[ She speaks, and he listens. And it's not that the details she gives aren't important. They are. He wants to know them, too, but he senses she's ascending a peak she doesn't want to reach. The names she tells him are only partially recognizable—friends who met their fate before he ever knew who they were. Places he reached that he doesn't remember setting foot in for years.
So it's the four of them once more. As it's always been. That is a tidy end. Geralt wishes it could be true, not for his sake, but for hers. He wishes she could tell him the world gave her everything she deserved when the dust settled.
Their lives are not built on wishes. He's learned that lesson many times over.
He squeezes her hand. A weight climbs from his chest to his throat. His voice is gentle. ] You can tell me the truth, Ciri.
[ It's a truth he already knows by now. He still needs to hear it. More than that, he thinks Ciri needs to say it to him. It can't sit between them any longer, filling the air with its leadened weight. ]
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So it's the four of them once more. As it's always been. That is a tidy end. Geralt wishes it could be true, not for his sake, but for hers. He wishes she could tell him the world gave her everything she deserved when the dust settled.
Their lives are not built on wishes. He's learned that lesson many times over.
He squeezes her hand. A weight climbs from his chest to his throat. His voice is gentle. ] You can tell me the truth, Ciri.
[ It's a truth he already knows by now. He still needs to hear it. More than that, he thinks Ciri needs to say it to him. It can't sit between them any longer, filling the air with its leadened weight. ]