Work Text:
It was only a little accident, nothing major or concerning: if she hadn’t been so focused on Ciri, on her movements and her expressions as she tried to complete the task, she probably would have reacted quickly enough to protect herself entirely. As it is, she was caught off-guard, and when Ciri’s chaos exploded in the wrong direction she was sent flying across a considerable distance.
The landing wasn’t too disastrous: the worst damage that she suffered was to the wrist that broke her fall. Even that is only sore, though, not even worthy of the magic that it would take to fix it up.
If anything, she thinks it’s a good reminder to think over.
The fact that Ciri isn’t able to properly direct her efforts isn’t particularly concerning to her, as of right now: she’s new to this, so full of potential and anger, so easily frustrated when things don’t go her way, of course she needs some time to adjust. What does concern her is Ciri’s reaction to her little outbursts: every time something like this happens, she looks terrified.
It’s clear that she fears the power she has, that she can’t fully accept it as a blessing and that she refuses to give in to it—that, she thinks, is going to be a problem in the long run. She can’t fulfill her full potential and learn how to properly control her chaos if she is unwilling to embrace it, if she sees it as a monster ready to swallow her whole as soon as she stops paying attention.
Experience tells her that now Ciri will be reluctant to resume her magical training for at least a couple of days. She will ask Geralt for extra sword practice before Yennefer can call her out on it, and he won’t ask any questions, of course, only looking between them with a frown. Yennefer wonders if when that happens he’s imagining her being horrible to his child, enough to scare away even such a stubborn little girl—but then again, if he did think that he’d probably take Ciri as far away from her as possible without so much as a second thought.
Regardless, Ciri’s dodging will continue until Yennefer will sternly tell her to resume her work. She wonders if she should push, if letting her take a break when something like this happens only reinforces the idea that she is supposed to be scared.
“Does that hurt?”
She starts, turning around at the sound of Geralt’s voice and trying not to look too panicked, even though she hadn’t realized he was coming. When his words register, she realizes that she was rubbing her injured wrist as she thought the matter over.
“A little,” she says, shrugging dismissively. “It’s fine, nothing to worry about.”
He hums, unconvinced, and the little stretch of time that he spends observing her is enough for her wariness to emerge, because, while he isn’t being all that cold to her these days, they rarely talk outside of what’s necessary for two people travelling together and looking after a wanted child.
“If you are here to scold me for pushing her too far,” she says, figuring that Ciri was upset when they went back to camp, so maybe she talked to him and that’s what prompted this conversation. “These things happen. She has a lot of power that she doesn’t know how to control.”
He looks a little confused for a few moments, so maybe that wasn’t what he came to talk about after all.
“I wouldn’t know. You are the expert,” he says. He holds out some bread. “I brought you food.”
She blinks at him only for a few moments, accepting the offer with a quiet ‘thank you’ and turning back to stare in front of her, fully expecting him to turn around and go back to Ciri, having performed his duty as the noble savior of everyone within his reach by making sure she doesn’t starve to death.
Of course, because Geralt has the extremely annoying habit of subverting her expectations, he keeps standing there instead, for long enough that she contemplates commenting on it, only to eventually step forward and sit down next to her, not close enough to touch, but—close. It does something to her chest, having him right there. She hates it.
She turns to raise her eyebrows at him, but he isn’t looking at her, staring straight ahead instead, like she isn’t even there.
Well, two can play at that game, she thinks, so she turns back as well.
The silence is not as uncomfortable as it ought to be, and she spends it looking for foul motives to his behavior, because surely he didn’t just want her company, he must want something—well, she won’t ask. She’ll just sit there slowly chewing her bread until he’ll either get tired and leave or admit to whatever he just tried to bribe her for.
“Can you tell that I have no idea what I’m doing?” he eventually asks, so quietly that she almost misses it. She turns without thinking, her silent vow to ignore him forgotten, and he looks—tired. Shoulders heavy and a frown on his face, both of which tug at her heartstrings, unfortunately.
“No,” she says, sincerely. “You’re good with her,” she adds then, because that is true as well. Ciri adores him, and he clearly reciprocates her affection. It’s painful to watch, sometimes, in the way beautifully bright things sometimes are. Especially when they are not yours to keep.
He snorts, shaking his head. “I can’t protect her, Yen.” There’s a little broken inflection in his voice that makes him sound so vulnerable she can barely keep herself from reaching out. “There’s danger everywhere, and I’m just—I’m supposed to be shown a beast, kill it, move on. I’m not made for protecting a little girl that the entire Continent is trying to get their hands on, I—” He trials off, shoulders somehow slumping even more. “They are coming for her from all directions, I know I can’t protect her and I hate it.”
You’re doing your best, she should probably say. You’ve kept her alive for this long too, maybe.
Yet, the only thing that she think about is his insistence that they are coming for Ciri from all directions, and how she’s pretty sure that he’s including her in that statement. That he’s telling her he feels like has a snake in his bed, and though it’s out of necessity it isn’t manageable, to have to watch your back even in the small windows of time when you should be safe.
“Would it make you feel better if I left?” she asks, and she means for it to be a selfless offer, though a touch of bitterness colors her words anyway.
Geralt turns to her then, openly taken aback. “No,” he says, after a small eternity. “I’m grateful to you, for teaching her how to protect herself.”
She smiles, but she thinks it comes out ugly, with the way her chest is rupturing. “You were talking about how everyone is trying to take her. Am I meant to believe that you don’t fear I might turn around and do that too?” Again, she doesn’t add. She doesn’t need to.
His face hardens, and she sees him swallow around the realization that she is correct. “Are you going to try and harm her?” He, too, leaves the ‘again’ unspoken. She isn’t sure if she is grateful for it or not.
“No,” she answers, firmly and sincerely, with no need to think. It takes effort to hold his gaze, but she manages.
He nods. “I’m trying to trust that,” he offers, softly.
It is, she knows, all that she can ask for, though something in her hisses viciously at it anyway, wanting so badly to start again like nothing ever happened to begin with. She knows it isn’t possible, neither with him nor with Ciri, but—he’s trying, and that, according to her foolish, bleeding heart counts for something. It’s enough to make her hope.
His expression is gentle, and not for the first time since when they left Kaer Morhen she desires nothing more than to bury herself in his arms.
“You won’t regret it,” she vows, and she knows she’ll do anything in her power to keep that promise.
His smile is small but genuine, and it makes her feel like she’s doing something right in the world, after all. He carefully and gently takes her hand, leaving her ample time to move – she doesn’t, she’s locking her fingers around his before she has even had time to think – and turning away from her once again, keeping his eyes ahead and looking a little less defeated.
I’m grateful that you are trying, she wants to say. I’m grateful to be here. I love her, and I still love you, she thinks, the words trying to break through her chest and getting stuck between her ribs.
Someday, she vows. Someday soon.