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Geralt winced and groaned under Yennefer's hands. He looked down at the blue magic flowing from them into the wound in his abdomen.
"This isn't necessary. We could have done it the usual way."
Yennefer didn't raise her eyes, but they sparkled with violet scorn.
"What, by rubbing some herbs into your wounds, and hoping for no permanent muscle damage?" She scoffed.
"You have the expression of a child, by the way. This is no worse than a tooth extraction or a broken leg," she scolded him.
"Except I am not a child. I'm a witcher. My body can heal itself just fine."
"Stop talking. And sit still. Or it will scar badly, into the muscle," the sorceress hissed at Geralt.
He sighed and gave up arguing.
After a moment of silence he spoke again, softer, this time.
"Thank you, Yen. I do appreciate you helping me. Even if it isn't necessary." I don't want you to think I'm some prick , he thought to himself.
"You are a prick sometimes," the sorceress scowled, then sighed and crossed her arms. "Your movement won't be restricted and you won't suffer from permanent, painful cramps. You're welcome. It will leave a scar, but it will only be cosmetic."
"Thank you, Yen," Geralt repeated. "One scar won't really matter at this point. I've got more scars than skin anyway."
Yennefer let her gaze linger on his bare chest for a few moments. Geralt couldn’t tell whether her expression was one of approval or disapproval.
"Yes, you seem to have acquired new ones each time I see you," she snarked, but the scorn in her voice was softer this time.
She was still looking intently at his chest.
This was the first time Yen had actually mentioned the extent of his scarring.
He didn't really know why, but many of the women he bared his chest to, liked to spend much time tracing his scars with their fingertips, asking how he got each one. Yen had never asked, though.
The sorceress scoffed and stared daggers into his eyes. "Maybe I thought you'd appreciate me not prying. Believe it or not, I'm a considerate person sometimes."
"I know," the witcher shrugged and reached for his shirt. Then he realized Yen was still looking at him. Am I in trouble? He looked up at her.
Yen looked away and fiddled with the hem of her sleeve for a moment.
"Well, are you going to be a good witcher and tell me?"
Geralt almost managed to suppress a smile of triumph. He patted his thigh, on the side opposite of the wound Yen had just been treating.
"Sit on my lap for your story time."
The sorceress rolled her eyes at him again, a little too dramatically for Geralt to take her seriously.
"Careful, though," he said. But he didn't need to. Yen was always careful.
She took her seat in his lap, carefully avoiding his sore side, and placed her hand on his abdomen. On the marks from a pitchfork.
She didn't need to ask - she had been there, in Rivia, and kept him alive. She looked down and fluttered her eyelashes.
Her fingers traced over his abdomen until they stopped at one of his scars.
"What was this one?" she asked quietly.
"Nekker warrior. There were seven of them. Temeria."
Yennefer squinted, then moved her hand. Up to the side of his neck. Suddenly, her fingers emanated magical warmth. He liked where this was going.
"This one?"
"Make a guess." He wouldn't mind dragging this out a little.
"Hmm." Yennefer leaned in and looked at his neck intently. "Something with talons. A striga?"
"That's my girl," Geralt teased. Yennefer scoffed again, but he saw a faint blush.
"Hm. Sword. A man." She frowned as she stroked the mark of a stab wound by his shoulder. Geralt nodded.
"Velen."
Yennefer spent some time studying it. A small jab from the tip of a shortsword.
"Were you wounded at Yaruga?" she asked suddenly.
"Huh? Umm, no. I wasn't."
"Good."
She walked her fingers along Geralt's shoulder and he felt her touch warm up again.
"Bite marks," she wrinkled her nose "Wyvern?"
"Close. A basilisk."
Yen grimaced. "You're lucky it didn't get infected," she scolded him.
"Oh, it did."
The sorcerer groaned in disapproval and placed her hand on Geralt's side. This time he felt electric sparks from her fingertips.
"Kikimora?"
"Good guess. But wrong. I'll give you a hint: Novigrad sewers."
"Hm. A bruxa?"
"An ekimmara. Nasty one. Don't know I'd be sitting here had I been in the sewers alone."
"Hm. Who were you with?"
Oh, shit.
It was too late. Yennefer's body stiffened. The sparks had stopped. Geralt swallowed and looked away. Tried to escape the question, and Yennefer's eyes, which were filling with violet fury. Fuck .
"Yen- shit, I'm sorry I brought it up. It just slipped."
The sorceress' expression darkened.
"With her," she hissed.
Fuck. Stay calm, Geralt. You can still save this.
"In the sewers , Yen. Not the most romantic of settings."
Nope. Wrong choice. You fucking twat.
Yennefer sat up straight, tense with rage.
"And that's supposed to make it better? I do not care if you were in the sewers or in a damned palace. You. Were. With. Her ."
Geralt closed his eyes and breathed deep, trying to think of something to say.
I had lost my memory ; nope, tried that, didn't work.
Change the subject , no, he would be teleported into the nearest swamp for even trying.
It's always been you, Yen, you are the one I love, more than any other woman in this entire world , then why did you go and do that to her, you jackass?
Stop reading my fucking mind , fuel to the fire.
Even with his eyes closed, he felt her burning gaze. As she spoke, her voice sent chills down his spine, as cold as the Wild Hunt.
"I don't want to hear any of your pathetic excuses, Witcher. I have specifically told you, I never want to hear another word of your time with her. In fact, I have told you this more than once. Never!"
Geralt breathed deeply. Once. Twice. Again. There was no way out of this. Fuck it.
Finally, he spoke. His voice came out weaker than he intended; even raspier than usual.
"I am very sorry, Yen."
He opened his eyes and met Yennefer's eyes. This time he didn't look away.
"I didn't intend to hurt you, but I did. I can see you are in pain because of what I've done. Don't--" He hesitated for a moment. "You don't need to say anything right now. You don't have to forgive me."
Yennefer stayed silent for a few moments, mulling over the words.
"You're right," she spoke eventually. "I don't need to forgive you right now. Or at all, for that matter."
She looked down, still tense and stiff. But she didn't leave.
Geralt closed his eyes again and nodded, stiffly. He clenched his jaw. I'm sorry, Yen. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. I'm sorry . But he knew to keep his mouth shut. Yen wouldn't want to hear any of it. He kept his eyes shut for a long time, gently stroking her hip with his thumb.
Eventually, he felt the sorceress' body relax. The anger that had consumed her moments ago slowly melted away, giving way to a mixture of tiredness and resignation. She let out a quiet sigh and allowed herself to lean into his touch slightly. The silence between them was still heavy.
Geralt gently pulled her to his chest and buried his face into her hair, breathing in the scent of lilac and gooseberries. Then he spoke quietly.
"This is all that matters now. You and Ciri. I fought for us, and I will continue to do so. As long as I'm alive, goddamn it."
Yen remained quiet, her eyes fluttering closed. She let out a sigh and reached up to touch Geralt's cheek.
"You better keep that promise, you oaf."
"Oh, I know. The only reason I didn't say, 'may Melitele strike me down if I don't' , is because I fear you more."
Yennefer snorted. "As you should."
They stayed quiet for a while longer.
"Promise me something, Geralt."
"Hm? What is it, Yen?" Anything. Anything you want.
"Promise me you'll always return to me - to us - no matter what happens."
She took a small breath, pursing her lips, her gaze fluttering over Geralt's face.
"Because I can't lose you. I simply can't."
Geralt looked at her and didn’t know what to say. But, instinctively, he nodded.
"Back to you. You and Ciri. I promise."
Yennefer studied his expression. Very closely.
"Swear it to me."
"What?"
"Swear on something you hold dear."
"Is this a trap? Or some power play? Are you serious?" he asked with curiosity, but without a hint of scorn.
"It's none of those things, you idiot", she snapped.
Then she paused and her eyes softened again.
"Please, Geralt. Just swear it."
Geralt studied her face. Knowing her, it was probably both a trap and a power play, but something told him she was also being dead serious. He suddenly understood the weight of what she was asking, and nodded.
"A knight's vow good enough for you? Alright." He took her hand into his.
"I, Geralt of Rivia, swear my loyalty to my lady Yennefer of Vengerberg and our daughter Cirilla of Cintra. This I swear on Roach, I swear on my silver sword, I swear on my last pair of breeches. I swear on my honor as a witcher of the School of the Wolf. For I will always return to my family and put them first before anything else, as long as I am alive." He kissed Yennefer's hand dramatically. "Satisfied?"
She studied his face for a long while. He knew she was searching for something, a hint of attitude, of disingenuity.
"Yes, I suppose that is adequate," she finally said, looking away, and then buried her face into Geralt's chest. "Thank you, Geralt." He could hear a smile in her voice.
He sighed deeply, with genuine relief, and stroked her hair quietly.
"Knew my knighthood would come to be useful one day. Never would have guessed it would be with you though."
"Shut up, you oaf."
"Isn't being into the whole knight thing a little banal for a sorceress?" he teased.
"Certainly not as banal as this whole witcher thing.” She looked up, just to bury violet daggers into him. "Just because I'm a powerful sorceress doesn't mean I can't appreciate some knightly manners and chivalry."
"I will bear that in mind, O noble lady."
"Shut up. You boor. Not a word."
Geralt chuckled and wrapped his arms around Yennefer, and she did the same. They stayed like that for a few moments.
"Did you ever learn what Queen Meve dubbed me, in the spur of the moment, when she knighted me after the battle at Yaruga?"
Yennefer lifted her head and looked at him intently. Whether she was trying to read his mind or work it out by herself, Geralt couldn't tell. Slowly, her eyes widened.
“No fucking way. ” She suppressed an exasperated groan into Geralt's chest that was trembling with laughter.