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“You can’t keep this up.”
Geralt sighs, winces when she wraps the bandage as tightly as she can, braces himself for another argument. He’s so tired, and he wishes she would just leave it alone. Arguing about it makes it only more difficult to keep going, and they must keep going.
“What, do you think she would thank you if you found her and then died at her feet?” Yennefer insists, eyes sparkling with anger. Her voice shakes, he isn’t sure if from anger or worry. His money is on the former: she was never too patient when it comes to his recklessness, nor does she appreciate it when she has to repeat herself. She has, after all, already made it very clear what she thinks of his insistence to keep going instead of looking for someone to heal him.
“I won’t,” he says, evenly. “I’ll be fine.”
He may not be certain, but the wound should heal. Pain is nothing he can’t withstand, an eventual infection nothing he can’t push through, the bits of poison travelling through his blood nothing his body can’t deal with. It makes no sense, to delay their search only for him to be more comfortable during their journey. Not when Ciri is so far away and they are being so slow at playing catch-up.
“Not if you keep going like this, you won’t,” she hisses.
Her tone tells him that he shouldn’t be antagonizing her, and it’s only half-heartedly that he tries to argue, though he does believe he is doing the right thing. “Ciri—”
“And what of me, Geralt?” she cuts him off, somehow even angrier than before. “Why do I have to watch you die of your own stupidity? Do you care at all about what that will do to me?”
He doesn’t have a good answer to that. In fact, pretty much all that he can think about is the way his stomach took a hopeful leap, in spite of everything, because they certainly haven’t been acting as lovers, these days. Because he’s pretty sure she never forgave him his wish, and he never quite worked on fully trusting her again after she betrayed them.
Although, truth be told, he trusted her enough to have her train Ciri, to have her at his side in his search for her, even if without her magic she isn’t as much help as she would have once been. He kind of assumed that her frustration at that was what was actually moving her protests, rather than love for him.
It’s heart-warming, in a way, to hear her imply that she’d be distraught over his death.
Unfortunately, Ciri is still out there, and they need to find her.
He sighs, reaching out to hold her hand. She lets him, lips pressed together and eyes running from his gaze. “Yen,” he says, gently. “I’ll be fine. I promise. You don’t need to worry.”
She scoffs, shaking her head and still not looking at him. Her eyes seem a little wet, but he has no intention to point that out. “I won’t shed a tear for you, you stubborn idiot,” she says, her voice only a little shaky. She’s still holding his hand.
He smiles, yet tasting nostalgia in the back of his throat. “Come on,” he says, giving her an encouraging tug before pushing himself up, deeming that they have rested enough. “Let’s go find our Ciri.”