geralt is a witcher (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ofrivia) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} somerealityrpg,@ 2020-01-14 06:06:00 |
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| Entry tags: | active: yennefer |
who geralt & yen
what finding each other
where streets — the villa
when right after she arrives
warnings FTB | WITCHER ENDING SPOILERS
STATUS COMPLETE
"Magic is organizing chaos. And while oceans of mystery remain, we have deduced that this requires two things. Balance and control. Without them, chaos will kill you."
"Chaos is the most dangerous thing in this world. It is all around us all the time. Volatile and powerful. Magic is organizing chaos."
For decades, Yennefer thought she could control it; she even fooled herself into thinking she could keep her emotions in check. They weren't only a weakness, but also extremely dangerous. If she let them flow freely, she was terrified of what she could be capable of. She could bring the kingdoms to their knees, she could undo the delicate balance between the humans and the mages that the Chapter and the Brotherhood had tentatively built over the ages. But this was war, and Nilfgaard didn't warrant her mercy- not after slaughtering so many of her brethren.
" We can't give up. You... You saved me. I won't ever forget that."
" It's your turn... to save these people, this Continent. This... is your legacy."
"How? I can't!"
"You can! Everything you have ever felt, everything you've buried... Mm... Forget the bottle. Let your chaos explode."
Yennefer was notorious for telling people what they wanted to hear in order to get ahead, but her words to the only true mother figure she ever had? They were all true. She would forever be grateful to Tissaia for saving her life, and for giving her the words she needed to hear to unleash her chaos.
What Tissaia said, struck her to her very core, and for the first time since that night with the lightning in Tor Lara, Yen allowed her chaos to take the reigns. With a scream, she drew the fire away from the Keep at Soden Hill and turned the flames onto the Nilfgaardian army.
The stench of their burning flesh was still overwhelming her sense as she felt the ground beneath her begin to swallow her whole. This wasn't right. This wasn't her magic, and as she spiraled down into the abyss, she thought- 'so this is it, this is how I die...at the hands of my own chaos.'
It seemed fitting after everything; she was coming full circle back to the first night at Aretuza when she attempted to take her own life. At least, she had control over how she died, but it wasn't the sweet solace of death that greeted her.
Instead, she found herself in strange surroundings. Everything about this was foreign, the buildings were not like any she had ever seen, and as she backed up onto the weird black stone beneath her feet- a loud blast of a car horn invaded her ears. She was probably quite the sight, covered in the grime from the battle- hair, and eyes wild with chaotic energy. Jumping back onto the sidewalk, she ignored the letter that floated down from above and immediately began summoning a portal. She had to get back to Soden Hill, she had to finish what she started,
But, when she threw herself into the swirling pool, she found herself right back where she stood only a few seconds prior. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she summoned another, and when it only produced the same results, she kept repeating the vicious cycle, her screams of rage filling the air with every failed attempt.
It wasn't until she was drained that she fell to her knees, her hand still outstretched but only capable of producing weak ripples of energy- tears streaking her dirty face. What had she done?
Staying in the villa didn’t suit him well. It would be easier to find Geralt down a random alleyway, sharing stories with a crazy homeless man and his dog than to find him in the building (unless otherwise summoned). Now that Ciri was there, he did have the compulsion to stay closer to what was ostensibly home. Short a horse to talk to, however, he had settled on stray dogs and their off center owners during the day.
It was absolutely a relief to know the Child Surprise had arrived, but now that she was here--he was at a loss as to what to do about it. She had no family left, much like himself, and had to live with a dangerous mutant because of an absurd ancient law. So, he gave her space. As much as he wanted to get to know the Princess of Cintra, he also didn’t want to scare her away (though he doubted much could after what she had been through). He also needed time to think.
Children had never crossed his mind, not until he’d spoken of them with Yen on the mountain that had irrevocably changed their lives. As he sat against the cool brick wall of some random business, his friend wandered off and asked that he look after the nameless pitbull puppy curled up on a flattened cardboard box. Geralt had suggested the name Roach, but that hadn’t gone over well with its owner.
He offered the puppy one of the chew toys that had been donated to it, a rare grin appearing on his face when it eventually reached out to clamp down on it. Normally smaller animals didn’t abide by witchers, they tended to hiss or bark and run away. He supposed that had something to do with this particular sphere he now occupied, or perhaps it was just the innocence of the pup that had yet to acknowledge the darkness Geralt possessed.
“Go on, you need to strengthen that bite,” he coaxed, pleased to see the puppy getting into the activity. Just as the owner rounded the alley’s corner, Geralt’s ears pricked at a familiar sound. Her magic had a signature, electrified the air somehow, and it set him on edge. He dropped the toy and the puppy retreated back to its spot on the cardboard to gnaw away at it. Brow furrowed, Geralt shook off the sensation as a product of Goodland until he took note of the man’s bewildered face.
“What?”
“I saw some crazy lady out there…” He pointed with his free hand to the left, the direction from whence he’d come. “Kept reappearin’ and disappearin’... anyway--”
Rather than take the soda the man had procured for them both and was no offering, Geralt muttered, “Fuck,” and stood up abruptly. “Save it.”
With that, he grabbed his jacket from the dumpster and headed in the direction that the man had said, and also to where his gut told him to go. It was the last attempt Yen made to portal out of this new world that he nearly dropped his jacket in shock. He had sensed her, denied it outright, and now his eyes couldn’t possibly be deceiving him. How long had it been since he had lost her? His eyes were wide as he took in the battle-worn sight of her.
Everything gone wrong between them had to be instantly set aside. Geralt went to her wordlessly, draped the jacket over her shoulders as he crouched down beside Yen, and he pulled her close. Having never seen the woman who haunted his every dream like this before, he was at a loss, but destiny guided his words in the end.
“Yen,” he started with her name wrapped in the warmth of his gritty voice. “Stop.”
Yen’s emotions were almost too much for her to handle, they had become the thing that Tissaia cautioned her against so many moons ago. They were consuming her just as the flames consumed her enemies, and she felt like she may crumble from the weight. She got it now. She understood why a creature like her was meant to keep her feelings under lock and key, but now that they were free she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to reel them back in.
The jacket wrapping around her shoulders didn’t register, nor did the warmth of an all too familiar embrace. It wasn’t until his voice broke through the deafening sound of her sobs, that she realized she was no longer alone.
Desperation took the reins, and she frantically wrapped her fading energy crackling fingers into the front of his shirt.
At that moment she didn’t think of the circumstances of their parting. Yennefer hid it well back then- the overwhelming pain that she easily shoved down into the darkest parts of her heart, when it was revealed that what they shared was fabricated by a wish he made. It wasn’t real. Like so many other things in her life, the love she possessed for this man? The magnetic force that pulled her to him? All of it was a lie.
And, although it caused her physical distress every time she ignored the urge to seek him out? Her strong will always prevailed, but now? When her heart was raw and sliced open? All she wanted was to never leave his arms. It was a cruel joke, for fate to send him to her in her weakest moment, but the part of her that still loved him? Needed this more than she would ever admit aloud.
“Geralt...make it stop.”
It ate him up to see her this way. Having no idea what happened to her, Geralt didn’t know what more he could do except to hold her tight. The energy she expelled burned the air, probably singed his clothes, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting her through whatever hell she was suffering in the moment.
Silently, he stroked her hair and offered only a rumbling in his chest as a sign of comfort. He wanted to know everything, what (or who) had brought her to this point, why she felt like a chaotic volcano overflowing into him, and most importantly: how he could make it stop as she requested. There wasn’t a djinn here, not so far as he knew, that could help him take it away from her. So, he would simply be the shield to take in the worsts he had to give. He knew he deserved it anyway.
“Let’s get you inside,” he voiced after a moment, then lifted her up into his arms. “Hold on to me.” Frail wasn’t a way that he would have ever described Yennefer, but right now she felt so delicate in his grasp. A determined look of boiling rage--rage at what had caused this pain in her--kept people from gawking at them for too long as he practically stomped his way toward the villa. His bed had remained untouched, she could rest in it until they discovered where she was meant to be staying.
He knew damn well she wouldn’t want to stay with him once this situation had passed. Even knowing that, Geralt didn’t care. Whether he knew it consciously or not, he loved Yennefer and would do anything for her. Gods, he would give anything just for her to believe that was real, too, but now wasn’t the time. At the very least, she could stay in his unused bed and he would resume sleeping outdoors with strangers who found him both frightening and intriguing.
The least he could do was offer her a bit of solace as he made his way down the sidewalk. “It’s… going to be alright, Yen.”
She tried to allow the strokes to her hair calm her. No one would ever expect the Witcher to possess this kind of gentleness. He was viewed as a stone-cold man, void of feelings but Yennefer knew different. On numerous occasions- behind closed doors- she had been privy to just how soft Geralt could be when he wanted to. Maybe he was the exception to the rule, but the sorceress knew all of the things he was capable of feeling.
Yen didn’t protest as he lifted her into his arms. Any other time she would be fighting him tooth and nail, attempting to claw her way out of his embrace, but she didn’t have it in her to fight him. Later she would tell herself that it was because she had expelled all of her strength but in reality? He was exactly what she needed.
“Nothing is going to be alright,” she said with a panicked laugh before eyes screwed closed as he carried her toward the building. She couldn’t look at her surroundings, because it would only add to her distress. It was bad enough that she felt as if this was her own personal hell- that she was paying for the chaos she had unleashed. If Yen permitted herself to really see the world she was in, she may slip further into her madness.
Luckily, Geralt was there to anchor her. Despite her volatile feelings toward him? He was steadfast- ever the hero he would never claim to be. Just being in his clutches, was enough to slightly subdue the chaotic eruptions of magic from her fingertips that were still tangled in the front of his now charred shirt.
“Sodden Hill,” she finally uttered in her delirium. “I have to get back…”
Sodden Hill. The name struck a chord. The name slowed his hurried steps to a halt and he looked at her, bewildered. She had been there when Nilfgaard attacked? No good, he thought. She would need more than a healer, more than he could give her. Could he even do anything for her? Geralt shook his head at the self-doubt, because nothing would stand in his way of ensuring she got through this with her sanity intact.
When he’d turned up in this brand new hellscape, he had just gotten through the delirium of the ghoul bite. Sarissa had helped fix the lingering wound, and his witcher mutations had done the rest. How would she fare here? No matter, she could take energy from him in order to repair herself if need be. Not too much, because Ciri needed him now. He couldn’t give everything up for Yennefer, no matter how much he desired it.
“You can’t,” he dismissed roughly, then began racing down the path to the villa. His glare continued to aid in keeping people out of his way. This city was somehow worse than Novigrad and he detested it. Before long, he caught sight of the towering building that housed so many wayward souls. Instinctually, he shifted Yen in his arms so that her head was nestled in the crook of his neck. Seeing the city in her state would not help, he would protect her from it as best he could. Once they were behind closed doors, he could better assess her state.
Ignoring the looks of people going in and out of the villa, Geralt practically stomped his way to the elevator and maneuvered his hand to press the button to go up. Impatiently tapping his foot, he said nothing until it arrived and pushed past those getting off and offered no apologies for the rudeness. He fumbled with the floor and resumed holding Yen in a more secure fashion.
“Almost there, just hang on,” he offered finally. Exhaling audibly when the doors opened again, he managed to get them into the door and paid no need as to whether anyone was in the shared quarters as he barged in and went directly to the room claimed in his name. There he placed her down on the edge of the bed and retreated back a step, wondering if she’d still want him there now that he’d brought her to a semblance of safety.
“Rest here,” he said gruffly, now looking her over carefully. She had truly seen hell.
’You can’t.’ Those two little words were like being punched in the gut. What did he know that she didn’t? Had he seen? Had he been there? Was all of this for nothing? She refused to believe any of it. There wasn’t a person alive that could tell Yennefer of Vengerberg what she couldn’t do. She would find a way. Didn’t she always?
She wouldn’t comment on it just now, mostly because she was distracted by the familiar scent of him as her face pressed against his neck. It was overwhelming in a different sense, and she cursed herself for getting lost in it. Yen couldn’t allow herself to do this, but she was weak in more ways than just physically. So, she clung to him desperately despite her entire being screaming at her to do otherwise. Yen could hate herself for this later, for now, she needed his strength.
Yen kept her eyes closed, even when she could feel them moving upward, she didn’t sneak a peek. She didn’t want to see- she didn’t want to partake in this world that she refused to accept as a reality, and it wasn’t until she felt the soft mattress below her body that her eyes fluttered open.
Her vision spun for a moment, before focusing on the Witcher standing before her. At first, she couldn’t speak and simply raised her hand expelling energy she didn’t have to seal the door with a magical barrier behind him.
The last thing she needed was to be left alone. Yen prided herself on being the strongest woman she knew. She was a force to be reckoned with, but all of a sudden she realized she was coming full circle and felt like she had that first night in Aretuza.
As far as he was concerned, Yennefer of Vengerberg was the strongest woman in the world. It needn’t be said, it was simply a fact. The last thing he suspected Yen needed was him, but then she surprised him by barring the door. His eyes followed the spell quickly, an eyebrow quirked almost suspiciously before looking back at her. If she wanted him, needed him there, then she would have him in any way she saw fit.
He crouched down in front of her, then reached for her hands to warm them between his own. Bringing them up to his lips, he gave her knuckles a ghost of a kiss. He had no idea what to do for her, what she needed, but Yen was stuck with him. Eventually, perhaps once she was resting, he would have to break that seal on the door to go ensure that Ciri wasn’t panicking without him around, but Ciri could wait for now.
“I’m here, Yen,” he said as softly as his voice could manage. It was the gentler side he only displayed around her. “Tell me what you need. A bath, some food, just to rest--” He glanced at the bed almost anxiously, not because he expected anything from her, far from it. Geralt only realized just how much he’d missed sleeping beside her. At night, when he was wide awake, and only since Ciri had arrived, he’d been accompanied by her sleeping form until he, too, succumbed grudgingly to rest.
Things had gotten far more complicated than he could have ever imagined, and in such an unusual way.
With an uneasy sigh, he stood only to sit down beside her and drew her close to him. His cheek rested against her hair and he breathed the scent of Yen in again, the aroma relaxing some of the tension in his build. It was faint but there, the battle couldn’t remove every trace of her, not from his senses.
Yen breathed a sigh of relief when he made no move to leave her, despite the barrier she made to keep him inside. She knew he could easily break it if he wished, but the fact that he didn’t spoke volumes. After the hell, she had just been through, she could afford herself at least one night with the man she loved, couldn’t she? She could forget the wish and the fact that her feelings were a farce? She deserved that much and could go back to hating him tomorrow.
As his lips brushed her knuckles, her eyes closed once more. She heard him list off potential needs and they all sounded like heaven- especially a bath- and her lips parted to say so, but then he was at her side, pulling her into his arms once more, damning her further, and causing her heart to beat wildly in her chest.
Curling up against him, she held fast once more- her tale slipping out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “I tried to help them. There were sixty of us...I don’t know how many are left. My friends...they ran them through like their lives meant nothing. The keep was inflamed, I could hear the screams. My hands, Geralt…” Pulling back she lifted her hands, palms up, to stare at them like they were foreign objects. “My chaos. I let it go. I burned them all.”
The tale was as grim as he’d expected. War was brutal, and the fact that she had partaken in it left him feeling worse for her. As soon as she lifted her hands, he lowered one of his down upon them and grasped them tightly. Actual magic from chaos was well beyond his understanding, he had the Signs and nothing more of what they used to mutate him. She must have spent more energy than possible and he was grateful that she was alive.
“I heard the battle,” he said quietly, stroking her hands while pressing a kiss into her hair. “I was delirious, but heard it. I’d no idea you were there, I would have…” Gone to help her despite knowing she wouldn’t want his help? Yes, that was absolutely what he wanted to say, but let the silence fall temporarily. With an uneasy sigh, he leaned his forehead against the crown of her head wearily.
“They stood no chance with you there,” he said finally, sincerity wrapped in every syllable. Geralt didn’t use hyperbole like bards, nor did he say anything he didn’t truly mean. He had said it would be alright, but in his heart he meant it. One way or another, he would ensure that she got back on her feet and grew used to where they were living. Living, not trapped, because trapped wouldn’t be conducive to the residents of the Ostrich Villa.
Impressed that she had unleashed a literal hell upon the soldiers and still stood standing, Geralt simply found it another reason to love her. Not that he would admit to as much, of course. It wouldn’t do him any good, it wouldn’t get him back in her favor. She was done with him, and this momentary lapse in need of comfort was just that. He had no intention of taking advantage of it, but he also knew he couldn’t lose himself in it either.
“What else happened,” he coaxed gently.
“You were there,” she whispered- her fingers tangling with his. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have stopped it.” Her earlier suspicions were being confirmed, but he had been delirious? For all of her selfishness, she was suddenly concerned. Drawing back to meet his eyes, her violet gaze wide with a million questions, she slipped one hand out of his grasp to brush a strand of white hair away from his face. “What happened to you?”
The confidence that laced his words when he spoke of her abilities made her bury her face back against the skin of his neck. Yen was so incredibly tired. Deep down she knew she had incinerated every last bastard on that battlefield, but how could she be sure? That’s why she needed to get back. She needed to know.
“I don’t know. The last thing I remember is the fire,” she finally let out in a hurried rush of words.
His heart ached for her in a way he didn’t think possible. It hurt worse to know that tomorrow, once she had fully recovered, this tiny bit of solace they’d found together would be over. That wasn’t important right now, he reminded himself. Her fingers left his and he found himself gazing into her eyes. Was it so wrong to say to hell with his wish and beg her to do the same? It made no difference to him, he loved her. Nothing else really mattered.
Cupping the back of her head, he resumed the gentle ministration of running his fingers through her hair. It was soothing to him, but he hoped more so for her. He wouldn’t speak of the condition of the battlefield, not knowing firsthand what happened. He hadn’t even known she was there in the first place, which cut him deeply. What if she’d fallen in battle?
Then, he would have fallen to the ground dead, too, he recalled quickly.
“Rest your mind,” he suggested, another kiss pressed into her hair and there he lingered. The thought of detaching from her was a worse fate than dropping dead once she did. “For now, it’s over, Yen. You should rest, regain your strength.”
Yennefer longed for the time before she knew the truth of the wish. She couldn’t deny that she loved Geralt. The woman loved him fiercely, and she knew it was something she would have to live with for the rest of her life. Never in all of her years had she wanted something like she wanted him, and the pain of knowing that what they shared wasn’t real? Well, it was unbearable, especially given her current state.
So, she chose to ignore the facts just for tonight. “Rest my mind.”
Closing her eyes at the hand that ran circles through her hair, she pushed everything else aside and allowed it to soothe her, and when she lifted her head again it wasn’t to look in his eyes. Leaning forward she pressed her lips to his. It wasn’t as passionate as their last kiss, because this wasn’t passion. This was solace.
“I’m so tired, Geralt. Aren’t you tired? Don’t leave me.”
If comfort was what she needed, this was the most he could do, or so he thought. When he felt her lips brush across his own, he felt a dam burst through of emotions that had otherwise been locked away, key forgotten. It almost didn’t register at first, but when it did he melted into the moment. When it ended, he could hardly catch his breath from the surprise. Forehead resting against hers, eyes closed, he found himself desperately wishing this could last.
How could he have let her walk away? Because he cared about her agency, about her choice. Geralt had done nothing to take it from her with his wish, but nothing he could say or do would convince her otherwise. He’d resigned himself to that just as much as he was about to resign himself to being a salve for the night.
He’d been tired since he arrived. After the taxing journey in the back of a cart, seeing his mother, and staggering through the woods only to arrive in this mystifying place, Geralt was beyond tired. No persuasion was needed, as if he would deny her anything. So, he shifted them both carefully onto the bed so that he lay atop her frame. Smoothing her hair back, he took a moment to memorize her war-smeared face and drank it in once more, for he knew it would be longer still until this ever happened between them again.
Once he was assured she’d fallen asleep from comforting her, he made sure she was tucked in gently and went to dispel the door. Ciri would come looking for him soon and he had some explaining to do while Yen slept. The rest of the night, he would spend with his back against the door and eyes glued to her until sleep would ultimately take him, too.
"Chaos is the most dangerous thing in this world. It is all around us all the time. Volatile and powerful. Magic is organizing chaos."
For decades, Yennefer thought she could control it; she even fooled herself into thinking she could keep her emotions in check. They weren't only a weakness, but also extremely dangerous. If she let them flow freely, she was terrified of what she could be capable of. She could bring the kingdoms to their knees, she could undo the delicate balance between the humans and the mages that the Chapter and the Brotherhood had tentatively built over the ages. But this was war, and Nilfgaard didn't warrant her mercy- not after slaughtering so many of her brethren.
" We can't give up. You... You saved me. I won't ever forget that."
" It's your turn... to save these people, this Continent. This... is your legacy."
"How? I can't!"
"You can! Everything you have ever felt, everything you've buried... Mm... Forget the bottle. Let your chaos explode."
Yennefer was notorious for telling people what they wanted to hear in order to get ahead, but her words to the only true mother figure she ever had? They were all true. She would forever be grateful to Tissaia for saving her life, and for giving her the words she needed to hear to unleash her chaos.
What Tissaia said, struck her to her very core, and for the first time since that night with the lightning in Tor Lara, Yen allowed her chaos to take the reigns. With a scream, she drew the fire away from the Keep at Soden Hill and turned the flames onto the Nilfgaardian army.
The stench of their burning flesh was still overwhelming her sense as she felt the ground beneath her begin to swallow her whole. This wasn't right. This wasn't her magic, and as she spiraled down into the abyss, she thought- 'so this is it, this is how I die...at the hands of my own chaos.'
It seemed fitting after everything; she was coming full circle back to the first night at Aretuza when she attempted to take her own life. At least, she had control over how she died, but it wasn't the sweet solace of death that greeted her.
Instead, she found herself in strange surroundings. Everything about this was foreign, the buildings were not like any she had ever seen, and as she backed up onto the weird black stone beneath her feet- a loud blast of a car horn invaded her ears. She was probably quite the sight, covered in the grime from the battle- hair, and eyes wild with chaotic energy. Jumping back onto the sidewalk, she ignored the letter that floated down from above and immediately began summoning a portal. She had to get back to Soden Hill, she had to finish what she started,
But, when she threw herself into the swirling pool, she found herself right back where she stood only a few seconds prior. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she summoned another, and when it only produced the same results, she kept repeating the vicious cycle, her screams of rage filling the air with every failed attempt.
It wasn't until she was drained that she fell to her knees, her hand still outstretched but only capable of producing weak ripples of energy- tears streaking her dirty face. What had she done?
Staying in the villa didn’t suit him well. It would be easier to find Geralt down a random alleyway, sharing stories with a crazy homeless man and his dog than to find him in the building (unless otherwise summoned). Now that Ciri was there, he did have the compulsion to stay closer to what was ostensibly home. Short a horse to talk to, however, he had settled on stray dogs and their off center owners during the day.
It was absolutely a relief to know the Child Surprise had arrived, but now that she was here--he was at a loss as to what to do about it. She had no family left, much like himself, and had to live with a dangerous mutant because of an absurd ancient law. So, he gave her space. As much as he wanted to get to know the Princess of Cintra, he also didn’t want to scare her away (though he doubted much could after what she had been through). He also needed time to think.
Children had never crossed his mind, not until he’d spoken of them with Yen on the mountain that had irrevocably changed their lives. As he sat against the cool brick wall of some random business, his friend wandered off and asked that he look after the nameless pitbull puppy curled up on a flattened cardboard box. Geralt had suggested the name Roach, but that hadn’t gone over well with its owner.
He offered the puppy one of the chew toys that had been donated to it, a rare grin appearing on his face when it eventually reached out to clamp down on it. Normally smaller animals didn’t abide by witchers, they tended to hiss or bark and run away. He supposed that had something to do with this particular sphere he now occupied, or perhaps it was just the innocence of the pup that had yet to acknowledge the darkness Geralt possessed.
“Go on, you need to strengthen that bite,” he coaxed, pleased to see the puppy getting into the activity. Just as the owner rounded the alley’s corner, Geralt’s ears pricked at a familiar sound. Her magic had a signature, electrified the air somehow, and it set him on edge. He dropped the toy and the puppy retreated back to its spot on the cardboard to gnaw away at it. Brow furrowed, Geralt shook off the sensation as a product of Goodland until he took note of the man’s bewildered face.
“What?”
“I saw some crazy lady out there…” He pointed with his free hand to the left, the direction from whence he’d come. “Kept reappearin’ and disappearin’... anyway--”
Rather than take the soda the man had procured for them both and was no offering, Geralt muttered, “Fuck,” and stood up abruptly. “Save it.”
With that, he grabbed his jacket from the dumpster and headed in the direction that the man had said, and also to where his gut told him to go. It was the last attempt Yen made to portal out of this new world that he nearly dropped his jacket in shock. He had sensed her, denied it outright, and now his eyes couldn’t possibly be deceiving him. How long had it been since he had lost her? His eyes were wide as he took in the battle-worn sight of her.
Everything gone wrong between them had to be instantly set aside. Geralt went to her wordlessly, draped the jacket over her shoulders as he crouched down beside Yen, and he pulled her close. Having never seen the woman who haunted his every dream like this before, he was at a loss, but destiny guided his words in the end.
“Yen,” he started with her name wrapped in the warmth of his gritty voice. “Stop.”
Yen’s emotions were almost too much for her to handle, they had become the thing that Tissaia cautioned her against so many moons ago. They were consuming her just as the flames consumed her enemies, and she felt like she may crumble from the weight. She got it now. She understood why a creature like her was meant to keep her feelings under lock and key, but now that they were free she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to reel them back in.
The jacket wrapping around her shoulders didn’t register, nor did the warmth of an all too familiar embrace. It wasn’t until his voice broke through the deafening sound of her sobs, that she realized she was no longer alone.
Desperation took the reins, and she frantically wrapped her fading energy crackling fingers into the front of his shirt.
At that moment she didn’t think of the circumstances of their parting. Yennefer hid it well back then- the overwhelming pain that she easily shoved down into the darkest parts of her heart, when it was revealed that what they shared was fabricated by a wish he made. It wasn’t real. Like so many other things in her life, the love she possessed for this man? The magnetic force that pulled her to him? All of it was a lie.
And, although it caused her physical distress every time she ignored the urge to seek him out? Her strong will always prevailed, but now? When her heart was raw and sliced open? All she wanted was to never leave his arms. It was a cruel joke, for fate to send him to her in her weakest moment, but the part of her that still loved him? Needed this more than she would ever admit aloud.
“Geralt...make it stop.”
It ate him up to see her this way. Having no idea what happened to her, Geralt didn’t know what more he could do except to hold her tight. The energy she expelled burned the air, probably singed his clothes, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting her through whatever hell she was suffering in the moment.
Silently, he stroked her hair and offered only a rumbling in his chest as a sign of comfort. He wanted to know everything, what (or who) had brought her to this point, why she felt like a chaotic volcano overflowing into him, and most importantly: how he could make it stop as she requested. There wasn’t a djinn here, not so far as he knew, that could help him take it away from her. So, he would simply be the shield to take in the worsts he had to give. He knew he deserved it anyway.
“Let’s get you inside,” he voiced after a moment, then lifted her up into his arms. “Hold on to me.” Frail wasn’t a way that he would have ever described Yennefer, but right now she felt so delicate in his grasp. A determined look of boiling rage--rage at what had caused this pain in her--kept people from gawking at them for too long as he practically stomped his way toward the villa. His bed had remained untouched, she could rest in it until they discovered where she was meant to be staying.
He knew damn well she wouldn’t want to stay with him once this situation had passed. Even knowing that, Geralt didn’t care. Whether he knew it consciously or not, he loved Yennefer and would do anything for her. Gods, he would give anything just for her to believe that was real, too, but now wasn’t the time. At the very least, she could stay in his unused bed and he would resume sleeping outdoors with strangers who found him both frightening and intriguing.
The least he could do was offer her a bit of solace as he made his way down the sidewalk. “It’s… going to be alright, Yen.”
She tried to allow the strokes to her hair calm her. No one would ever expect the Witcher to possess this kind of gentleness. He was viewed as a stone-cold man, void of feelings but Yennefer knew different. On numerous occasions- behind closed doors- she had been privy to just how soft Geralt could be when he wanted to. Maybe he was the exception to the rule, but the sorceress knew all of the things he was capable of feeling.
Yen didn’t protest as he lifted her into his arms. Any other time she would be fighting him tooth and nail, attempting to claw her way out of his embrace, but she didn’t have it in her to fight him. Later she would tell herself that it was because she had expelled all of her strength but in reality? He was exactly what she needed.
“Nothing is going to be alright,” she said with a panicked laugh before eyes screwed closed as he carried her toward the building. She couldn’t look at her surroundings, because it would only add to her distress. It was bad enough that she felt as if this was her own personal hell- that she was paying for the chaos she had unleashed. If Yen permitted herself to really see the world she was in, she may slip further into her madness.
Luckily, Geralt was there to anchor her. Despite her volatile feelings toward him? He was steadfast- ever the hero he would never claim to be. Just being in his clutches, was enough to slightly subdue the chaotic eruptions of magic from her fingertips that were still tangled in the front of his now charred shirt.
“Sodden Hill,” she finally uttered in her delirium. “I have to get back…”
Sodden Hill. The name struck a chord. The name slowed his hurried steps to a halt and he looked at her, bewildered. She had been there when Nilfgaard attacked? No good, he thought. She would need more than a healer, more than he could give her. Could he even do anything for her? Geralt shook his head at the self-doubt, because nothing would stand in his way of ensuring she got through this with her sanity intact.
When he’d turned up in this brand new hellscape, he had just gotten through the delirium of the ghoul bite. Sarissa had helped fix the lingering wound, and his witcher mutations had done the rest. How would she fare here? No matter, she could take energy from him in order to repair herself if need be. Not too much, because Ciri needed him now. He couldn’t give everything up for Yennefer, no matter how much he desired it.
“You can’t,” he dismissed roughly, then began racing down the path to the villa. His glare continued to aid in keeping people out of his way. This city was somehow worse than Novigrad and he detested it. Before long, he caught sight of the towering building that housed so many wayward souls. Instinctually, he shifted Yen in his arms so that her head was nestled in the crook of his neck. Seeing the city in her state would not help, he would protect her from it as best he could. Once they were behind closed doors, he could better assess her state.
Ignoring the looks of people going in and out of the villa, Geralt practically stomped his way to the elevator and maneuvered his hand to press the button to go up. Impatiently tapping his foot, he said nothing until it arrived and pushed past those getting off and offered no apologies for the rudeness. He fumbled with the floor and resumed holding Yen in a more secure fashion.
“Almost there, just hang on,” he offered finally. Exhaling audibly when the doors opened again, he managed to get them into the door and paid no need as to whether anyone was in the shared quarters as he barged in and went directly to the room claimed in his name. There he placed her down on the edge of the bed and retreated back a step, wondering if she’d still want him there now that he’d brought her to a semblance of safety.
“Rest here,” he said gruffly, now looking her over carefully. She had truly seen hell.
’You can’t.’ Those two little words were like being punched in the gut. What did he know that she didn’t? Had he seen? Had he been there? Was all of this for nothing? She refused to believe any of it. There wasn’t a person alive that could tell Yennefer of Vengerberg what she couldn’t do. She would find a way. Didn’t she always?
She wouldn’t comment on it just now, mostly because she was distracted by the familiar scent of him as her face pressed against his neck. It was overwhelming in a different sense, and she cursed herself for getting lost in it. Yen couldn’t allow herself to do this, but she was weak in more ways than just physically. So, she clung to him desperately despite her entire being screaming at her to do otherwise. Yen could hate herself for this later, for now, she needed his strength.
Yen kept her eyes closed, even when she could feel them moving upward, she didn’t sneak a peek. She didn’t want to see- she didn’t want to partake in this world that she refused to accept as a reality, and it wasn’t until she felt the soft mattress below her body that her eyes fluttered open.
Her vision spun for a moment, before focusing on the Witcher standing before her. At first, she couldn’t speak and simply raised her hand expelling energy she didn’t have to seal the door with a magical barrier behind him.
The last thing she needed was to be left alone. Yen prided herself on being the strongest woman she knew. She was a force to be reckoned with, but all of a sudden she realized she was coming full circle and felt like she had that first night in Aretuza.
As far as he was concerned, Yennefer of Vengerberg was the strongest woman in the world. It needn’t be said, it was simply a fact. The last thing he suspected Yen needed was him, but then she surprised him by barring the door. His eyes followed the spell quickly, an eyebrow quirked almost suspiciously before looking back at her. If she wanted him, needed him there, then she would have him in any way she saw fit.
He crouched down in front of her, then reached for her hands to warm them between his own. Bringing them up to his lips, he gave her knuckles a ghost of a kiss. He had no idea what to do for her, what she needed, but Yen was stuck with him. Eventually, perhaps once she was resting, he would have to break that seal on the door to go ensure that Ciri wasn’t panicking without him around, but Ciri could wait for now.
“I’m here, Yen,” he said as softly as his voice could manage. It was the gentler side he only displayed around her. “Tell me what you need. A bath, some food, just to rest--” He glanced at the bed almost anxiously, not because he expected anything from her, far from it. Geralt only realized just how much he’d missed sleeping beside her. At night, when he was wide awake, and only since Ciri had arrived, he’d been accompanied by her sleeping form until he, too, succumbed grudgingly to rest.
Things had gotten far more complicated than he could have ever imagined, and in such an unusual way.
With an uneasy sigh, he stood only to sit down beside her and drew her close to him. His cheek rested against her hair and he breathed the scent of Yen in again, the aroma relaxing some of the tension in his build. It was faint but there, the battle couldn’t remove every trace of her, not from his senses.
Yen breathed a sigh of relief when he made no move to leave her, despite the barrier she made to keep him inside. She knew he could easily break it if he wished, but the fact that he didn’t spoke volumes. After the hell, she had just been through, she could afford herself at least one night with the man she loved, couldn’t she? She could forget the wish and the fact that her feelings were a farce? She deserved that much and could go back to hating him tomorrow.
As his lips brushed her knuckles, her eyes closed once more. She heard him list off potential needs and they all sounded like heaven- especially a bath- and her lips parted to say so, but then he was at her side, pulling her into his arms once more, damning her further, and causing her heart to beat wildly in her chest.
Curling up against him, she held fast once more- her tale slipping out of her mouth before she could stop herself. “I tried to help them. There were sixty of us...I don’t know how many are left. My friends...they ran them through like their lives meant nothing. The keep was inflamed, I could hear the screams. My hands, Geralt…” Pulling back she lifted her hands, palms up, to stare at them like they were foreign objects. “My chaos. I let it go. I burned them all.”
The tale was as grim as he’d expected. War was brutal, and the fact that she had partaken in it left him feeling worse for her. As soon as she lifted her hands, he lowered one of his down upon them and grasped them tightly. Actual magic from chaos was well beyond his understanding, he had the Signs and nothing more of what they used to mutate him. She must have spent more energy than possible and he was grateful that she was alive.
“I heard the battle,” he said quietly, stroking her hands while pressing a kiss into her hair. “I was delirious, but heard it. I’d no idea you were there, I would have…” Gone to help her despite knowing she wouldn’t want his help? Yes, that was absolutely what he wanted to say, but let the silence fall temporarily. With an uneasy sigh, he leaned his forehead against the crown of her head wearily.
“They stood no chance with you there,” he said finally, sincerity wrapped in every syllable. Geralt didn’t use hyperbole like bards, nor did he say anything he didn’t truly mean. He had said it would be alright, but in his heart he meant it. One way or another, he would ensure that she got back on her feet and grew used to where they were living. Living, not trapped, because trapped wouldn’t be conducive to the residents of the Ostrich Villa.
Impressed that she had unleashed a literal hell upon the soldiers and still stood standing, Geralt simply found it another reason to love her. Not that he would admit to as much, of course. It wouldn’t do him any good, it wouldn’t get him back in her favor. She was done with him, and this momentary lapse in need of comfort was just that. He had no intention of taking advantage of it, but he also knew he couldn’t lose himself in it either.
“What else happened,” he coaxed gently.
“You were there,” she whispered- her fingers tangling with his. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have stopped it.” Her earlier suspicions were being confirmed, but he had been delirious? For all of her selfishness, she was suddenly concerned. Drawing back to meet his eyes, her violet gaze wide with a million questions, she slipped one hand out of his grasp to brush a strand of white hair away from his face. “What happened to you?”
The confidence that laced his words when he spoke of her abilities made her bury her face back against the skin of his neck. Yen was so incredibly tired. Deep down she knew she had incinerated every last bastard on that battlefield, but how could she be sure? That’s why she needed to get back. She needed to know.
“I don’t know. The last thing I remember is the fire,” she finally let out in a hurried rush of words.
His heart ached for her in a way he didn’t think possible. It hurt worse to know that tomorrow, once she had fully recovered, this tiny bit of solace they’d found together would be over. That wasn’t important right now, he reminded himself. Her fingers left his and he found himself gazing into her eyes. Was it so wrong to say to hell with his wish and beg her to do the same? It made no difference to him, he loved her. Nothing else really mattered.
Cupping the back of her head, he resumed the gentle ministration of running his fingers through her hair. It was soothing to him, but he hoped more so for her. He wouldn’t speak of the condition of the battlefield, not knowing firsthand what happened. He hadn’t even known she was there in the first place, which cut him deeply. What if she’d fallen in battle?
Then, he would have fallen to the ground dead, too, he recalled quickly.
“Rest your mind,” he suggested, another kiss pressed into her hair and there he lingered. The thought of detaching from her was a worse fate than dropping dead once she did. “For now, it’s over, Yen. You should rest, regain your strength.”
Yennefer longed for the time before she knew the truth of the wish. She couldn’t deny that she loved Geralt. The woman loved him fiercely, and she knew it was something she would have to live with for the rest of her life. Never in all of her years had she wanted something like she wanted him, and the pain of knowing that what they shared wasn’t real? Well, it was unbearable, especially given her current state.
So, she chose to ignore the facts just for tonight. “Rest my mind.”
Closing her eyes at the hand that ran circles through her hair, she pushed everything else aside and allowed it to soothe her, and when she lifted her head again it wasn’t to look in his eyes. Leaning forward she pressed her lips to his. It wasn’t as passionate as their last kiss, because this wasn’t passion. This was solace.
“I’m so tired, Geralt. Aren’t you tired? Don’t leave me.”
If comfort was what she needed, this was the most he could do, or so he thought. When he felt her lips brush across his own, he felt a dam burst through of emotions that had otherwise been locked away, key forgotten. It almost didn’t register at first, but when it did he melted into the moment. When it ended, he could hardly catch his breath from the surprise. Forehead resting against hers, eyes closed, he found himself desperately wishing this could last.
How could he have let her walk away? Because he cared about her agency, about her choice. Geralt had done nothing to take it from her with his wish, but nothing he could say or do would convince her otherwise. He’d resigned himself to that just as much as he was about to resign himself to being a salve for the night.
He’d been tired since he arrived. After the taxing journey in the back of a cart, seeing his mother, and staggering through the woods only to arrive in this mystifying place, Geralt was beyond tired. No persuasion was needed, as if he would deny her anything. So, he shifted them both carefully onto the bed so that he lay atop her frame. Smoothing her hair back, he took a moment to memorize her war-smeared face and drank it in once more, for he knew it would be longer still until this ever happened between them again.
Once he was assured she’d fallen asleep from comforting her, he made sure she was tucked in gently and went to dispel the door. Ciri would come looking for him soon and he had some explaining to do while Yen slept. The rest of the night, he would spend with his back against the door and eyes glued to her until sleep would ultimately take him, too.