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It starts by accident with a young Gweld during his early years on the path, when he happened to be infected by the sort of chivalry Geralt had been so obsessed with as a boy. He steps in on behalf of a young maid being menaced by one of her father's hired hands, making something of an impression on the rest of the house when he gets her father involved to be sure it won't happen men. Even comes back the next summer to make sure she hasn't had any more issues, netting an invitation to dinner by the master of the house before heading on his way.
Gweld never returns to that sleepy town, but the tale of a witcher threatening the local lord's guards on behalf of his daughter's virtue spreads. And for once the story doesn't immediately sour. A chambermaid, quite taken with the romance of it all, tells a rather embellished tale while visiting her cousin in the next town. To hear her tell it the lord's daughter and the witcher were in love, but knew it would be forbidden. After winning her father's favor in her defense, the witcher swore always to return to her side. She in turn swore to remain loyal to him and never wed another for all her days. Even after he failed to return, no doubt fallen to some terrible beast, the lord's daughter kept her promise and never wed another.
When the cousin retells the story to a friend years later it changes again. Instead of the local lord's daughter it's the daughter of a merchant, and the witcher saves her from bandits rather than her own father's guards. The friend in turn tells a stall owner at market the next month, and from there the story spreads, until suddenly there's half a dozen different tales of who the witcher saved but all of them agreed she swore to remain faithful and even now pines for her missing love. And as the tale spreads it becomes more about the maid never marrying another, even though her witcher never returns. Within the course of a generation Marrying a Witcher comes to mean a woman who intends not to marry at all.
Still, it's not incredibly widespread, and the phrasing is obscure enough to baffle newcomers. The practice is explained, somewhat meanderingly, to a young acolyte of Miletele traveling from one temple to another. Years later she'll recall the conversation, misremembering most of it, when a young noblewoman comes seeking sanctuary from her fiance.
She tells the Mother that there is a tradition, in a country village she once traveled through, for a young woman who had no interest in marriage to swear before Miletile to marry a witcher. And since witchers are known to all as wandering monster hunters it is hardly remarked upon for the wife to go years without seeing such a husband. They may, in fact, never see such a husband again.
The temple Mother finds this strange, for surely there are not enough witchers to make such a practice possible, even for a small town. But the young maid is desperate enough to latch onto the idea. Her guardian uncle is a pious man and will not demand she annul a marriage sworn before the goddess so she may marry her terrible fiance. If a witcher can be found she will gladly pay whatever of her dowry she was able to bring with her for such a contract.
Moved by her desperation, and the maid in question having the funds to post a contract without dipping into church coffers, the Mother posts a contract for a witcher. A neighboring town has had issues with a nightwraith, and she puts that on the noticeboard, using church funds to pay the fee. And when the witcher shows she sends him on the contract before bringing up the second request. When the priestess asks her why, much agitated on the maidens behalf, the mother informs her she will first see what sort of man the witcher is before marrying him to their ward. When the witcher returns, with a quiet tale and a burnt locket in the hopes the temple will pray for her lost soul, the Mother accepts his character and asks him of their second contract.
The witcher listens silently to her tale. Of a betrothed who flattered a young girl's guardian with an eye for her dowry, while threatening to treat the girl herself most heinously when they wed. He raises a brow at their suggestion, but considers it silently before replying. And when he does speak it is not a simple yes or no, but an honest concern that he could not swear before the goddess to be loyal all his days, as he may long outlive any human lass. Instead, he offers humbly, he could promise 50 years or more, in those exact words.
The temple Mother considers for a time before agreeing. The witcher's oath may last more than both their lifetimes, or only the most likely lifespan of the maid herself. And Miletile must smile on a soul willing to grant 50 years of their life to a stranger simply to save them from a monstrous man.
The wedding is a small affair, and exchange of vows and a handfasting. The witcher is respectful of the maiden's fear, touching her not at all beyond the hand needed for their vows, and departing as soon as the wedding is complete rather than risk her fearing he would insist on sharing her marriage bed. Yet his name is signed beside hers on the wedding vow the Mother greets the lady's uncle with when he comes to the temple to bring her home. And as the young maiden had suggested her guardian is a pious man who will not insist his niece recant a vow made before the goddess no matter how baffled he is that she did so, and with a man he'd never met.
Her fiance, however, is of a different mind, and tries to insist on an annulment, badly startling the maid's uncle who had thought him likewise a pious man. And after some short, hostile dialogue, there is even an attempt by the young man to kidnap the maid and thus force the marriage. The uncle finally sees his true character and has him removed from their lands, dedicating the rest of his life to keeping his niece safe from the sort of men he almost doomed her too.
Life moves on, and the young lady remains faithful to her absent husband, becoming Married to a Witcher in the very way the phrase had come to mean, only far more literally and legally binding. For she found, once her uncle passed away, that her husband inherited his lands as part of her dowry. And so for decades she ran the estate in her husband's name, a fair if strict noble landowner in her own right. Until finally one evening, 5 decades past her wedding night, she passed peacefully in her sleep.
The lady had left provisions for her death, and standing orders for the start of the next planting season besides, so there wasn't immediately trouble when the long absent lord did not return upon his lady's death. But unlike a clever spouse-of-convenience an estate cannot be merely left to run on its own, bettering over time if left to its own devices. An estate cannot reallocate funds for unexpected repairs without the signature of its lord or lady. Cannot, indeed, dip into the lord's funds for the money to pay a witcher of his own profession should the need arise.
And so, when it became clear the lord would not be returning on his own, a desperate request was sent out seeking the witcher whose name matches one signed on a marriage agreement all those years ago. Or at least proof of his demise that a new lord may inherit. And thus does a long absent witcher re-enter the tale.
Eldred of the Griffins is wary of the searchers at first, there is little reason for any group to be seeking a witcher by name. Especially when asking for either his whereabouts or news of his demise. His mind is changed by a farmer's son who flags him down on his way to market to beg that the master witcher visit the lord's manor if he has any news at all, for without it they will not survive the winter. Eldred cannot turn down an honest plea for aid and sets his feet for the manor to see what sort of lord would hold enough of a grudge against him to threaten his own people's lives if he was not found.
Only, when he arrives he finds it was no tyrant that sent for him, but a nervous porter, and he himself was the sought for lord. In signing his name beside that of a noble lady's, though he never knew her house or uncle's title, he not only saved her from a cruel husband, but from needing a husband at all. Instead she claimed the land in his name and ruled it in his stead. And from what the servants tell she never once looked for marriage, nor took another to her bed. Not for 50 years until her death.
But now her time had ended, and she had long outlived any cousins who were close enough to her to think of the lands as their inheritance. No one was fighting over this out of the way holding, too busy fighting over nearer and dearer inheritances, and so it was left to him, her husband to be the lord.
And Eladred, a noble Griffin and sworn to their code, must take up the duties he had so unwittingly bound himself to all those years ago in a small temple in a town miles away. He isn't trained for this, and never expected anything of the sort when he offered his 50 year vow to save a young maid at the behest of the temple Mother. But he's too honorable a man to walk away when he is, however unwittingly, a part of the reason they could even find themselves in this mess.
So he stays, still walking the Path but carefully remaining within a distance where he can be summoned back to give his permission to dip into the lord's coffers should a disaster occur. He tells himself it's just a short term thing, until one of the other Lord's realizes that his wife is dead and comes looking. Then he can hand over the estate and move on.
But they don't come, too used to her ruling at a distance perhaps. It's not likely the whole kingdom just forgot there is land out here, even if it is a little out of the way. But as long as he keeps sending taxes it seems nobody cares to check who's in charge.
One year turns into five, and five into ten. It's been long enough since he could leave for Kaer Saren that his brothers likely believe he's dead, and Eladred isn't having any luck finding any of them on the road to carry a message of his circumstance. He misses his family, deeply enough it aches, and while he is fulfilling the rest of his obligations he has gotten far too used to traveling the world to be comfortable in one place as long as he has been.
At least there are still monsters for him to battle, to fulfill the purpose the Griffins were created in defense of the people who now rely on him. Monster hunting is simpler than running an estate, for all its complexities, so when there's a sighting of what appears to be a ghoul he is sorry to admit that he jumps at the chance to investigate.
It turns out to be fleder, which Eladred pieces together once he's finally able to look at one of the bodies. The witcher prepares carefully, tracking its den, warning away the city guard, and attacking during the day to limit the beast's options for escape.
He's not expecting the portal that opens in the middle of the fight, spitting forth a dark haired sorceress and an infant. As it snaps shut behind her the sorceress's eyes widen, and she throws herself backwards as the beast turns abruptly and lunges for the infant instead. It doesn't make it, a second portal opening where the sorceresses had just been, only to wink out with a gurgle as the fledder crashes straight into the man stepping through from the other side.
It's enough of a distraction to buy Eladred the seconds he needs to reach the fleder's side and chop off the beast's head in one desperate swing.
Then there's silence, horrifying and full of relief at the same time, before the babe begins to cry. The sorceress curses, pulling the babe close and watching Eladred warily. Eladred finds he isn't sure what to say to reassure her he's no threat to the babe. So instead he kneels beside the other mage's corpse, and verifies the man died as soon as his throat was torn open.
“Good,” the sorceress breathes when he tells her, shoulders uncoiling faintly. “That merely leaves where to go now.” She glances down at the still screaming babe with a grimace. “She can't go back.”
“Then stay,” Eladred offers, realizing he can. “At least until you find someplace else to go.”
The sorceress gives him a truly dubious look, but accepts.
Many years from now there will be a new tale, of a lost princess, a witcher, and a sorceress, but this is not that tale. Instead a doomed babe is given another chance at life through the accidental use of a fledder. And when the lady of the house tells the story of her parents, no one is the wiser that she ever had royal blood, not even herself. Instead she will tell of a lady who ruled the lands on her own most of the year. A mother who had married a witcher of the Path for the right to rule in his stead while he was gone. Of a father who returned only rarely, yet they were always happy when he did. How, eventually, they fell in love, and left to travel the Path together while she rules in their names.
And when this new tale spreads to the Temple of Miletile miles away, or further to a sleepy hamlet where Gweld once saved a young maid in his youth, they shake their heads at the strangeness of nobles and move on, unaware of their ancestor’s part in quite accidentally making it all possible.