Crookedstorm hums, low, a sound like thunder in the depths of his throat and chest.
“Admittedly, most of what I feel… or felt… is very faded now. I do my best not to think of her; I have other priorities than fussing over the affairs and feelings of a dead molly.”
He cringes. “… Apologies. I shouldn’t speak so crassly of the departed…”
Taking in a slow breath, he begins again. “I feel… Empathy for her. She was a very sad creature, especially from what I saw of her once I returned to the Riverward… Alone and letting herself fall into a state of such disrepair; she prided herself on her appearance from the moment she opened her eyes, so I heard. It stung to see her like that… and it took me a long, long time to learn that I couldn’t fix her. It wasn’t my responsibility.”
His gaze loses some focus. “It wasn’t my responsibility… But it doesn’t make my grief for what we could have had, and what she could have been, any easier to manage.” Chuckling, he shakes his head.
“Ah-. Forgive me, I went off on a tangent there… Hopefully you’ll excuse the ramblings of this old tom.”
Big thanks to @jaskierswolf for betaing this and also making me take a nap 💖
Warnings: we mention yen’s tragic backstory, full on exhaustion, but in a soft way, yen has a meltdown, geralt is soft, this is just a shit load of projection plz just know i have taken a nap and done nice things for myself
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Yennefer was always strong. She had no other choice.
From the burden of her blood to the ‘succeed or lose all autonomy’ life at Aretuza, she’d always had to push. She pushed against the twist in her spine as a child, against a stepfather who despised her, against anyone who told her to settle and be anything but the best- strongest- most indispensable person in the room once she got a taste. If she took pleasure from something there was a reason for it, very seldom did she do anything that didn’t immediately serve her goals. It was how she survived.
And it worried Geralt.
The exhaustion wasn’t easy to spot, even when he watched her closely, but he noticed it all too frequently the more he watched for it. Her shoulders would sag from their usual proud posture when she thought no one was looking. She would let her eyes close for just a moment, gathering composure, and every now and then her lip would wobble. Geralt never saw a tear from her, never heard her cry, but he knew she did. She had to, given how much she held back. He could smell it on her, everything she bottled up and set on a shelf so that she could push on. If he suggested rest, she would scoff and ask if that’s how witchers survive. If he let her sleep past mid morning, she’d give him a tongue lashing. Finally, when she’d swayed on her feet, gripping her workstation and gritting her teeth angrily at her own body’s need to slow down, Geralt had seen enough.
He slowly but noisily shuffled up behind her, careful not to startle her when she was on edge, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She breathed deeply, no doubt collecting herself to deliver another dismissing remark that she thought would convince him she was fine, but it never came. Instead, her hands hovered over his for a moment, almost fluttering as she tried to decide what to do with herself before they settled over Geralt’s arms. For once she didn’t pry him off, didn’t even stiffen and make him convince her.
When he placed his chin on her shoulder and whispered, “You need to rest,” she only leaned into his embrace.
Carefully, like someone tiptoeing around a scared cat, Geralt unclasped the buttons of her bodice. She let him, hands still resting on his forearms as he worked and head resting back against his shoulder. When he unlaced the dress underneath she helped and shrugged it off, now watching him closely but still letting him lead.
“Let me carry you.”
He knew better than to ask, she would refuse on principle. Even now, both of them knew it was still a question, just more stern and hopeful.
For a moment, he still thought she would refuse, her eyes searching his gave him no clues as to what she was thinking. But after a beat, she nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck. As he carried her to her room, her head rested against his shoulder and she watched his face. What she was looking for he couldn’t guess, but for once, she wasn’t fighting him.
As soon as he set her on the bed she began to push the straps of her slip off her shoulders, only to have Geralt pull them back up and hold her hands in his.
“Let me take care of you.”
Confusion carved a crease between her brows, “Is this not in the way?”
Geralt was almost hurt, and he knew it was clear on his face, but he knew how sorceresses were expected to behave and trained to anticipate. If he didn’t he’d surely be offended that she thought so little of him.
As it were, he simply slipped his shirt over his head and nodded to her to scoot over, “You need sleep.”
“I do no-”
“You do and you don’t have to pretend for me,” Geralt insisted as he climbed into bed next to her, opening his arms to her. When she only stared at him, her face completely unreadable he continued, “No one will punish you for resting… and I won't respect or fear you any less.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, almost distracting Geralt from the way her eyes welled with tears as she whispered, “I don’t know how…”
Geralt was reminded once again that she didn’t have the type of family he did. She’d had no Eskel to teach her to breathe when things became overwhelming, no Lambert to pull her out of her head, no Vesemir to advise her. Then he remembered her wrists. The scars and the lonely helplessness they represented wrapped around his heart and threatened to stop it.
If he were better with words, he would tell her she deserved so much more, that he’d never leave her alone again if she’d let him. He wanted to be able to whisper away her pain, but he was no poet, so he offered a wry smile instead, “A violet-eyed sorceress once told me the only thing I was good at was napping and eating. I can show you.”
Yennefer rolled her eyes, but melted into his arms all the same, tucking her cheek against his collarbone and laying her palm over his heart. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close and brushing her silky dark hair back from her face with the other.
“Sshhhh…” Geralt interrupted her mid breath, keeping his voice low and soft as he ran his fingers through her hair, “Just breathe. You work and work and work… You deserve some peace.”
Geralt felt the tears splash onto his chest before he smelled the salt in the air or even felt her ribs shudder with her shaky breath. Her hand slid up and gripped at his shoulder, clinging to him like a drowning sailor clings to a lifeline as she silently sobbed into his chest.
“You’re so strong,” he whispered, not trusting his voice to win out over the knot in his throat, “even when you don’t have to be. It’s okay to be tired.”
“I’m- fuck-ing exhausted,” she choked, a gutteral sob escaping her throat as she tried to regain control.
“I know, Yen… I know…” He held her tighter and placed a kiss on the top of her head, “Cry and breathe… exhale… good…”
Minutes passed before Yennefer’s body stopped shaking and she matched her breathing to the rise and fall of Geralt’s chest. She said nothing, just pressed her lips to his clavicle in thanks before she began tracing the scars on his shoulder, completely lost in thought.
“Yen…”
“Hm?”
“Close your eyes.”
She blinked up at him like a child given permission to hold a kitten for the first time before nestling back against his chest. He had no idea if she listened, but he trailed his fingertips over the soft skin and whispered praise all the same.
“Good girl…”
Not long after, her heart rate slowed and breathing deepened and Geralt was quick to follow. They napped together all through the morning and into the afternoon, only so much as cracking their eyes open when Yennefer’s stomach growled.
got to the part in the tw3 where geralt teases ciri about a girl she clearly has a crush on/something happened between them and i had to pause the game to cry cause it was so wholesome and just. wow
