilka’s shoulder, his fingers clutching at her shawl.
As the last rays of sunlight struck the courtyard, Marilka stroked Geralt’s hair while he shook with emotions unknown to the witcher before this day. He wept with regret for pushing Jaskier away on the mountain, for thinking Jaskier would be happier without a silent and irritable witcher in his life. Tears fell when he understood that he could have spared Jaskier so much anguish if only he had known what Marilka had done for him. He could never treat Marilka’s action with the indifference required of a witcher, not when she had given Jaskier the gift of a long life, maybe even as long as Geralt’s. The thought of the years they would spend together thrilled him.
Geralt didn’t see Jaskier emerge onto the courtyard, but he could smell him, sense him. His ears filled with the sound of Jaskier’s pounding heartbeat. Geralt could only sputter into Marilka’s shoulder, her comforting hands reassuring him that all would be well.
“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked.
Geralt pulled away from Marilka. He didn’t care that his eyes were red-rimmed and glistening. He leapt to his feet and rushed toward Jaskier, leaving Marilka on the bench. “Absolutely nothing,” he laughed, hoisting Jaskier off the ground.
“Geralt? This doesn’t seem like nothing,” Jaskier laughed, flailing his arms until his hands landed on Geralt’s head, his fingers digging into Geralt’s hair to regain some balance.
“Your mother!”
“Mother?” Jaskier asked, casting his eyes toward Marilka. “What have you done to my Geralt?”
“She showed me what could be possible,” Geralt said. He put Jaskier down, letting his boots touch the ground, but he did not release him from his embrace. He watched Marilka from over Jaskier’s shoulder as she smiled at the pair from her seat. “She’s incredible.”
“Well, I already know that,” Jaskier said, escaping Geralt to turn toward Marilka. “After all, she made me!”
Geralt rolled his eyes, but he doubted that Jaskier noticed it, since the sun had dipped below the horizon, to swathe the courtyard in twilight. He returned to where Marilka sat and took his seat beside her, pulling Jaskier onto his lap.
Jaskier kissed Geralt and said, “Cosy, and in front of my mother.”
“Trust me, Julian, there’s not much that I haven’t seen before,” Marilka said with a laugh.
“This woman’s refusal to follow the journey through life that was expected of her showed me that I didn’t need to follow mine either. She worked with a wizard. She ran away from home. She married the love of her life. And I cannot begin to list the things she has done for her children. If not for her, Jask, not only would we not have this,” Geralt gestured from Jaskier’s heart to his own, “between us, but we would not be going to Kaer Morhen for the winter.”
~
Coda
The unassuming cairn stood no more than a foot high.
Geralt spread his palm over the capstone. He could swear he felt warmth emanating from the rock, no larger than his fist. He imagined Renfri, nodding at him from her final resting place, sending the heat with her dark eyes and shrewd smile. Or perhaps the heat came from Jaskier’s thigh pressed against his own as they knelt in the frosty grass.
The old sycamore tree hung over this corner of the Blaviken cemetery, just as Marilka had told them it would. Its leaves had already died and fallen, but the tree looked healthy as if it would burst with life again in the spring, and in the spring after that, and in the spring thereafter.
Just as Jaskier would live and live and live.
Pegasus, the gelding Jaskier had borrowed from the Pankratz family stables, snorted and stamped his foot. Roach had reluctantly accepted their new travelling companion. The new addition meant that they could ride to Kaer Morhen before the winter snows choked off the pass to the fortress.
Jaskier shivered.
Although he knew the bard was cold, Geralt was grateful that he didn’t rush him from his reverie. Of course, Jaskier had every right to insist that they hasten their departure from the stark graveyard. He wasn’t built to withstand the cold winter air, but he remained compliant with Geralt’s need to visit this sacred ground.
“Rest easy, princess,” Geralt whispered. He’d be sure to pay for an inn and a hot bath tonight as a reward for Jaskier’s limitless patience.
Jaskier remained solemnly silent.
Geralt got to his feet and tugged on Jaskier’s hand until the bard stood beside him. “It’s time to go,” he said, brushing a few flakes of snow from Jaskier’s hair.
Jaskier nodded. He pulled Geralt in for a kiss before stepping away to retrieve his horse.
Geralt sighed, a puff of warm breath from his lungs condensing into a white shroud over Renfri’s grave.
The end
Additional Notes (spoilers ahead): I have been a Trail maintainer on the Appalachian Trail for 30 years. I maintain one of the most brutally steep stretches of the Trail in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. I was working on my trail section back in July and brainstorming about The Witcher Big Bang, hoping to come up with an idea for a plot. I only saw one other hiker that day. Nathan was hiking the entire length of the 2,150 mile trail in one go. We ended up hiking together to the road where I left my car and I gave him a ride to the nearest town, so he could re-supply and get a restful night’s sleep in a motel. During our hike, I told him about my son, who was engaged to be married to his girlfriend of 7 years in a few weeks. My son is pretty awesome. A lifeguard, avid backpacker and traveler, a University graduate, Navy Special Forces, a military medic, etc. He’s really the perfect kid. He’s only 25 years old. I told Nathan all about him and Nathan recounted his own life experiences to me. Although Nathan was a decade older than my son, he believed that hiking the Appalachian Trail was perhaps the most remarkable thing that he had ever done. In our discussion, we concluded that my son was able to achieve all that he had because he was raised in an atmosphere where such accomplishments were not deemed extraordinary. If your mother has maintained a part of the Appalachian Trail since before you were born, (and backpacked throughout her pregnancy, but that’s another story), you are bound to view such long-distance backpacking and mountaineering accomplishments as standard. If, presumably like Nathan’s parents, you never set foot on a trail or adventured to wild places, you might not even conceive that such a challenge exists to be met.
This got me thinking about a quote from my favorite book and film, Cloud Atlas. “All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may transcend any convention if only one can first conceive of doing so.”
This seemed to be the perfect marriage of a story, a concept, and a plot bunny.
If one is only presented with a rigid outline of a lifepath, like Marilka at the time of episode 1, who sees only a future of living in Blaviken, and Geralt, a witcher- since he was dropped off with Vesemir, who can no longer conceive of a life other than that of a witcher, one would find it nearly impossible to deviate from that lifepath. Geralt couldn’t imagine Renfri defeating Stregobor any more than he could imagine a happy life with Jaskier. He can’t imagine being anything but a witcher, a tool.
What would it take for another option to be conceived?
Enter the headcanon of Marilka being Jaskier’s mother. Marilka was somehow able to muster her innate desire to leave Blaviken to make it happen. She was successful. Married a noble. Had at least one immensely talented kid. So, now we ask ourselves, why was Jaskier able to conceive of abandoning his cushy life as a Viscount to become a traveling bard? A witcher’s barker? A student and a professor at Oxenfurt? The answer? He could do all these things because he was raised in an atmosphere where anything was possible, no matter how absurd.
Because Marilka was able to leave Blaviken, live an interesting life, marry a noble of Lettenhove, etc., the concept of Jaskier doing what might seem inconceivable to the average inhabitant of the Continent was made possible because he was raised in an atmosphere where non-conformity was the norm. A broad range of options, via Marilka’s example, shaped Jaskier’s desire to become a travelling bard, something implausible for a Viscount in Geralt’s world view. And Geralt? Whereas Vesemir’s shaping of a witcher has only one narrow purpose without any conceivable deviation, he has no option and cannot conceive of a change. It would never occur to him to do anything besides being a witcher. Geralt was not raised in the same atmosphere as Jaskier. He has one job. He’s a witcher. The incident with Renfri solidified Geralt’s lifelong self-hatred and his inability to conceive of any other future besides that of being a reviled witcher.
In my fic, the concept of Marilka, and what she has done, drives Geralt’s change. Think of Marilka, not as a girl or Jaskier’s mother, think of Marilka as the concept of changing your future for the better, despite your current circumstances-not settling for things as you have been led to believe they must be. Thus, visiting Marilka.
Author: gwyllion
Genre: Canon era
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia | Geralt z Rivii/Jaskier |Dandelion
Rating: R
Words: 57,262
Warnings: Brief mention of sexual desires by an underaged minor character. Genderfluid minor character.
A/N: Visiting Marilka was written for the 2021 Witcher Big Bang. Thanks to my artist, Rogue Pyrola whose awesome artwork can be seen below, seren and the Witcher Big Bang mod team, and my wonderful beta Gillian who always makes my writing better. Thanks to The Witcher’s author, showrunners, and actors, (especially Mia McKenna-Bruce!), who inspire us to make more art.
This fic is dedicated to Nathan, who conceived it to be so.
Disclaimer: I did not create these characters. No disrespect intended. No profit desired, only muses.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime, thanks so much for reading!
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Geralt asked. He stood behind Jaskier, who preened in the long mirror decorating the hall outside the ballroom.
“Nearly,” Jaskier answered, pinching at his cheeks to add a flush of colour to them. “I don’t want to disappoint the elite of Lettenhove by performing an encore with pale skin and dark circles under my eyes.”
“Hmm, not getting much sleep these days?” Geralt asked with a grin.
“Very funny. You know damn well what you’re capable of. Lucky me that your witcherly libido is just hitting its stride,” Jaskier said as he tugged at the collar of the white chemise he wore beneath a dark buttoned-up vest topped with a tan doublet.
“I may not be an unbiased judge, but you look very handsome,” Geralt said. He wrapped his arms around the bard and held him tight. His fingers brushed against the soft wool of Jaskier’s simple doublet-a conservative choice if there ever was one to be selected.
Earlier that morning, the witcher had lingered in Jaskier’s bed while the bard dug through his seldom-used Lettenhove wardrobe for something suitable to wear to the ceremony. He had settled on sombre colours out of respect for his father’s memory. He’d play a few lively songs on his lute to commemorate Leocretia’s ascension to the role of Count.
“Just as life itself has its ups and downs,” Jaskier had said. “I observe life’s sorrows and joys-sometimes both on the same day.”
“That’s rather poetic,” Geralt had mused, stretching beneath the quilts and furs.
Naked, Jaskier leapt onto the bed, chattering, “Speaking of ups and downs….”
Indeed Geralt could barely stand to let Jaskier out of his sight since the first night they had spent together in Lettenhove. Evenings spent with Jaskier’s family led to long conversations by the fire. Marilka saw to it that her family and the witcher were well fed, and entertained by the boundless energy of Ainsley’s children. When they finally slept, Geralt and Jaskier came together as they had the first night.
For the first time in his life, Geralt felt surrounded by love. No one expected anything from him-not to kill monsters or survive the horror of experimental potions. He was at peace with the new path that spooled out before him. Of course, he would always be a witcher, taking contracts and killing monsters to keep the humans of the Continent safe. But now, he did so with the support from a family that fortified his strength and embraced him as one of their own.
“Unhand him for a moment, Geralt,” Leocretia laughed as she joined them in the hall. She wore the same armour as Geralt had seen her wear on the night that they first met. Only now, she sported a powder-blue sash outlined with golden embroidery to indicate her status.
Jaskier tormented her by kissing Geralt fully on the mouth and refusing to come up for air until his face had turned red.
“Come on, brother,” Leocretia insisted. “King Osmyk told me he enjoyed your performance. I’m rather proud of you. Can you please come back into the ballroom so I can introduce you to him properly?”
“Well,” Jaskier said, straightening his doublet, “who am I to refuse when the high court calls?”
Geralt rolled his eyes and followed behind Jaskier as Leocretia dragged him back into the ballroom.
As soon as Geralt stepped through the gilded doors, his senses were assaulted by the smells he had sought to escape in the hallway. Rich gravies and sauces bubbled in their bowls, waiting to be ladled onto seared venison and tender pheasant. Geralt brushed elbows with the nobles who dined on autumn fruits and the last of the vegetables, harvested before a sure frost would signal the arrival of winter. The perfumed nobles who moved around the room to socialize could not have cared less about the amount of soaps and salves they had applied to their bodies. While pleasing in moderation, the combinations of the aromas made Geralt’s eyes water.
The ballroom brimmed with a veritable who’s who of the Kerack nobility. Lords and ladies mingled with the Counts and Countesses of the smaller provinces and King Osmyk himself, who was there to bestow honour upon Leocretia. Earlier in the day, a crowd of Lettenhove’s villagers had gathered outside in the courtyard, where Jaskier had given a performance in honour of his father’s memory. The Count was obviously a beloved pillar of the community judging by the simple folks who came to pay their respects.
Inside the lavishly decorated ballroom, high ceilings soared above the feast tables and dais where Marilka oversaw the festivities. Behind the dais, a large painting of the former Count Pankratz was displayed. Geralt could tell where Jaskier got his crystal-blue eyes and the little quirk of his mouth when he smiled just so.
Servants bustled through the room, keeping goblets of wine and tankards topped up for the guests and adding more aromas to the fray.
Geralt wished that the whole affair could have been held outdoors. But he owed it to Jaskier, as his companion, to stay nearby in case the bard needed him for anything. For now, he tolerated the atmosphere of chattering guests and cloying scents as best as he could. He took a few more steps toward the centre of the ballroom, scanning the crowd for wherever Leocretia had led his bard. Across the room, his eyes fell on Jaskier, who at just that moment looked his way and smiled. Geralt smiled back and took a step forward, but he was nearly trampled by a train of children who darted in front of him.
“Mister Witcher?” a little girl tugged on Geralt’s sleeve.
Geralt looked around the room, gazing above the children’s heads as if he did not see that he had stumbled into them. “What? Who said that?” he asked animatedly, summoning Jaskier’s flair for dramatics.
“We’re down here!” Callum shouted. The boy stood only to Geralt’s waist. He had Ainsley’s blond hair and the same blue eyes that he shared with his other family members.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” Geralt said with a laugh. He had already learned that if he stooped low to listen to the children, they would feel more at ease by his sometimes daunting presence. He squatted down to the children’s level and asked the girl, “What can I do for you, Hazel?”
“I’m not Hazel,” the little blond girl who had tugged on his sleeve laughed. “I’m Millicent.”
Damn these kids, they all looked alike to Geralt. At least he could tell Callum apart from the three girls. “Sorry, Millicent. You and Hazel look very much alike.”
“Even mother mixes them up sometimes,” Gertrude said, joining her sisters.
Ainsley and Mateusz’s children had been ever-present since Jaskier and Geralt arrived in Lettenhove. Geralt suspected that Marilka gave Ainsley a much-needed break in caring for her brood. Jaskier and Geralt were only too happy to pitch in.
“Hazel says that Uncle Julian is going to marry you one day,” Millicent said gleefully.
Geralt’s eyes went wide. He stuttered out a meaningless grunt.
“Is that true?” Gertrude asked, wide-eyed. “Will we still be able to play with Uncle Jaskier’s musical instruments if you are married?”
“Uh,” Geralt muttered.
“I was wondering about your swords,” Callum added, quite seriously. “Sir, you said that you would teach me how to practice with a sword. Would Uncle Julian still allow such a thing if you were married?”
Geralt held both hands up placatingly. He quelled the urge to use Axii to control the children’s wild speculations. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m sure whenever Uncle Julian and I visit you, he will let you play as many of his musical instruments as you like.”
“But what about the swords?” Callum whined.
“Yes, Callum,” Geralt said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “We’ll be able to practice some tomorrow, but only if you go straight to bed tonight and get a good night’s sleep.”
“I will!” Callum cheered.
To Geralt’s great relief, he saw Ainsley making her way over to him and the children.
“What have we here?” Ainsley asked. “You’re not bothering Uncle Julian’s friend, are you?”
“Callum was talking about swords with him,” Gertrude announced.
“And we’re truly so excited to have our very own witcher in our family,” Millicent said, her blue eyes gleaming.
Geralt’s heart warmed at the thought of the children welcoming him into their family. The days of being spat upon, cheated out of coin, and run out of town after fulfilling a contract seemed long past. “They’re fine, Ainsley,” Geralt said. And noticing Jaskier approaching, he added, “Here comes Uncle Julian now.”
“Are you little goblins scaring my Geralt away?” Jaskier asked, grabbing a girl under each arm and spinning around in a circle.
“Don’t get them too wild,” Ainsley laughed. “I was just about to get them washed up and ready for bed.”
“Well, in that case…”
The girls screamed as Jaskier spun them faster and faster, until he could only take a few staggering steps toward Geralt after he put the girls down.
“He’s always been a terror,” Ainsley said, turning to Geralt. “Good luck with him. I daresay he’s all yours now.”
Jaskier flung both arms around Geralt’s neck and the witcher caught him by his waist to keep him from falling over.
“Come along, children,” Ainsley said, rounding up her family. “I’ll bring you back to say goodnight to grandmother before tucking you in.”
Geralt watched as Ainsley led the children to the door and ushered them through.
“She’s got her hands full, hasn’t she?” Jaskier said.
“They asked me if I was going to marry their Uncle Julian,” Geralt said, tightening his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea at all. The thought of spending the rest of his life with Jaskier had its appeal, despite being haunted by the expectation that he would have to watch the bard turn frail with age, his hair turning as white as a witcher’s.
“What did you tell them?” Jaskier asked with a chuckle.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but I thought of hitting them with Axii,” Geralt said.
“Thank the gods you didn’t,” Jaskier burst out with laughter. “I can’t imagine explaining that to my sister.”
Geralt figured the bard wasn’t too upset about it since he pulled Geralt in for a kiss. He had probably wished that he had the means to control his unruly nieces and nephew at some point during his family reunions.
“How long until you perform again?” Geralt rumbled, turning his head to nose at Jaskier’s neck. He was hoping to sneak away from the crowded ballroom for a little while. It would do wonders for him if he were able to regain his proper senses with some fresh air.
Jaskier glanced through one of the ballroom’s large windows bedecked with garlands. The sun dipped toward the horizon, but there was still an hour of daylight left.
“I’ll be closing the evening out with a few songs as soon as the sun sets,” Jaskier nodded.
“Plenty of time left until then,” Geralt hummed quietly.
“Have you eaten yet?” Jaskier asked. “I’m starving.”
The thought of dining on the aromatic foods among the perfumed nobles made Geralt’s stomach turn.
“I couldn’t,” Geralt said, not wanting to offend Jaskier or make light of the feast that had been laid out for the guests.
Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up in understanding. “Ahh, it’s too much for you, dear. I should have known,” he said sympathetically.
Geralt sighed.
“It’s lovely outside,” Jaskier said, patting Geralt’s chest affectionately. “Would it help if we went out to get some air?”
“Yes, but you’re hungry,” Geralt said, nudging Jaskier’s nose with his own. “Why don’t you get something to eat and I’ll go sit in the courtyard for a while? You can collect me before its time for you to perform.”
“If you won’t be too lonely in the meantime?” Jaskier inquired.
“I’ll be fine,” Geralt said. “Besides, I think your mother just went out there with some of the other guests.”
“Probably showing them the plans for the spring plantings,” Jaskier mused.
“Go enjoy some food,” Geralt said. “I’ll go entertain your mother for a little while.”
Jaskier’s mouth fell open. “My Geralt entertaining my mother? What in the name of Melitele’s tits has my life become?”
Geralt laughed and released Jaskier with the promise that they would meet up shortly after the bard had something to eat. He walked down the hall and stepped through the double doors that led to the courtyard of the Pankratz estate.
~
A light wind rustled the fallen leaves that had strayed onto the courtyard’s intricate stonework. Geralt brushed a few windswept tendrils of hair from his eyes. A few of the guests wandered among the empty planters. Some took a break from their walking to sit on the stone benches that adorned each corner of the gardens that would bloom again in spring. From this day forward, Geralt would make sure that Jaskier visited his ancestral home at least once every year.
Across from the courtyard’s entrance, Marilka caught sight of Geralt. She raised her hand to him, beckoning him to come over to where she stood with two of her guests. Marilka had donned a black woollen shawl to stroll through the chilly courtyard. The pale blue hem of her dress cascaded below the heavier garment. A necklace of three beads, two white and one pale blue, hung from her neck.
Geralt nodded and made his way over to Marilka. Dressed in his customary black, the witcher drew stares from the other guests. Geralt simply ignored them as usual. When he reached Marilka, he stood politely with his hands behind his back and greeted her with a short bow.
Marilka gestured to Geralt and asked her guests, “Have you met my son’s companion, Geralt of Rivia?”
Geralt nodded to the guests, who took on the sour aroma of fear, despite their smiles.
“Lord and Lady Westford travelled all the way from Vole to attend today’s festivities,” Marilka said.
“I’m pleased to know that you have such loyal friends,” Geralt said.
“I can’t help but noticing,” Lord Westford began, “but he’s a witcher?”
Lady Westford clenched her husband’s hand tightly.
“That’s right,” Marilka said, taking Geralt’s arm. “And one of my dearest friends.”
“Well…” Lady Westford said, but she did not continue. Instead, she looked as if she might faint from an encounter with an offspring of foul sorcery.
“We must leave the two of you to catch up on old times, then,” Lord Westford interjected.
“Yes, yes,” Lady Westford added, doing a poor job of disguising her panic. “Besides, I’m feeling a chill out here in this crisp weather. We should go inside to get warm.”
Marilka dismissed the pair with a wave of her hand.
“Some things never change,” Geralt said, shaking his head.
Marilka tightened her grasp on Geralt’s arm. “Pay them no mind. Come and sit with me.”
Geralt let Marilka lead him toward one of the stone benches. The sun lingered near the horizon, bathing the courtyard in a golden glow. Bare trees cast long shadows against the paved stones that marked the pathways through the decaying foliage.
“It must be terribly tedious to have to deal with the likes of the Westfords, but I’m sure you’ve been treated worse,” Marilka said.
Geralt tried to imagine Marilka’s concern for her son as he travelled with a witcher. The townspeople who they encountered were often not as kind as the Westfords. “Your son has done a lot to improve my reputation,” Geralt said.
“And the reputation of all witchers, I daresay, with that song about tossing coins,” Marilka laughed.
“It’s true,” Geralt said with a smile. He grew concerned that Marilka might stay awake at night, worrying about Jaskier’s safety. “I hope you know that he’ll always be safe with me. There will always be some who revile witchers, but as long as Jask… uh… Julian… is with me, I would never let any harm come to him.”
“I believe you, Geralt,” Marilka said, nodding gratefully.
As soon as they sat on the stone bench, a squawking jay’s call punctuated the crisp air. Across the courtyard, a woman laughed at something whispered by her companion. The aromas that emanated from the ballroom only minimally invaded the courtyard. Thankfully a light breeze helped to dissipate them.
“Are you sure it’s not too chilly out here for you?” Geralt asked. The stone bench felt cold to his touch. He worried that Marilka might be more affected by the cooler temperatures than he.
“I’ll be fine for a little while,” Marilka said. “I come from hardy peasant stock.”
Geralt nodded. “You look to be in fine health,” he said.
“Ah, yes, if only my Josef could have kept his health as well as me.”
Geralt felt a pang of sympathy for the newly widowed Marilka. “I’m so sorry your husband was unwell,” he said.
“Thank you, Geralt,” Marilka said, taking the witcher’s hand. “I’ve learned a few things in these past weeks without my husband. Most importantly, if a couple remembers to treat each other with kindness, they’ll have no regrets.”
“You haven’t any regrets?” Geralt asked.
“After so many years together, I’m happy to say I have none,” Marilka said.
Geralt nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. More than ever, it seems to me like human life is too short, especially where Jas-Julian is concerned.” The lifespan of humans was something that weighed heavily on Geralt’s mind since embarking on a romance with Jaskier.
Marilka looked around. “Have you seen where he went?”
“He went to get something to eat before he performs again. He sent me out here to get some fresh air. I’m afraid my witcher senses make it difficult to tolerate all the different aromas-not that the food isn’t delicious. I want to try the venison.”
Marilka nodded. “Josef would have loved the venison. He was quite a hunter in his day, mind you. Not like our Julian.”
Geralt had to agree. Jaskier was never much of a hunter, but he was always more than willing to pitch in around camp, even if it meant gutting a rabbit or plucking feathers from a grouse.
“Julian has many other talents, though,” Geralt reminded her.
“Of course he does,” Marilka said, not unkindly. “It means so much to me that you have accompanied him here. I can’t imagine that I would ever have met you again, if you and he hadn’t found each other. What a strange coincidence.”
“Strange, indeed. And it must have come as a surprise to learn that Julian and I were travelling together.”
Marilka closed her eyes and thought for a moment. She then cleared her throat and said, “Some may say that I’ve gotten what I deserve. My son is travelling the Continent with a witcher! No wonder, they must think-Marilka, with her reckless ways, she’s set a bad example for her son. He’s unable to recognise a danger as obvious as a witcher, a mutant. Well, to them, I say a mighty fuck off, Geralt.”
In an instant, Geralt again saw the young girl he had met in Blaviken. Her spark had not diminished with the passing of years. He brimmed with gratitude that they had crossed paths again.
“You haven’t changed,” Geralt said.
“Oh, but I have. I’m older and greyer, at least. And can you believe I fell in love and had three children? I’ll bet you didn’t see that coming, back in Blaviken. It’s been wonderful to see each of them come into their own-especially Julian. He was always such a romantic. These past few days, I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Marilka continued, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “And the way you look at him.”
Geralt inhaled a breath of chilly air. He steeled himself and squeezed gently, keeping Marilka’s tiny hand warm in his, and said, “I love him, Marilka.”
Marilka nodded. “If ever I would have thought… my Julian in love with a witcher! But you know Julian-he’s going to love who he loves, no matter what anyone says or does. And if he loves a witcher, I’m so very glad it’s you, Geralt of Rivia.”
Geralt felt the prick of tears in his eyes. He had always stumbled when it came to finding words, but now, he was well and truly rendered dumb by Marilka’s kindness toward him. “I’m honoured that you approve,” he muttered.
“I’m happy for you both,” Marilka said, toying with her necklace.
Geralt tilted his head to get a better look at the simple thing. It looked nothing like the jewels one would expect to be worn by a woman of Marilka’s status. The three beads were threaded with a single strip of leather. The top white bead, a tiny ball. The middle bead, a pale blue oval. The bottom white bead, irregular in shape, seemed to hold the whole piece together.
“Do you remember my necklace?” Marilka asked brightly.
“It looks familiar somehow,” Geralt said, embarrassed that he had stared at the piece of jewellery for far too long.
“I dug it out of my jewellery box just last night. I’m sure I wore it when we first met,” Marilka said. “I wore it every day when I was a girl in Blaviken. It’s just a cheap trinket. I made it out of odds and ends that I had stolen from Master Irion’s workshop.”
“Stregobor,” Geralt murmured with disdain.
“Yes, Stregobor, as you knew him best,” Marilka said with a sigh.
“I’d be perfectly happy if I never heard about the likes of him again,” Geralt said. He reached for Marilka’s necklace with tentative fingers. “But I’m relieved that you told me what became of Renfri’s body.”
“I can tell it weighed heavily on you,” Marilka said. “Not knowing that I had given her a decent burial. I’m sorry I never thought to seek you out-to let you know what happened after you left Blaviken.”
“It’s of no consequence now,” Geralt said. He stroked the beads of her necklace before drawing his hand away. “It puts me at peace to know that you showed her some respect, after all that transpired.”
Marilka nodded quietly. “I liked the blue bead best,” she said, looking down at her necklace. “It’s the colour of my children’s eyes. Of course most nobility wouldn’t be caught dead wearing such a foolish bauble made by a child, but I thought it would be fun if you remembered it.”
“If you like it, you should wear it,” Geralt said. “It suits you.”
“I don’t think it has any magic in it, although it did come from a wizard’s box of discarded junk.”
“I could test it for you,” Geralt said, tapping the blue bead. He took his witcher medallion from where it lay against his chest and he held it to Marilka’s necklace. He tilted his head and paid attention to any unusual reaction from either pendant.
“Anything?” Marilka asked.
“Nothing.”
“Well, I didn’t have any great hopes about it,” Marilka said with a laugh.
The courtyard grew quiet with emptiness. A crimson haze of sunset washed over the stones. The guests had all returned to the warmth of the ballroom. Geralt suspected that Jaskier would come to find him soon. “We should go back inside,” he said, beginning to rise from the bench, but Marilka clutched his hand tightly as if beckoning him to stay.
“I want to tell you something,” Marilka said, stopping him. “I need to tell you something. It’s something you deserve to know.”
Geralt couldn’t imagine what more Marilka wanted to say. He relaxed and settled back beside her, warming her chilly fingers between his hands.
Marilka bit her lip, something Geralt had seen Jaskier do a thousand times when he was composing a song or when he needed to concentrate. “You’ve noticed how youthful he looks, haven’t you?”
Geralt nodded his head. “He uses a lot of substances on his skin, especially his face. He tells me that moisturizer works wonders and I believe him.”
“My Leocretia and Ainsley look young for their ages, too,” Marilka whispered, as if she were divulging a closely-guarded secret.
At once, Geralt’s thoughts drifted toward a guess at what Marilka wanted to tell him. “He’s not fae,” he said questioningly. “I had suspected it at one time, but I would have noticed if he were. My medallion would have sensed that he wasn’t human.”
“No, no, my dear, nothing that drastic,” Marilka said, patting Geralt’s hands reassuringly. “Julian is very much human.”
“I’m relieved to know,” Geralt said. If Jaskier were fae, or any other form of non-human, the witcher would find a way to accept him, to love him, nonetheless. Still, it was good to have the confirmation from his mother.
“But having unrestricted access to Stregobor’s workshop did come with some interesting advantages,” Marilka said with a gleam in her eye. “He was a powerful wizard, despite his ill will toward Renfri. He concocted all manner of experimental potions and spells. Not long before he left Blaviken, I came across a particular bottle, a potion….”
Geralt waited for Marilka to speak, but she was silent. The witcher tottered on the edge of a razor. On one side, he trusted Marilka implicitly. On the other, he remembered the girl from Blaviken who killed a rat, who sold her yappy dog for spare parts after it died… mysteriously. The girl would stop at nothing to leave the backwater town-and she was apparently successful at doing so.
“Marilka…?”
“The potion… it was supposed to increase a human’s longevity,” Marilka finally said. “I stole it.”
Geralt listened attentively, trying to piece together what Marilka meant to tell him.
“I wasn’t sure if it would really work-even Stregobor himself wasn’t sure, but you’ve seen Leocretia and Ainsley. Neither look a day over twenty. And Julian… he was my firstborn.”
Geralt’s eyes roved over Marilka with her face lined with age, her hair streaked with grey.
“I didn’t take it myself, Geralt, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Marilka explained. “I thought if I had children, I would want them to enjoy their lives as long as possible. I wanted them to find their own happiness, as I had. I wanted to give them more time. Besides, I didn’t dare take it myself when I had three young children to care for. What if something went wrong?”
“You administered the potion to your children?” Geralt asked wide-eyed.
Marilka lowered her eyes, the look of guilt unmistakable, but she said nothing.
The courtyard grew so silent that Geralt begged for the rattle of a branch in the breeze. Vesemir had instilled certain tenets into those who survived the Trials to become witchers. They must steer clear of the quarrels of men. They had no business trying to uphold the law. They were to fulfil the contracts they accepted and collect their coin. He couldn’t judge Marilka for what she had done.
And yet he should have been furious at the thought of a human meddling with potions. The dark arts of magic had no place in a human’s hands. And to think of a mother, risking her own childrens’ lives with an untried concoction created by a wizard of questionable morals. So many things could have gone wrong.
“Does Jaskier know?” Geralt quietly asked.
The wind rustled the leaves that were scattered on the ground.
“None of my children know. I divided the potion equally among them when they reached their teen years. By then, I was certain that I would only have the three little ones and no more.” Marilka hesitated before admitting, “I gave it to Julian first.”
“And nothing bad happened to him,” Geralt said, swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat when he contemplated the danger to a teen-aged Jaskier’s life. “So you gave it to the other two children?” Geralt asked.
His question needed no confirmation. It was plain from Leocretia and Ainsley’s smooth skin and youthful vigour that Geralt had observed during his stay in Lettenhove.
“These past years had me wishing I had given my Josef a dose, but I couldn’t have known his health would fail him so thoroughly. Besides, the potion had already been distributed among our three children. There was none left. What was done couldn’t be undone. Are you angry with me?” Marilka asked, her voice sincere despite the seriousness of her transgression.
Geralt hadn’t noticed how tightly he had gripped Marilka’s hand. His mind raced, trying to catch up with all that Marilka’s revelation implied. He could only think of Jaskier’s youthful appearance brought on by Marilka’s dalliance with a potion she had no business handling.
“Geralt?”
“Does this mean…?”
“I think he’ll live twice as long as an ordinary human… maybe longer.”
They say that a witcher has no feelings. They were burned out of his veins during the Trials that transformed him from an ordinary man into a mutant. But Geralt had already felt the prick of tears in his eyes moments ago when Marilka warmly welcomed him into her family.
And the thought of Jaskier living as long as a witcher sparked a rush of joy like nothing Geralt had ever felt before.
The stoicism that had been ingrained in Geralt ever since he became a witcher wouldn’t die easily. He imagined that Vesemir would be appalled to learn that Geralt felt so deeply for humans like Jaskier and his family. The old master would expect Geralt to remain true to his training, true to the ways of a witcher.
But Marilka, whose actions throughout her life often led her on a different journey than the one that was expected of her, illuminated another way for Geralt. It gave Geralt the confirmation that he’d been right to change his course, to tamp down the witcherly training that he had embraced without question.
If Marilka, a child, could boldly ignore the expectations driven into her, Geralt could do the same.
“Jaskier?” Geralt gasped as he pulled Marilka into his arms. “He could live as long as a witcher.”
“So, you’re not angry, then?” Marilka asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Not angry,” Geralt choked out. He could never be angry about Jaskier’s prolonged lifespan. He rested his head on Marilka’s shoulder, his fingers clutching at her shawl.
As the last rays of sunlight struck the courtyard, Marilka stroked Geralt’s hair while he shook with emotions unknown to the witcher before this day. He wept with regret for pushing Jaskier away on the mountain, for thinking Jaskier would be happier without a silent and irritable witcher in his life. Tears fell when he understood that he could have spared Jaskier so much anguish if only he had known what Marilka had done for him. He could never treat Marilka’s action with the indifference required of a witcher, not when she had given Jaskier the gift of a long life, maybe even as long as Geralt’s. The thought of the years they would spend together thrilled him.
Geralt didn’t see Jaskier emerge onto the courtyard, but he could smell him, sense him. His ears filled with the sound of Jaskier’s pounding heartbeat. Geralt could only sputter into Marilka’s shoulder, her comforting hands reassuring him that all would be well.
“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked.
Geralt pulled away from Marilka. He didn’t care that his eyes were red-rimmed and glistening. He leapt to his feet and rushed toward Jaskier, leaving Marilka on the bench. “Absolutely nothing,” he laughed, hoisting Jaskier off the ground.
“Geralt? This doesn’t seem like nothing,” Jaskier laughed, flailing his arms until his hands landed on Geralt’s head, his fingers digging into Geralt’s hair to regain some balance.
“Your mother!”
“Mother?” Jaskier asked, casting his eyes toward Marilka. “What have you done to my Geralt?”
“She showed me what could be possible,” Geralt said. He put Jaskier down, letting his boots touch the ground, but he did not release him from his embrace. He watched Marilka from over Jaskier’s shoulder as she smiled at the pair from her seat. “She’s incredible.”
“Well, I already know that,” Jaskier said, escaping Geralt to turn toward Marilka. “After all, she made me!”
Geralt rolled his eyes, but he doubted that Jaskier noticed it, since the sun had dipped below the horizon, to swathe the courtyard in twilight. He returned to where Marilka sat and took his seat beside her, pulling Jaskier onto his lap.
Jaskier kissed Geralt and said, “Cosy, and in front of my mother.”
“Trust me, Julian, there’s not much that I haven’t seen before,” Marilka said with a laugh.
“This woman’s refusal to follow the journey through life that was expected of her showed me that I didn’t need to follow mine either. She worked with a wizard. She ran away from home. She married the love of her life. And I cannot begin to list the things she has done for her children. If not for her, Jask, not only would we not have this,” Geralt gestured from Jaskier’s heart to his own, “between us, but we would not be going to Kaer Morhen for the winter.”
~
Coda
The unassuming cairn stood no more than a foot high.
Geralt spread his palm over the capstone. He could swear he felt warmth emanating from the rock, no larger than his fist. He imagined Renfri, nodding at him from her final resting place, sending the heat with her dark eyes and shrewd smile. Or perhaps the heat came from Jaskier’s thigh pressed against his own as they knelt in the frosty grass.
The old sycamore tree hung over this corner of the Blaviken cemetery, just as Marilka had told them it would. Its leaves had already died and fallen, but the tree looked healthy as if it would burst with life again in the spring, and in the spring after that, and in the spring thereafter.
Just as Jaskier would live and live and live.
Pegasus, the gelding Jaskier had borrowed from the Pankratz family stables, snorted and stamped his foot. Roach had reluctantly accepted their new travelling companion. The new addition meant that they could ride to Kaer Morhen before the winter snows choked off the pass to the fortress.
Jaskier shivered.
Although he knew the bard was cold, Geralt was grateful that he didn’t rush him from his reverie. Of course, Jaskier had every right to insist that they hasten their departure from the stark graveyard. He wasn’t built to withstand the cold winter air, but he remained compliant with Geralt’s need to visit this sacred ground.
“Rest easy, princess,” Geralt whispered. He’d be sure to pay for an inn and a hot bath tonight as a reward for Jaskier’s limitless patience.
Jaskier remained solemnly silent.
Geralt got to his feet and tugged on Jaskier’s hand until the bard stood beside him. “It’s time to go,” he said, brushing a few flakes of snow from Jaskier’s hair.
Jaskier nodded. He pulled Geralt in for a kiss before stepping away to retrieve his horse.
Geralt sighed, a puff of warm breath from his lungs condensing into a white shroud over Renfri’s grave.
The end
Additional Notes (spoilers ahead): I have been a Trail maintainer on the Appalachian Trail for 30 years. I maintain one of the most brutally steep stretches of the Trail in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. I was working on my trail section back in July and brainstorming about The Witcher Big Bang, hoping to come up with an idea for a plot. I only saw one other hiker that day. Nathan was hiking the entire length of the 2,150 mile trail in one go. We ended up hiking together to the road where I left my car and I gave him a ride to the nearest town, so he could re-supply and get a restful night’s sleep in a motel. During our hike, I told him about my son, who was engaged to be married to his girlfriend of 7 years in a few weeks. My son is pretty awesome. A lifeguard, avid backpacker and traveler, a University graduate, Navy Special Forces, a military medic, etc. He’s really the perfect kid. He’s only 25 years old. I told Nathan all about him and Nathan recounted his own life experiences to me. Although Nathan was a decade older than my son, he believed that hiking the Appalachian Trail was perhaps the most remarkable thing that he had ever done. In our discussion, we concluded that my son was able to achieve all that he had because he was raised in an atmosphere where such accomplishments were not deemed extraordinary. If your mother has maintained a part of the Appalachian Trail since before you were born, (and backpacked throughout her pregnancy, but that’s another story), you are bound to view such long-distance backpacking and mountaineering accomplishments as standard. If, presumably like Nathan’s parents, you never set foot on a trail or adventured to wild places, you might not even conceive that such a challenge exists to be met.
This got me thinking about a quote from my favorite book and film, Cloud Atlas. “All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended. One may transcend any convention if only one can first conceive of doing so.”
This seemed to be the perfect marriage of a story, a concept, and a plot bunny.
If one is only presented with a rigid outline of a lifepath, like Marilka at the time of episode 1, who sees only a future of living in Blaviken, and Geralt, a witcher- since he was dropped off with Vesemir, who can no longer conceive of a life other than that of a witcher, one would find it nearly impossible to deviate from that lifepath. Geralt couldn’t imagine Renfri defeating Stregobor any more than he could imagine a happy life with Jaskier. He can’t imagine being anything but a witcher, a tool.
What would it take for another option to be conceived?
Enter the headcanon of Marilka being Jaskier’s mother. Marilka was somehow able to muster her innate desire to leave Blaviken to make it happen. She was successful. Married a noble. Had at least one immensely talented kid. So, now we ask ourselves, why was Jaskier able to conceive of abandoning his cushy life as a Viscount to become a traveling bard? A witcher’s barker? A student and a professor at Oxenfurt? The answer? He could do all these things because he was raised in an atmosphere where anything was possible, no matter how absurd.
Because Marilka was able to leave Blaviken, live an interesting life, marry a noble of Lettenhove, etc., the concept of Jaskier doing what might seem inconceivable to the average inhabitant of the Continent was made possible because he was raised in an atmosphere where non-conformity was the norm. A broad range of options, via Marilka’s example, shaped Jaskier’s desire to become a travelling bard, something implausible for a Viscount in Geralt’s world view. And Geralt? Whereas Vesemir’s shaping of a witcher has only one narrow purpose without any conceivable deviation, he has no option and cannot conceive of a change. It would never occur to him to do anything besides being a witcher. Geralt was not raised in the same atmosphere as Jaskier. He has one job. He’s a witcher. The incident with Renfri solidified Geralt’s lifelong self-hatred and his inability to conceive of any other future besides that of being a reviled witcher.
In my fic, the concept of Marilka, and what she has done, drives Geralt’s change. Think of Marilka, not as a girl or Jaskier’s mother, think of Marilka as the concept of changing your future for the better, despite your current circumstances-not settling for things as you have been led to believe they must be. Thus, visiting Marilka.