Golden Fields

sins of the heart

Geralt had stayed in bed for far to long. He laid listening to the trees, how his brothers, his father laughed at the bardling around their breakfast. Had Geralt not known who the boy was, he would have assumed that his family was sharing a meal with Jaskier like many winters before.

Those sounds had faded about an hour ago, now the fortress laid silent. No doubt that his family had gone out to do their duties, Geralt thought, realising he should be up completing his own duties. Instead he remained watching the ceiling until he heard a knocking on his door.

Boreu poked his head in, with a lopsided grin. “Geralt!”

“Bear?” Geralt responded, a little unimpressed with the nickname the family had given their new son.

Boreu had taken that as permission to walk in, and climb into bed with geralt. Geralt would have been startled by this had it not been a daily occurrence for the week they’ve been here.

“I had a dream last night,” Boreu started.

“As most do,” Geralt mumbled in response, before being slapped in the face by a pillow. Geralt almost smiled, almost.

“Listen would you? I was a child. I was out in the pine forest by our house. The pines grow big and untamed out there. And I was trying to get home before dark set in. But it got real scary, the trees were rustling –“

“Sounds petrifying,” Geralt quibbled, interrupting the boy again. It earned him only a glare before the boy was back to sharing his story.

“The trees were rustling, and I heard a bunch of real spooky voices, and I was running. My heart was pounding. I was following this broken path – I didn’t recognise it. But it felt right you know?”

Geralt hummed in agreement. Hoping to get this story over and done with.

“Anyways, something was snapping at my heels, but I broke through the tree and there it was, this big old camp. I had a feeling it was my fathers camp. Felt safe. My clothes and arms were all torn up from the brambles. And I called out. And you climbed out of the tent and ran to me. How strange?”

Geralt frowned. Frowned and looked to the boy, sickly sweet he was. But Geralt didn’t want him to go and get attached to geralt. He couldn’t hurt the little bear like he had Jaskier.

“Strange indeed.” Geralt responded, a little touched that he was Boreu’s father in his dreams. That’s more the Geralt had ever had since Ciri.

“What did you dream about?”

“I don’t dream,” Geralt huffed.

“Yes you do! You just said everyone does.” Boreu teased, flopping down side Geralt and making himself comfortable.

“Fine. I dreamt about waking up here, but something was missing. I could feel it. Something hard had pulled me away from the important thing. And I vowed that nothing would tear it from my heart ever again. So I got dressed, and I rode.”

“Uh huh, rode where?” Boreu asked, genuinely curious.

“To a cottage. It was night. The window were glowing. I jumped from my horse and climbed the steps, and I looked in and –“ Geralt paused, catching himself.

“And?”

“And someone I once loved stood there, holding a baby. A baby that was ours. I knew it. So I knocked. And a a woman I once knew answered. I – I asked her to let me in. Told her my story. But she only sighed. She sighed and told me ‘that no one by that name lives her anymore,’ and I got angry. Yelled at her. Told her I can see them in the window. And when I looked back the house had gone dark. They were gone. And I woke up.” Geralt frowned, “Every night they’re like that.”

“What are?” Boreu asked softly, rolling to look at geralt.

“My dreams. There’s always that house. It’s always lit up in the beginning. By the end it’s always cold and lonely.” Geralt half whispered, feeling very exposed suddenly.

“Da always said dreams always showed you the sins you never atoned. Sins against our hearts. I know my sin against my heart and soul was wishing my father would come back. Used to tell everyone that he was a pirate, and that he drowned a sea. It was better then not being wanted.”

Geralt frowned. Jaskier was always wise like that. He was dumb as river rocks, but the bard could always navigate the workings of the heart.

“My mother gave me to Vesemir when I was young. I felt unwanted for a long time. Until I realised no one would love me like my father does. He was rough, and mean and strict. But he never let us think we weren’t loved. He was always inconsolable when one of his sons died in the trials of otherwise.” Geralt whispered, only wanting the cub to hear him. These were the moments he lived for now.

“I’m doing the trials next week, I’m scared.” Boreu whispered under his breath. Fear rattling through every word.

Geralt’s heart almost crawled out of his throat. Since when was the cub doing the trials? He never agreed to this – Boreu was his responsibility. He knows how Jaskier felt about Geralt going through the trials, he could not imagine the pain it would cause the bard for his own son to go through them.

“You’re not doing the trials,” Geralt growled.