Work Text:
“Love isn’t real anyway, so what the hell does it matter?”
“What do you mean love isn’t real?”
“There’s no definition to it, nor logic, reason- the word has no meaning, and what use is there to a meaningless word?” she’d said, “It’s a useless term to cover an even more meaningless sentiment that no one can possibly prove even exists,”
Her friend had rolled her eyes, the action innocent though it had been impossible to miss that she’d looked appalled for a second before she’d drawn her mask back into place.
“Just because you’ve never experienced it doesn’t mean it isn’t real, Yennefer,”
That had hurt, but only for a moment before Yennefer had bitterly scoffed at whichever part of her it was that assigned any value to the acerbic words. What should any of it matter?
What should it matter, that no one had ever spoken the words I love you in her presence, let alone aimed at her?
Who should she have wanted to hear the words from anyway? Surely not her parents, who could hardly stand to look at her on their best days? Not her envious friends who’d sell her out for even a shred of her power. Not any of her previous lovers, the irony be damned.
Not Istredd, who might have at least imagined he’d seen a version of her he was convinced he loved, once. Someone she might’ve been in another life, had the world been kinder.
Or maybe he’d just loved the idea of her, the idea of someone wanting… whatever it was he expected from her.
What did it matter, when neither the sentiment nor the word could possibly carry any meaning, when no one could truly define what any of it was supposed to be?
She’d never have believed anyone if they’d said the word anyway- even if it meant anything at all, how would she ever trust anyone to be genuine when it was such an easy, effective way to manipulate a gullible girl?
(And how would she ever believe anyone deemed her genuinely worthy of such a weighty, bittersweet emotion, her mind unhelpfully supplied.)
Besides, she’d never really known anyone she wanted to hear the word from, much less anyone she’d ever wanted to say it to. Who could possibly be worth being so vulnerable for?
“Don’t be foolish, darling. Believing in such childish concepts will only leave you open to be used up and left behind,”
Yennefer could remember the conversation perfectly, word for word, though she couldn’t rightly recall which of her friends’ faces to attach to the memory.
She’d stood by her words, then.
She'd truly believed there was nothing more to the concept of love than a fairytale sold to manipulate minds weaker than hers.
Quietly she leaned back, biting the inside of her cheek as her eyes found a head of messy hair on a short, slim frame, locks waving this way and that in the wind despite the braid as the girl worked through her swordplay routine.
She felt stupid for that conviction now.
Love, Yennefer had come to realize, was a fragile, intangible thing.
She understood why no one had ever been able to put a meaningful definition to it.
Love was found and kept somewhere between the way the sunlight caught in wide, green eyes and the reality of being trusted so fully when she wasn’t sure she deserved it.
Each time the child she was never supposed to have refused to do as she was told, each time she pretended to be mad despite knowing the girl could do nothing heinous enough to make Yennefer forsake her- every single time she realized once more what a fool she’d been to be so convinced.
How could love possibly not be real, when there were people like Cirilla- people who deserved so much more love than anyone could possibly offer them. People who could make even someone like her feel like her heart might burst when they give only so much as a smile. People so worth burning the world to the ground for, should the need and opportunity arise.
Cirilla hadn’t ever said she loved her -at least not in so many words- but for once in her long life Yennefer didn’t feel like something she gave needed to translate to something she could take in return.
She was content loving the child, knowing that if nothing else she could channel that affection into a feral desperation to keep her safe, should danger come for her.
And it would- danger was in store for her, that much Yennefer was sure of, but she’d be there to protect her.
They’d be there.
Arms tightened around her waist, and a quiet hum washed against the side of her neck, hardly more than a breath and somehow more than enough to draw her full attention.
Because there was him, too.
He hadn’t said it out loud either, that he loved her.
She’d heard him think it though. Heard it echo through his mind and leak into his body, flow through his arms to his hands, where it only ever finally fought its way out of his being in gentle touches when he assumed her to be asleep or too far gone with pleasure to be aware.
Childishly, selfishly, from him she did wish to hear it said aloud, though she wouldn’t be able to explain what difference it would make.
What difference did it make, when there was no rhyme nor reason to the word or the sentiment it encompassed?
And maybe love was also found somewhere between the warmth of his chest at her back, and the horrifying experience of being known, fully and irrevocably.
Loving him was terrifying.
Not like the furiously protective, violently maternal love she felt for Cirilla- that was unnerving in its own right.
No, loving him was maddeningly, infuriatingly raw- almost painful in its intensity and more than a little frightening in how desperately it made a treacherous part of her desire to be vulnerable with him.
It was also stupidly, astonishingly wonderful though.
It was fucking fantastic, feeling the foolish fluttering in her stomach whenever he hid that frustratingly handsome grin against her skin, or when she’d been difficult and he said her name in the fondly exasperated rumble of his voice.
Her fingers trailed feather-light along a scar on his forearm, just to bait him into pressing his lips against her neck.
It worked like a charm as it always did, and though her eyes didn’t stray from Cirilla it was difficult to think of anything other than the safety of Geralt’s arms around her.
He was supposed to be giving the girl pointers on her training, and Yennefer was… well, there wasn’t really a purpose to her joining them, other than the pressing need to be near them whenever the opportunity allowed.
It hadn’t been good for either of their work ethic, nor her self respect, but she could hardly bring herself to care, when his calloused thumb caught on the fabric of her dress where he’d been rubbing gentle circles against her middle.
And when Cirilla performed a particularly impressive looking string of movements and she could basically feel Geralt’s chest swell with pride against her back, any of those thoughts were forgotten entirely.
Maybe that was love too, she thought, but how could she be sure, when there was no way to define the word nor the sentiment behind it?