The Witcher - Imagines and One Shots

The healer - Part 7 - Geralt x Reader

(Y/n) made her way outside the cottage, using her hand to shield her eyes, as the sunlight found its way through the canopy above. It had been a long winter, so spring was a welcome change. The bleak, barren landscape of the cold days, replaced by warming air, rebirth and new life. The healer just happy that her supplies had lasted the darker months; that the path to her little home had not been cut off. (Y/n) well aware that during winter, the people needed her skills more than normal. That the young and old were particularly susceptible to the colder months.

Slowly she made her way over to the shrinking pile of wood; she would have to chop more soon. The cottage still had a chill to it, the stones taking a long time to soak up the heat of the new season; and her potions and poultices didn't make themselves, (Y/n) always wanting to make sure that she had everything she might need. One never knowing when you might be confronted by the strangest of ailments.........like someone being foolish enough to eat blood berries; the healer chuckling, as she fondly remembered the mischievous bard by the name of Jaskier. How he had partaken of the berries and their seeds, having no idea what it would mean; the poor man being in quite the state when Geralt had burst through the door with him in his arms.

Geralt...........the thought of the pale haired Witcher making her stop. The night before he and Jaskier had left her home, he had promised that he would always come back to her. The pair holding one another, as they had lain in her bed; the large man gently combing his fingers through her hair, as he told her that he loved her. That his heart belonged to her, just as hers belonged to him. Yet when she had opened her eyes the next morning, he, Jaskier and dear old Roach were already gone. Her heart broken, as she had moved through the once again empty cottage. But unknown to her then, the White Wolf had left her something to remember him by. Something that she loved more than life itself.

"Momma............" A little voice came. A small face peering out of the door.

"Would you like to carry some wood for me............?" (Y/n) asked. Smiling broadly, as the child nodded enthusiastically, before rushing out of the cottage, and over to his mother. Holding out his arms so that she could load him up with wood.

"You are so strong, Jerod." The healer said proudly, as she placed four large pieces of wood between his arms. The little boy's smile growing ever broader, as he drew himself up to his full height, and puffed out his chest a little before making his way back into the cottage. His mother just chuckling as she watched him disappear into the house.

He reminded her so much of his father. He was the most beautiful of children, those that came to call on the healer always commenting on the fact. And he would take great delight in helping those that were in pain; assuring them that his mother would not be long, and that she would make them all better. (Y/n) quickly wiping away a tear, as she thought about the fact that Geralt didn't even know that he was a father. That he didn't know their son existed; and given that it had been years since she had seen the Witcher, he probably never would.

Not that she had ever informed her son of his lineage; the healer fearing that if people were to hear that Jerod was the son of the Butcher of Blaviken, then there might be those that would come for him; perhaps in hopes of wreaking some kind of revenge on the Witcher. Or worse, the knowledge might even draw the monsters that haunted their world, into their lives.

She did though, tell Jerod stories of Geralt, of Roach and of Jaskier. Of the handsome, brave and fearless Witcher, that would fight the monsters, and the bard that would write songs in celebration of his victories. Jerod always captivated by the tales, never letting his mother leave his room at night, until she had told him his favourite stories; until she had answered all his questions about the pale haired man and his friend, the bard.

"Momma.............?" Jerod said again; his tone filled with concern, as he saw the tears that were making their way down his mother's cheeks. (Y/n) not having realised that she had been crying until that moment. But quickly brushing them away with the back of her hand, as she smiled once more at her son.

"Everything is alright, Jerod. It is just the flowers making me cry." (Y/n) explained, as the little boy made his way over to her, and took her hand, pulling her down to him, so that he could hug her.

"Come on, lets go and get you some breakfast, before people start to turn up." The healer continued, taking her boy into her arms, before making her way back into the cottage.

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Jerod sat next to the window, watching out for anyone that may be coming to the cottage for his mother's help. He always liked to be the first one to see the visitors. The first one to go outside so that he could help the weak and infirm in through the front door. The little boy looking on in fascination, as his mother would do her best to heal any ailment or injury that came to her door. Yet today had been unusually quiet, only three people having come to call: the little boy finding himself thinking about the stories of the Witcher. Of the brave Geralt of Rivia; the boy hoping that one day he might be as strong as the White Wolf, so that he could protect his mother, and anyone that came to see her.

"Momma.............." He called out. Jerod sitting up, as he saw something in the distance.

"Yes, my sweet..................?" (Y/n) replied, as she continued to stir the pot. Sure, that her son was just going to say that this someone was one of those that would regularly come calling.

"There are two men, momma; and one is riding a big, brown horse............" Jerod continued. The healer getting up from the small stool on which she sat, wiping her hands on the apron that covered her skirts, before making her way over to the window. Her eyes growing wide, and her heart thumping against her ribcage, as she saw the visitors. (Y/n) finding it hard to believe that she was seeing what she was seeing.

"Momma..........who is it...............?" Jerod continued, as he got up onto his knees so that he could get a better look. His mouth dropping open as his mother said one word.

"Geralt..................."