To Heal A Lonely Heart

Not All Tears Are Evil

"I can't stop," I laughed through the tears, cupping my husband's cheek, "But these tears aren't evil. I love you. So much. And so much more, every time you mention our child."

Geralt turned his head beneath my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm, before turning back to capture my lips in his. The kiss was sweet, full of love and salty from my tears. My tears – caused by chaotic emotions, let loose by happiness – a reminder why our love seemed to multiply with every passing day.

We parted after a long time, the sun already descending when we opened our eyes again. My tears had stopped, all that remained was a soft, loving smile on both of our faces. Carefully, Geralt sat me from his lap onto the bed, then stood to undress before slipping into bed next to me.

I watched him, I always did, never getting enough of this gorgeous man, his large, toned body, his gentle, loving soul hidden beneath the cold, annoyed and often sarcastic exterior.

A gentle breeze entered the room through opened windows and I shivered, hugging my arms around me. I stood and went to shut the windows, the room now cool, but Geralt beat me to it, reaching the window just before me. He was standing so close again, I could feel the heat radiating off his body. One step forward and I was enveloped in his warmth again, his chin resting on the top of my head.

"That cold?" his deep chuckle rumbled more through my chest against his than through my ears.

"Mhh," I only hummed in response, snuggling closer to him.

With another chuckle, he let go of me and took a step back, chuckling even more when I pouted at the loss of contact. Planting a gently kiss to my forehead, Geralt put his hands on my hips, gathering the fabric of my dress in his fists before lifting it off my body. I raised my arms to assist him, wrapping them around his neck once the dress was gone, tossed to the floor.

Again, strong arms picked me off the floor and carried me over to the bed; only that this time, Geralt didn't set me down. With my arms and legs wrapped around his neck and hips, his hands holding me up by the back of my thigh and the small of my back, he lied down on his back, my small body draped over his large one, covering us with the big blanket.

I sighed at the warmth seeping from his body into mine and snuggled closer to him, nuzzling my head to the hollow of his neck.

"Good night, my love," he murmured, and, with a hand touching my belly as much as our current position allowed him, added, "Good night, little one. I love you two."

"Good night, me minne. We love you too," I whispered back, my lips softly grazing the soft yet stubbly skin of his neck as another tear dropped from my eye to his shoulder.

"Oh, no. Don't start again," my witcher cooed.

I smiled, pressing my lips to his neck. "It's the last one, I swear. I'm just so happy, minne."

"I know. I am too," he hummed, holding me a little closer.

I fell asleep to the soft beating of three hearts, oblivious to the fact that my husband stayed awake for hours, watching me sleep soundly on his chest, listening for out any sound that could belong to a possible threat, his swords within reach next to the bed. He'd do anything to keep us safe.

***

Jaskier stayed with us for a week, helped with the chores like he usually did: tending to the goats and chickens, helped with the late summer harvest, helped me hanging up the laundry – since, face it, I was tiny and the lines way too high. Geralt did his usual chores: chopping wood, feeding and grooming the horses, and fully committed to his latest one, keeping me safe.

The moment he finished his task, he was by my side. I would have loved to watch him work, arguing that if I was close, he'd be able to keep an eye on me, but since he was working with an axe, he wouldn't let me.

All chores left for me were doing laundry, cleaning and cooking; the last always under the watchful eyes of my husband as he made sure that I didn't come close a knife. If something had to be cut, he was the one to do so. If it was a lot to cut, Jaskier had to help. But I was not allowed to touch a knife, not even my sheathed sword when I tidied the house.

That didn't change much when Jaskier went to the village to stay at the small inn there. He would, actually, still come to our house every day, helping with everything. He'd come shortly before noon and leave in the afternoon. His agreement with the innkeeper was that the bard would perform for tips and was housed and fed at the inn for free.

We sometimes came with him in the evening, watched him perform. Even though Geralt wasn't thrilled about it – he didn't really like the bards made up songs about the witcher's feats nor did he like being in a crowd with his pregnant wife (every single person could be a threat). But I liked getting out of the house for some time. Here, where the people accepted us like we were, a half-elf and a witcher, I felt at ease going into town.

The evenings we went to the tavern to watch our friend perform, Geralt would have me sit on his lap, one arm around my waist or shoulder possessively, one hand resting protectively on my ever growing bump. The bigger the bump grew, the more Geralt would growl at onlookers. And once I finished the sixth month, he'd always bring his sword when we went out.

I didn't agree with it, in my eyes he was exaggerating, but I couldn't stop him. And neither could he. It was as if it was in his nature, protecting the precious life inside me whatever it may take.