[ No. Yen would not have. A part of him suspects she's not been inside the Horizon since their last meeting. He knows her. No matter what, he always knows her. He gets it. He does, but this is no longer about him. This is about Ciri, who's been searching for Yennefer and cannot fucking find her and now looks like her heart is breaking in two. She looks young. Younger than she ever has before. And maybe it isn't fair, maybe he should recognize that Yennefer can't possibly understand what she means to this girl who's only spoken to her a handful of times—Geralt barely understands it himself, and he's been alongside Ciri for the past two months—but the flash of anger that surges through him is not a rational one. A bitterness, marinated over decades in the memories of a mother that did not return for him, tinges its edges.
His fingers curl and uncurl around the edge of the kitchen table. He tries not to think about the implications behind Ciri believing Yennefer might have a place in Kaer Morhen. They obviously have a different relationship, in Ciri's time, and it makes everything twice as complicated. Expectations where Geralt does not want to have any.
Yennefer is working towards her own ambitions in Thorne. For Ciri's sake, for her own, whatever it is she is telling herself these days, he doesn't give a fuck. Doesn't want to care. The last time they spoke in the Horizon is the last time he will let himself sink into what he knows he isn't meant to have. He moved on a year ago, before this world forced her back into his life. He intends to move on again.
When he finally turns to Ciri, his expression is careful. His brows knit together. ] Ciri, I can promise you if I knew anything about Yennefer, I'd have told you immediately. When I last saw her, she had no memories. [ And yet. She had found her way to him. Lingered around him with an instinctive familiarity. (It's not real.)
He hesitates. I found something. He shouldn't ask. He shouldn't—both because he doesn't want to know and because it will imply Geralt's not seen whatever it is Ciri has found. That he's specifically not stepped into his room for the past month or so. ] What did you find?
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His fingers curl and uncurl around the edge of the kitchen table. He tries not to think about the implications behind Ciri believing Yennefer might have a place in Kaer Morhen. They obviously have a different relationship, in Ciri's time, and it makes everything twice as complicated. Expectations where Geralt does not want to have any.
Yennefer is working towards her own ambitions in Thorne. For Ciri's sake, for her own, whatever it is she is telling herself these days, he doesn't give a fuck. Doesn't want to care. The last time they spoke in the Horizon is the last time he will let himself sink into what he knows he isn't meant to have. He moved on a year ago, before this world forced her back into his life. He intends to move on again.
When he finally turns to Ciri, his expression is careful. His brows knit together. ] Ciri, I can promise you if I knew anything about Yennefer, I'd have told you immediately. When I last saw her, she had no memories. [ And yet. She had found her way to him. Lingered around him with an instinctive familiarity. (It's not real.)
He hesitates. I found something. He shouldn't ask. He shouldn't—both because he doesn't want to know and because it will imply Geralt's not seen whatever it is Ciri has found. That he's specifically not stepped into his room for the past month or so. ] What did you find?