Still have several, in fact. I'll bring you some later. And again tomorrow, I suspect.
[ Considering the somewhat crowded situation in their home right now and how terribly beat-up and exhausted Geralt still looks, Ciri suspects he'll stay where there are fewer people and extra beds at least a little longer. It doesn't bother her; either way, he's safe. Where she can find him again.
She's just not used to being so worried for him.
For a few minutes, Ciri works in silence, rubbing away the blood where she can, drying off the damp spots with a fresh towel. Thinking about how many bandages there are. How worn Geralt looks. About Thorne, and how easy it had been for their mages to take him. About how no one would have known but for a small stroke of luck. (Is there really such a thing as luck? Or was it something more?)
There have been times, before (that she will not talk about and doesn't wish to linger on), reminders that he is as mortal as any man. They clash against her bone-deep belief in Geralt as a constant, no matter how far apart they are, the one person she can count on to return through the powers of a force as old as the universe. They have a fickle relationship, Destiny and her Child of the Elder Blood, but there is one thing Ciri believes, no matter how hypocritical it may seem to anyone else. She is meant to be here because he is here.
The idea that he could simply disappear, that he could perish alone thousands of miles away in a foreign world without her even knowing--
It scares her. Very much.
Ciri's hand stills, then drops away, tossing the cloth somewhere off to the side. Her forehead presses into Geralt's shoulder. ]
I love you.
[ Barely a whisper, as though it is a secret, but though they're often shown the words are rarely spoken. Rarely needed. This feels needed now. ]
no subject
[ Considering the somewhat crowded situation in their home right now and how terribly beat-up and exhausted Geralt still looks, Ciri suspects he'll stay where there are fewer people and extra beds at least a little longer. It doesn't bother her; either way, he's safe. Where she can find him again.
She's just not used to being so worried for him.
For a few minutes, Ciri works in silence, rubbing away the blood where she can, drying off the damp spots with a fresh towel. Thinking about how many bandages there are. How worn Geralt looks. About Thorne, and how easy it had been for their mages to take him. About how no one would have known but for a small stroke of luck. (Is there really such a thing as luck? Or was it something more?)
There have been times, before (that she will not talk about and doesn't wish to linger on), reminders that he is as mortal as any man. They clash against her bone-deep belief in Geralt as a constant, no matter how far apart they are, the one person she can count on to return through the powers of a force as old as the universe. They have a fickle relationship, Destiny and her Child of the Elder Blood, but there is one thing Ciri believes, no matter how hypocritical it may seem to anyone else. She is meant to be here because he is here.
The idea that he could simply disappear, that he could perish alone thousands of miles away in a foreign world without her even knowing--
It scares her. Very much.
Ciri's hand stills, then drops away, tossing the cloth somewhere off to the side. Her forehead presses into Geralt's shoulder. ]
I love you.
[ Barely a whisper, as though it is a secret, but though they're often shown the words are rarely spoken. Rarely needed. This feels needed now. ]
You don't... have to say anything.
[ He doesn't remember. But that's all right. ]