[ Ciri sweeps inside, barely remembering to shut the door behind her (quietly, at least, her eyes having immediately settled on the unconscious Witcher sprawled over the couch). She barely acknowledges Sam except with a look for now, moving immediately to Geralt's side, where she drops to her knees as much to reach him as out of the knee-buckling weight of relief dropping down on her with shocking suddenness. For all that she'd been telling herself these last few days that Geralt is safe with Julie and Nadine and on his way back soon, it's another thing entirely to see him here. Solid and real. Breathing, even if battered and bandaged.
She does not wish to wake him, but she can't help herself; the need to touch him overwhelms any urge for caution, as though she can't be entirely satisfied he's real until her fingers can confirm the solidity of his skin. Ciri settles on the floor, one elbow on the edge of a cushion stained with dry blood, her other hand gently brushing Geralt's temple, thumbing away more blood and dirt clinging to him still. With a quiet sigh, she lets her cheek fall on her folded arm, the tension rolling out of her shoulders and back leaving her slumped against the edge of the couch as if it's the only thing propping her up. ]
I could kill you myself, [ she mumbles, voice thick, and Sam might hear but the words are clearly not for him. Her hand drops away. Something catches her eye.
Dangling over the edge of the cushion on a familiar chain, Ciri notices the dim light from the fireplace flickering over not one but two circles of metal hanging from Geralt's neck. Carefully, she lifts them in her palm, thumbing aside the pendant Jaskier made for Geralt to reveal the other beneath it. At a better angle, it's clear the wolf's head medallion is silver-- and the way it sits in her hand, the weight and feel of it, there's something that almost seems to hum with a quiet, dormant power. The only reason she knows is because she's felt nothing like that here.
Breath catching, Ciri stares at it a long moment. It feels... real. Not just a disc of silver carved to look the same. It feels the same.
Several minutes pass like this before Ciri finally remembers Sam is in the room. She gently tucks both medallions underneath Geralt's shoulder so the chain won't pull at his neck, and finally, with great effort, pushes herself up to stand. Geralt gets another fretful pat on the head before she manages to step away.
Looking around at the room again, Ciri looks a little dazed, still struggling to get her bearings past the rush of relief and fresh uncertainty about what had happened between Geralt and Yennefer in Thorne. ]
How long has he...?
[ She trails off. Tries again. ]
You were able to talk to him before he went to sleep? [ Passed out cold, apparently. ] He seemed all right?
no subject
She does not wish to wake him, but she can't help herself; the need to touch him overwhelms any urge for caution, as though she can't be entirely satisfied he's real until her fingers can confirm the solidity of his skin. Ciri settles on the floor, one elbow on the edge of a cushion stained with dry blood, her other hand gently brushing Geralt's temple, thumbing away more blood and dirt clinging to him still. With a quiet sigh, she lets her cheek fall on her folded arm, the tension rolling out of her shoulders and back leaving her slumped against the edge of the couch as if it's the only thing propping her up. ]
I could kill you myself, [ she mumbles, voice thick, and Sam might hear but the words are clearly not for him. Her hand drops away. Something catches her eye.
Dangling over the edge of the cushion on a familiar chain, Ciri notices the dim light from the fireplace flickering over not one but two circles of metal hanging from Geralt's neck. Carefully, she lifts them in her palm, thumbing aside the pendant Jaskier made for Geralt to reveal the other beneath it. At a better angle, it's clear the wolf's head medallion is silver-- and the way it sits in her hand, the weight and feel of it, there's something that almost seems to hum with a quiet, dormant power. The only reason she knows is because she's felt nothing like that here.
Breath catching, Ciri stares at it a long moment. It feels... real. Not just a disc of silver carved to look the same. It feels the same.
Several minutes pass like this before Ciri finally remembers Sam is in the room. She gently tucks both medallions underneath Geralt's shoulder so the chain won't pull at his neck, and finally, with great effort, pushes herself up to stand. Geralt gets another fretful pat on the head before she manages to step away.
Looking around at the room again, Ciri looks a little dazed, still struggling to get her bearings past the rush of relief and fresh uncertainty about what had happened between Geralt and Yennefer in Thorne. ]
How long has he...?
[ She trails off. Tries again. ]
You were able to talk to him before he went to sleep? [ Passed out cold, apparently. ] He seemed all right?
I mean, besides... all the wounds.